Master of None (29 page)

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Let me just pull some roller skates out of my ass.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Let’s make sure they’re all right.” I waved toward Jazz, Tory, and Ian, who stood ten feet ahead of us, staring back at the burning wreck.

“Why’d you wait?” Jazz demanded when we reached them. “That wasn’t exactly a good time to break out a round of ‘Kumbayah,’ you know.”

“The door stuck,” I said smoothly. “Took both of us to bang it open.”

Lark flashed me a brief, grateful look. I half-nodded and faced Jazz. “Any idea how we blew up the damned car? I have to admit, I’ve never seen one go off like a firecracker before.”

“Must’ve ruptured something on the rough spots,” she said. “Lines, seals, maybe both. Probably ended up mixing gas and oil. The engine was overheating anyway.”

“So I’m guessing you can’t fix it, right?”

Jazz shot me a narrow-eyed glance. “You’re not serious.”

“Doubt it.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“What did I do?”

“Can’t you pretend, just for a minute, that you know how to pay attention?”

“Stop.” Lark looked ready to punch one of us. Probably me. “We can’t stand around arguing all night.”

“He is correct. It will not be long before we are discovered, particularly if we remain in this area.” Ian stood rigid with his back to the flaming car and looked to the sky as if the moon held the answer. “I do not yet have the strength to fly.”

I had to offer a silent prayer of thanks for that. I’d rather ride double-back and helmet-free on a moped with a suicidal stunt biker than fly with Ian again.

“I do, but I can’t carry all of you.” Tory walked over to Lark and put an arm around him. His eyes widened. “
Adjo
, you’re shaking. What” wrong?”

“Nerves, I guess,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

A porch light flashed on just up the road, illuminating a small blue house. The front door opened. A figure in a bathrobe poked out, looked around, and withdrew quickly. “Shit,” I said. “Somebody’s about to call nine-one-one. We’d better shake out before some good Samaritan tries to help us.”

“So what are we going to do, walk to Trevor’s?” Jazz frowned and wiped her hands on her jeans. “We might get there sometime next week.”

She wasn’t off by much. It’d probably take the better part of a day to walk. “We should at least get off the road,” I said. “And I guess we could boost another car somewhere.”

“An excellent plan, thief. After all, it has worked so well before.”

I glared at Ian. “You got a better idea, genius? It’s not like we can call a cab here—”

“Lark!” The alarm in Tory’s voice drew everyone’s attention. “What is it?”

“I can’t . . .” Lark hitched a breath and let it out in a moan. With a thick sound that might’ve contained a choice word or two, he pushed away from Tory, stumbled a few steps, and went down—and promptly emptied his stomach into the grass.

Tory went to him and pulled him back from the mess, then knelt and cradled his head on his lap. Lark’s eyes were sunken and glazed, conscious but unaware. His breathing came fast and ragged. Tory smoothed his hair back with a gentle hand. “Lark,” he whispered. “Can you talk? Tell me what happened.”

“Somebody get me a light.” Jazz nudged me aside and crouched beside Lark. She looked from him to Tory. “Is he sweating?”

“No. But he’s hot—way too hot. Feels like he’s burning.” Tory extended a hand, and a ball of blue flame burst into existence above his palm. He held it next to Lark. “Is this enough light?”

“That”ll work.” Jazz barely blinked at the impromptu magic show.

But Lark did more than blink. He flinched away, and a thin,
desperate sound wrenched from his throat between shallow pants.

“Oh, Lark. I’m sorry,” Tory whispered. “It’s all right. You’re safe.” He gave Jazz a stricken look. “Please hurry.”

“Right.” She pressed fingers to Lark’s neck. Her lips moved without sound. After a beat, she held one of his eyes open gently and frowned. “He’s dehydrated. Needs fluid, and lots of it. How long’s it been since he’s had anything to eat or drink?”

“Maybe a day,” Tory said, extinguishing the fireball with a flick of his hand. Lark relaxed a fraction, and some of the strain left Tory’s features. “But how could this happen in such a short time?”

“Hasn’t he been in a wheelchair for a while?” Jazz pulled back. “He’s probably exhausted, too. No one thought to bring food or water, did they?”

