Racing the Moon (2 page)

Sonny had to fight the urge to kick him again. Really hard.

Instead he lit a cigarette and opened a mason jar half full of 'shine, sipping as he contemplated his circumstances.

The guy's backpack hadn't offered dick in the way of ID. Information, though? Shit, yes. The son of a bitch had a fucking toolkit that was worth more than some folk’s houses. Electronic gizmos. Set of throwing knives. About three days' worth of high-dollar camping shit. Maps.

A fine compass that he'd confiscated. And detonators. Imagine that. For plastic explosives. Sonny shook his head, sucking down the last sip of 'shine, waiting until his eyes stopped watering to stand and go put a can of pork and beans directly on the burner of his camp stove.

Then he went and woke Sleeping Beauty with a love tap on the chin.

The son of a bitch came up swinging, Sonny'd give him that. Didn't wince or nothing, and God knew the man's head had to be fucking splitting open. Good thing he'd put riot cuffs on the fucker. At least that way all he could do was huff and puff and fall to his knees on the floor as Sonny backed off.

"Morning, Precious. Want one of your trail mix bars?"

"Fuck you." The guy swayed a bit, body shuddering hard as the man fought the rising of his gorge.

"No puking on my floor." But man, he had to feel for the guy, what with the nasty bruises and all. Sonny went and got some water and a couple of aspirin from the guy's own first aid kit. "Open wide."

He thought the guy was gonna growl, but that mouth opened and he popped the pills in, careful of his fingers and those teeth. The water got sipped, the wince coming when the guy tried to swallow. And did Sonny feel bad about that? Hell, no. His thumb might just have to come off, it throbbed so fucking bad. Amputation with a butter knife would be preferable to the fucking itch and burn. He hauled the guy up to sit on the cot, looking him over.

The guy wasn't big, not at all, but solid muscle, not an ounce of fat or weak on him. Moved faster than shit through a goose, too. One bright-bright blue eye glared at him, the other swole damn near shut. Made him grin. Man wasn't so pretty now, was he?

He waited until the convulsive swallowing stopped before offering more water. "So, you the feller who blew up the logging shed, then?"

"Wha... what's a logging shed?" That voice was as raw as just split wood.

He got a wee too much savage satisfaction out of that. "Don't fuck with me, buddy. I went through your shit. I got me a cousin in demolitions in the Navy."

He just got a stare, that eye not moving. Bastard wasn't easy to scare, that was for sure. He had time. Lighting another cigarette, Sonny listened to the beans bubble and watched the guy right back.

"I need to piss."

"Answer my question and I'll show you to your tree."

"I can piss on your bed, just as easy as not."

"You could, but I've been having a bad day. That might just push me over the edge." He pondered hitting the guy again. For fun. "Your choice, though."

"Sucks to be you, man. I was having a fine day, until you decided to get territorial."

Sonny sighed, going to get his beans and his own bottle of water. Maybe if he made enough gurgling noises the guy would give in and need to go out. The guy shifted around, back to the wall, taking everything in, from the little camp stove to the sight of all his shit strewn everywhere.

"Okay, come on." He gave up. He couldn't let the guy go until he made the run and moved the still. The least he could do was let him piss. "But no funny business or I'll hit you again, scatter your chickens but good."

"Look. Why don't you just fucking let me go? I'm not worth dick to you and I have somewhere to be." The guy stood, rolling his shoulders.

"So do I. Too bad, thanks to you, I can't get there." He got up, too, tossing the bean can in the trash. "You can at least piss."

He'd found the Winchester earlier, and he grabbed it up, chambering a round and pointing to the door. "I'm a good shot."

"Good for you. I'm not an easy target." The tension in those shoulders eased as the guy muscled through the door, heading for the edge of the clearing, working his canvas pants open with surprising ease for a cuffed guy.

"Don't have to be." Sonny kept a close eye on the guy and on the surrounding woods, just in case the guy had someone looking.

The son of a bitch wasn't in any hurry, pissing like he had all the time in the world. Who the fuck
was
this asshole?

Sooner or later, though, every man ran out of territory markings, and the flow stopped. "Come on, back inside."

The guy zipped up, turned to face him, dead on. "I'm tired of following fucking orders, man. I'll get off your goddamn property, but I'm not going back in there."

