Free Zero at the Bone by Jane Seville

and put his head between his knees until the feeling passed.
    When he emerged, dressed in clean jeans and toweling his hair, D was sitting shirtless on the bed peering down at some bruises on his chest. He moved his arm, hissing in pain a little. “Let me see,” Jack said.
    “It’s nothin’,” D said.
    “Come on. Let me be the one with the expertise for once.” D sighed and put his arm down, giving Jack a raised-eyebrow, come-on-then kind of look. Jack bent over him.
    There was an abrasion and the beginnings of a nasty bruise on the far right side of his chest, wrapping up into his armpit. “Can you move your arm?”
    “Yeah. Little sore is all.”
    Jack palpated the bruise. It wasn’t bleeding. He shrugged. “You’re right; it’s nothing.”
    “Gee, thanks, doc. You gonna charge me two hundred bucks now?”
    “Least I know you’ve got it,” Jack said, smiling. “Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.” D started to smile back, but then it vanished like a puff of smoke. He turned away, mumbling something, and went into the bathroom.
    Jack pulled on a shirt, frowning. The man was an enigma, that was for certain. He sat on the bed and flopped onto his back, letting his eyes fall closed as he heard the shower running in the bathroom.
    He didn’t know he’d drifted off until D was shaking him awake. “C’mon, doc.
    Gotta hit the road.”
    Jack hauled himself up and shouldered his bag. He took one of the aluminum cases, D took the other, and within minutes they were back in the car and headed for Stockton, and this time, that blankness ahead of them on the road was a comfort.

    Zero at the Bone | 33

    D KNEW that if he were any kind of a normal person, he’d be struggling to keep his eyes open. It was after midnight, he hadn’t had much sleep the night before, and he was driving at night on a really boring stretch of highway across the California no-man’sland. But he wasn’t no normal person, and he’d had to acquire the ability to function on very little sleep long ago.
    He glanced over at Jack, fast asleep in the passenger seat, curled up like a kid with his folded hands tucked under his cheek and his head resting against his balled-up jacket that he’d shoved into the corner. His forehead was furrowed with faint worry lines even in sleep, and every so often he’d mumble or shift, making little sleep noises and snuffling. D let his gaze linger for a moment and then turned back to the road, his jaw clenching.
    He’d been arguing with himself for a good portion of the trip. You oughta get him a new identity and dump him off somewheres. Ain’t no good fer you ta keep draggin’ him along. He’s gonna get caught in the crossfire. You tryin’ ta help might get him killed.
    But… ain’t no one else can protect him like me. I know these assholes, I know how they work, ’cause I’m one of ’em. No cops, no Witness Protection know how ta anticipate what they’re gonna do. He’s safest with me.
    But that ain’t the real problem.
    Shut the fuck up.
    Yer gettin’… attached.
    Toldja ta shut the fuck up.
    Kinda like him, don’tcha? He ain’t no preppy asswipe like ya thought he’d be, moaning about missin’ his tee time ’n’ afraid ta get dirt on his fuckin’ J.Crew. Guy’s got some smarts ta him, some nerve. Kinda guy ya could get ta be friends with.
    Ain’t gonna know him long enough ta be no friends.
    Ya crossed that line when you was rubbin’ his back while he fuckin’ puked and ya know it. Gave you a bad feelin’, didn’t it? Ta kill that guy in front a his eyes? Don’t want him ta think bad a you, do ya?
    Need him ta trust me so he won’t try ’n’ run off.
    Bullshit. You want him ta like you. You want him ta turn them big, pretty eyes on you and look atcha like yer his fuckin’ hero. You wanna BE his fuckin’ hero. Well, you ain’t no hero, Anson Dane.
    That ain’t my name no more.
    That’s the name ya done cut off when ya cut yerself off… after. Thought you