“Not exactly. We were kind of distracted with all the guns and the burning house.” I turned to Ian. “Can’t you just magic some water? You know, transform some dirt or something?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Transformative magic does not change what something is, merely how it is shaped and perceived. If I did this, it would look, feel, and taste like water, but it would still be dirt.”

“Oh.” I wouldn’t mind a swig of perceived water right about now, but it would do nothing for Lark’s condition. “In that case, we need to go shopping. Gotta be somewhere around here with sports drinks. And we need supplies anyway.”

Jazz stood and looked down the road. “The last sign said three miles, but that’s driving, so there’s probably a turn or two somewhere. It’d be faster to cut across ground. And safer. I just don’t know which way to go.”

“I’ll find out,” Tory said. “Can somebody sit with him a minute?”

“Yeah.” Jazz moved closer. “I got him. Do your thing.”

Between them, they managed to prop Lark up and get him halfway sitting against Jazz. He blinked and gave a weak cough, and his eyes focused a little. “Tory,” he slurred. “I could really use a drink. Screwdriver’d be great.”

Tory smiled. “Time for that later. Hang on,
adjo
. I’ll take care of you.” He glanced at me and Ian. “Be right back,” he said, and vanished.

“Damn,” Jazz said. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

Lark shifted slightly. “Jazz?” He looked sideways at her. “Never told you . . . nice to see you again, beautiful.”

“Same here, slick.” She smiled. “Now, stop talking. You’re a wreck, and you need to relax.”

He coughed again, and a smirk surfaced. “Might need mouth-to-mouth.”

I only saw red for a second. “If you do, we’ll get Ian to give it to you,” I said.

Behind me, Ian cleared his throat. “Do not bring me into your personal affairs, thief.”

“Why? Do you think Tory’ll get jealous?”

“All right, you two,” Jazz said. “Stop provoking the sick guy.”

“He started it.”

She laughed. “Donatti, you’re too much.”

“Thank you.”

Before she could inform me that it wasn’t a compliment, Tory materialized in front of Lark. Jazz let out a gasp. “Jesus. Warn people before you come out of nowhere, will you?”

“Sorry. We need to head that way.” He pointed away from
the road, ahead to the right. “About a mile and a half. And there’s no way you’re walking,
adjo.
I’ll carry you.”

Lark flashed a tired smile. “Not gonna argue this time, hon.”

Their brief exchange held a teasing familiarity, as if they’d had the same conversation a dozen times before. My throat clenched a little when I realized they must have. They’d met before I screwed Lark up, and Tory had stuck with him through being first crippled, then blinded and disfigured. He’d probably done a lot of carrying, and knowing Lark’s stubborn streak, he’d likely done it over protests and some nasty verbal abuse.

That was love.

A distant and unsettling sound pulled me back to cold reality. Sirens. Lots of them. “Crud. We’re gonna have company. Let’s move.”

Part of me wondered how many of those approaching fine boys in blue reported to Trevor before their superiors. The rest of me didn’t want to stick around and find out.

If there was one thing nearly every American could count on, it was that there’d be a twenty-four-hour Walmart situated near any population of fifty or more. The sprawling cement-constructed store we approached was open and fairly deserted. I guessed not many people felt the urge to shop for quasi-fashionable clothes and cheap toiletries at four in the morning. This one happened to be a super Walmart, with its own garage, fast-food place, eye doctor, nail salon, and a bunch of other crap. Probably only a matter of time before they put in a merry-go-round and a few roller coasters for the kiddies.

On the way, I’d gotten Ian to magic me a shirt and given him his coat back. Couldn’t go out in public looking like a drunk bum. Just going into this place was risky enough.

Tory had finally consented to let Lark walk when we reached the parking lot, but he obviously wasn’t going to make it much farther. If he wasn’t leaning on Tory, he’d be on the ground. At least he’d stopped trying to talk.

“Okay,” I said when we’d gotten halfway across the lot. “We need to make this quick. Anybody have any cash on them?”

Jazz pulled a wad of bills from a back pocket. “How much do you need?”

“Not that much.” I grinned. “Give Tory a twenty, so he can take care of Lark. You do know what Gatorade is, don’t you?”

Tory rolled his eyes.

“That’s a yes. Buy a bunch of them, and get him drinking. Then make your way to the back of the store, and wait for us by the tires. We’re leaving from there.” I’d been in enough of these places to know there were exits at the garage, and the area wouldn’t be open yet. There’d be alarms, but if things went well, we’d be out of sight before anyone caught up with us.