Growling, Sonny shot a round a few feet from the guy's toes, his frustration boiling over. "You'll get your ass in there now or I'll fucking shoot it."

"What is your fucking
problem
, man?" Christ, the man was all fury and not a bit of fear. It was fucking unnatural. "You listen to Dueling Banjos one too many times or something? You think I'm a fucking bomber? Call the cops. You think I'm here to rob your... Oh, fuck. That's priceless. What? I'm going to steal a motherfucking can of beans?"

"At this point, I don't give a damn what you were here for. I just wanna kick your ass again for shits and giggles. And I want you to get back inside!" He roared the last of it, chambering a new round and pointing with the Winchester toward the door. "You'll be my guest until I say you can go."

The son of a bitch walked right up to him -- fucking
strutted
-- before elbowing the barrel aside and spitting between his boots. "I've been threatened by better, asshole. Don't give yourself unwarranted credit."

Then the little bastard headed for the door.

Damn. Torn between laughing and using the butt of the gun to beat the man into soup, Sonny followed, closing the door behind them and latching it. He checked his watch. Fuck. He had
hours
with this shithead.

"So do you play Scrabble? Tiddlywinks? Musical chairs?"

"Are you trying to tell me you've kidnapped me because you were
bored
?"

He chuckled. "Come on, Precious, you're not that stupid. You stumbled on something you shouldn't have. Literally."

"Did you notice the fog? You know, white stuff? Hides things? Christ, five minutes more and I would have been happily out of your hair." Man, the combination of sore throat and pissed off made for one hell of a growl.

Almost as good as his was naturally. Almost.

"I did notice the fog. Only thing that kept me from shooting you outright. Still gotta keep you for at least another day though."

Just until he could move his operation. Just until they cleared the road. He'd already dismantled the stills.

"Is that when the aliens come?" That blue eye closed, just for a second. "Look, man. I don't know your business, your name. Nothing. I just want to go to the beach and not look back."

And he probably would, too, but Sonny just couldn't take the chance until he'd stripped the cabin, gotten the road open to ship the shit out, and gotten out himself. Damn it. "Soon. All right? You have my word."

"I can't begin to tell you how much better that makes me feel." The guy stood up and headed over to the disassembled pack without even looking at him again.

God, what a pushy little prick. When his head started to hurt from the way his teeth were grinding, Sonny took a deep breath and started moving around the cabin himself, rifle in the crook of one arm, the other hand busy stripping shit down and packing it up.

The pack was put back together, one granola bar left out. Then the guy settled, stared out the tiny assed little window, just as still as could be.

Tilting his head, Sonny went over, not quite close enough to be in arm's reach. "What's out there that's not in here, man?"

"I'm not the world's biggest fucking fan of being cooped up. Especially with crackhead, rifle-toting rednecks. Call it a character flaw." There was real fucking stress in the man's voice, though.

A light dawned, and he realized why the guy had been so determined to piss for an hour. Now, did Sonny torture him or help him out? Decisions, decisions. He moved around carefully and opened the window a few inches.

The stress around those shoulders eased enough that he could see it. Well, goddamn. Okay, then.

"Be nice and don't yell, hmm? Never know when some yahoo will be out...hunting. Or hiking." Chuckling, he moved away, let the guy eat.

It was fucking creepy, the silence, the stillness. Sonny wasn't sure if the guy was sleeping or dead or plotting. Or all three.

The whole closed in space thing didn't get to him. The utter dead silence did. He broke it. "You got a name?"

"I have a number of them. MJ works."

"Yeah? What's it stand for?" Damn. Sonny usually wasn't one to chatter, but really, that was unnatural.

He got a confused sort of look. "I haven't told anyone that in twenty years. I'm not breaking my record. How about you? Should I call you something besides asshole?"

"Sonny." It was a nickname anyway, so he didn't care about telling this guy that much.

"Sonny." He'd bet if it wouldn't hurt like a son of a bitch, the bastard would've grinned. "I can remember that, Sunshine."

"You do that, Precious." Sonny sighed. He was never going to make it through the whole day without killing this guy. Maybe he
should
whap him over the head again. Give himself some peace.

"You going to take the cuffs off, man?"

He held up his hand, his gauze wrapped thumb out. "You gonna come after me again if I do?"

