I see the bullet hole straight away. It’s underneath him, on the fleshy part between his two front legs. It’s a bad wound. I feel my heart sink as he whines, looking up at me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I place my hand on the side of his face, and he just about manages to raise his paw enough to place it on top of my wrist.
“Jesus… Styx, hang in there, boy — you’re gonna be fine.” I shout back without looking round. “John, ring an ambulance… or a vet… or someone — just get somebody! Hurry!”
I hear him leave and, a moment later, Tori appears at my side. I’m kneeling down next to my wounded friend, an animal who walked into my bar one night and stayed by my side without question ever since. She stands next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Adrian…” she says.
“He’s gonna be fine, aren’t you, boy? Yeah? You’re gonna be just fine.”
I stroke his head. His breathing is fast and shallow, and he lets out a low whine with every exhalation. He moves his front paw, as if holding my hand against him.
“Come on, Styx. Hang in there — the sheriff’s getting you help, okay?”
His breathing starts to slow. Tori crouches down next to me, stroking his back as she rests her head on my shoulder. He looks up at me. I swear to God he’s trying to say sorry…
“Styx, come on! Stay strong boy.”
His breathing slows even more. The low whines are less frequent and quieter now. I know there’s no hope. Not anymore. But I refuse to accept it.
“Styx…”
Raynor comes back in. “All kinds of folk are on their way, so I’ve got them to rush a vet here as well, Adrian.”
Styx lets out another long, low whine. I stroke his head.
Then, silence…
I frown, holding back the emotion fighting to spread across my face. I feel Tori kiss my arm before standing and walking off. I hear her start to cry again.
“Styx…?” I say.
But he’s gone.
8
I’m sitting in my pick-up truck, staring at my phone. There’s a number typed in on the screen, but I’ve not pressed the call button yet. And I probably won’t either. But I’m thinking about it.
I had to leave before all the sirens arrived, as I wasn’t in the mood for answering questions. Tori had said she would make a start tidying up the bar. I said I needed a bit of time, so I got in my truck and drove for a good half hour. I’ve pulled up on the side of the road, heading toward San Antonio. I probably won’t actually go there, but I like the drive and need to clear my head.
I have absolutely no idea how my entire life got turned upside down so quickly. It started with three men walking into my bar and culminated in my dog being shot and killed. It sounds like a sick joke.
What the hell am I going to do? I’ve no idea who these people are, or why they first wanted me to work for them, before deciding they wanted me dead. So far, they’ve sent a total of eighteen men after me. I’ve killed fifteen, with Raynor’s help, and someone else took out the other three. The FBI told me they think the first three men had ties to some guy called Yalafi Hussein, so a good bet would be that the other fifteen did as well. I could do with finding out who this guy is, and why he would want me to work for him…
But I was never too great at the fact-finding side of things. That’s why I’m sitting, looking at Josh’s number on the screen of my phone.
We lead different lives now, Josh and I. There are no ill feelings between us or anything. I still regard him as family. I just don’t want to call him up unexpected and interrupt his new life, purely to drag him back into mine.
No, I’ll leave it. I’m sure I can figure this out on my own.
My phone rings, breaking my concentration.
“Hello?” I say as I answer, not recognizing the number.
“Adrian?” asks the voice, which sounds very familiar…
“Who’s askin’?”
“Son, it’s Ryan Schultz.”
His name hangs in the silence for a moment while I compose myself. I’ve not heard from him since… Jesus — since San Francisco! I remember reading in the news that the new president had appointed his own secretary of defense when he got sworn into office, but there was nothing about what Schultz intended doing instead.
“Something else from my past coming back to haunt me…” I say, absently. “How’ve you been, Ryan?”
“Better than you, I believe.”
“News travels fast.”
“Not as fast as we’d like, sometimes.”
I frown. “What can I do for you, Ryan? I’m a little busy.”
“Can we talk?”
“We are doing…”
“In person?”
I sigh. “Where are you?”
“I’m standing in what’s left of your bar, son.”
I take another minute to process. Something definitely isn’t right.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I say.
I hang up, spin the truck around, and head back to Devil’s Spring.
I pull up across the street and walk over to my bar, where a whole host of people are busying themselves out front. I see Tori standing off to the side, a blanket draped over her shoulders, with an EMT fussing over her.
“How you holdin’ up, babe?” I ask her as I approach.
She looks up and smiles weakly, and then bursts into tears without a word.
I feel awful for having exposed her to all this. I walk behind and put my arms around her, kissing the top of her head as she buries herself in my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Tori. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
I look around as someone behind me clears their throat to get my attention. It’s Sheriff Raynor.
“Adrian, you got a minute?” he asks, apologetically.
“Sure,” I say as I hold Tori away from me and look at her. “I’ll be right back, okay? Head around back and get yourself upstairs to bed while all this is going on down here. Get some rest.”
She nods and walks off vacantly, aided by the EMT. Shock was definitely setting in, but she’s a tough woman — she’ll be fine. I turn to the sheriff.
“How’s it going, John?” I ask.
He strokes his mustache and takes a long, deep breath. “Bit of a circus, but necessary I’m afraid,” he replies. “Got my deputies workin’ crowd control — stop the locals from seein’ too much… Look, I know this ain’t the best time an’ all, but there’s a guy here askin’ after you. After what you told me earlier, I didn’t know if he knew you from, y’know… way back or whatever…”
I smile, appreciating his tactfulness. “I know, it’s okay. He called me to say he was here, that’s why I’m back so soon. Where is he?”
“He’s inside,” he says. “Follow me.”
Raynor leads me inside, signaling to a deputy that it’s okay for me to be there. There’s an FBI crime scene investigation team over where Styx is still lying. I try not to look over as I gaze around the room. The place looks like a goddamn warzone. I feel genuine sadness that my bar — the thing that’s symbolized my new life since I moved here — is in tatters.
Raynor points over to where what remains of the jukebox is standing. I follow his finger and look across the room, seeing Ryan Schultz standing around, looking like he’s in charge.
“Thanks, John,” I say and walk off.
Schultz looks well. He’s dressed casually, wearing a business shirt tucked into dark blue jeans and some brown shoes. He’s got slightly less gray hair than I remember him having, and he’s definitely put on a few pounds since he left the White House, but it suits him. Being a Texan himself, he probably feels right at home here.