“The back?” Tory shot me an uneasy look. “If we’re buying shit, why do we have to break out of the place? There’s already cops in the area, and they’re going to be looking for us. Can’t we just go through the checkout and walk out the front door, like normal humans?”

I shook my head. “We’re not paying for everything.”

“You are planning to steal from this place?” Ian’s lip curled. “You cannot be serious. You are—”

“I know what I’m doing,” I said before he could tell me what a lousy thief I was. “Look, I may not believe in killing, but I believe in the right tools for the right job. We can’t go up against Trevor’s firepower with a couple of tricked-out blades and some harsh language. So unless any of you has an arms dealer in your pocket, we’re going with this.”

Nobody protested. It almost shocked me enough to make me forget the rest of the plan.

“Jazz, you’re with me,” I finally said. “You’re driving.”

“I thought we nixed the car-boost thing.”

“I meant a shopping cart.” I had to turn away to keep from laughing at her fuck-you expression. “For a while, we’ll be a
couple of regular people, out picking up random things at four in the morning. We save the tricky bit for last.”

She smirked. “You’re not exactly regular.”

“Same to you, babe.”

“Did you just call me babe?”

“Nope. I said ‘eh.’ Practicing my Canadian accent.” I coughed and turned to Ian. “You’re the distraction.”

“I am what?”

“You get to run interference. You keep as many employees and customers as you can busy while we load up.”

He leveled a black look at me. “And how do I accomplish this?”

“Should be easy. You’re a natural asshole, so just be yourself.”

“Thank you. But I still do not understand what I am supposed to do.”

I sighed and pointed in the general direction of the store. “Go in there and start yelling. Complain about everything—the parking lot, the shopping carts, the lousy layout, whatever. Demand to speak to a manager. And then a different manager. Tell them you want phone numbers. Try to give us twenty minutes or so, and then say you’re going to buy more shit and meet us in the back.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ian muttered. “I know nothing of your commerce system.”

“Good. Then you’ll sound like every other average no-brain jerk bitching about the customer service they deserve.” We’d reached the crip spaces at the front of the lot. I slowed my pace. “We’ll stagger entry. Tory and Lark first, then Ian, then Jazz and me. Pretend we don’t know each other.”

Tory’s brow furrowed. “This’d better work, Dermotti.”

“Christ, man. It’s Donatti. Not that hard to say, honest.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, Lark.”

Lark murmured something that made Tory laugh, and they moved toward the automatic glass doors without looking back. So far, so good. Now we just needed a little good luck—or a lot of dumb luck. I figured we had a better shot at the latter.

W
E
GAVE
I
AN
ABOUT THREE MINUTES BEFORE WE WENT IN. I
heard him shouting the minute the doors whooshed open. Couldn’t make out the words yet, but he sounded pissed.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Knew he’d be good at this.

Jazz pried a cart from one of the massive lines and pointed it toward the security arches. She was struggling not to laugh. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.” We moved into the store at a brisk clip—casual fast. Shoppers on a mission for the essentials. Food, water, and guns. Because plenty of people impulsively bought rifles along with their cereal bars and bottled water.

Ian’s voice clarified itself as we passed the mostly deserted checkout lanes. “. . . parking lot is disgusting! There is trash everywhere. I stepped on gum.”

The poor cashier he’d cornered squeaked a reply. In my peripheral vision, I made out two other employees—one with a handheld CB and a set of keys—moving toward the confrontation.

“This excuse for cleanliness is unconscionable,” Ian roared on. “I wish to speak with someone in charge, this instant. And I have not even mentioned the bathrooms . . .”

“Oh, he’s good,” Jazz said in low tones. “Way better than
the last distraction you brought in. What was his name, Sheik, some bullshit like that?”

I grimaced. “Shake. Yeah, he was a mistake.” Shake’s specialty had been faking fits. He had two acts: epilepsy and Tourette’s. He could make himself foam at the mouth on demand. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to pull a gun on anyone who touched him during a fit, including EMTs and cops. He’d lasted a gig and a half.

“Okay,” Jazz said. “Where to first?”

“Housewares, I think. We need a mirror.”

“Right.” We moved down a main aisle toward the lamps and bath towels, and Jazz let out a soft breath. “This is so . . . bizzare.”