"You have the rifle, man. I'm a poor, unarmed beach bum."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll undo your hands, but you try to run and I'll gun you down. I just need you to be patient for a few more hours, Precious." Just a few more endless fucking hours.

"I won't run. Just undo the fucking straps."

He moved slowly and carefully, as the Winchester would do no good up close. In fact, he left it behind, taking MJ's own knife to cut the twisted plastic right down the middle, moving away quickly.

"Thank you." Those too-pretty-for-color-TV eyes lit on the knife. "That was handmade for me and I want it back."

"You can have it when you go, s'long as you don't stick it in me again." It was vicious sharp, too. It had severed skin and muscle like butter. Had to admire that.

"Fair enough." MJ stood, stretched up -- well, as far up as the little shit went -- bones creaking a little.

He watched, maybe admired a little. Even beat to hell the guy was not hard to look at, not one bit. And he
was
stuck there. Nothing wrong with entertaining a few fantasies. The guy changed out his socks, the action giving him a glimpse of black ink spreading across tanned calves.

He pondered just throwing the guy down and fucking him right into the floor. It was a goddamned pleasant image, full of what his sister would call violent, territorial psychosis or something, but really, it was all about the pretty.

"So, what? Do you run a meth lab out here?" He got a look. "You don't look like a meth-head."

"I'm not." Asshole. Sonny included a gag in his little fantasy. Maybe a black leather one, like that time in Miami Beach. Oh, hell, yeah. "And you don't look like a hiker. But then again, I'm not sure you look like a demolitions man, either."

"I look like what I am. A beach baby." Uh-huh. Right. Sure. And he was the Queen's nephew. Sonny shook his head, looking out the window to check the light. Goddamn it. Oh, did he say that out loud? "You want me to go out and run around in circles? See if I can't attract whatever you're hoping to see?"

"If I was hoping for bear or man-eating mountain laurel? Sure. I'm waiting for dark, Precious." Sonny sat on a camp stool, having packed just about everything that wasn't being sat on by someone else. "Whatever will we do to pass the time?"

"You could nap. Sounds like you're going to have a long night."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be happy to stand guard. You have any idea how many yahoos with rifles will be out combing these woods, looking for
you
?" Jesus fuck.

"Me? Now why on earth would anyone be looking for me? I'm just on a little sight-seeing tour." With explosives.

"Look, cut the crap, okay? You don't have to bare your soul, but I'm not an idiot. I told you what I found in your bag. You oughta find it ironic that you're stuck here because of it." Somehow, Sonny found himself standing, looming over the guy, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm stuck here because of you,
Sunshine
." The little guy stood right up, pushed into his space, not giving an inch. "You hadn't been a paranoid fuck, I'd be ten miles from here."

"And I'd still be stuck here with my shipment because you closed the logging road! I think it's a fine thing that I got a piece of you." He drew up even taller, just snarling. Fuck, this one got his blood up.

"You get far with that whole puffed up thing usually? Because I have to tell you, I'm feeling a lack of terror."

He drew back his fist, about to let fly, when the crackle of a branch had him turning toward the window, grabbing MJ and pulling him down below eye level. To the asshole's credit, MJ moved easy and didn't say a fucking thing, muscles beneath his fingers taut and ready to spring.

At least three distinct, separate footsteps sounded, the murmur of low voices floating in through the open window. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sonny moved low, crawling down across the floor to get the .22 and his own pack, looking at everything he was gonna leave behind. He'd have to burn the fucker down.

MJ got those boots on, backpack on his back, eyes fastened on the window the whole time.

He could hear them, wandering, looking for the shipment, looking for the still, and cursing his name.

Goddamn it. Sonny motioned to MJ, tossed the knife soundlessly to the man, pulling out the .38 next and passing it over. He might just make a run for it, or he might help. Either way Sonny would bet the man wouldn't be a hindrance.

One last look around gave him his torch. The little bit of 'shine left in the mason jar. Add a piece of cloth from the bunk and light it with his lighter? Yeah. He looked at MJ, miming what he was about to do. The man nodded, scooting toward the edge of the room. As Sonny watched, the little propane stove was turned over, that knife piercing the top, liquid fire pooling. The stove igniter was ready, just needed a click and
boom.