Free ocalypse (Book 10): Drawl (Duncan's Story) by Shawn Chesser Page B

counted a hundred and eighty
dollars. Folded it in his palm and crossed the small front room on his way to
the kitchen.
    Unfazed, Duncan said, “You hear about the stuff happening in
the swamp ?”
    “You mean D.C.?” Charlie called from the kitchen. “President
Odero is telling everyone in the District to stay put. Then he raised the
threat level at the same time he’s telling everyone this is going to pass real
quick. Not twenty minutes passes and BBC News is showing Air Force One taking
off from Andrews.”
    “Stock video footage, ya think?”
    Charlie shook his head no. He said, “I’m sure it was being
broadcast live.”
    “What’s good for the gander, eh?”
    “He must have gotten cold feet, or new information …” Charlie
took an envelope from behind a row of canned vegetables high up in the
cupboard. He looked over his shoulder and stuffed the cash in with the previous
rent installment he’d collected from his dear, though oft-troubled, friend. “… because
there were other reports coming in that his plane circled D.C. a few times
before landing back at Andrews. Strange behavior unless they decided for some
reason he needed to be in that flying command bird of his.”
    “What’s that all about, ya think?” Duncan drawled, still
sounding sleepy.
    “I have no idea,” Charlie replied, stretching to full length
in order to slip the envelope back where he had taken it from. “Where’d you get
the cash? Tilly finally pay you for all the odd jobs?”
    “Wouldn’t take it if she did,” Duncan answered, his frame
now filling up the entry to the tiny kitchen. “My numbers hit.”
    Charlie shook his head. “Thought you were done with that.
And I thought you were supposed to be out looking for a paying gig.”
    “I’m borderline geezer, now, Chuck. So are you. Hell, every time
I go up to the VA hospital they want to stick something up my tailpipe. Going
up that hill makes me more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of
rocking chairs.”
    Charlie had his hands planted on his hips. The vein snaking
down his temple was beginning to throb because the money he’d just squirreled
away was eventually going to be returned to his friend once he found work. To
help pay for first and last on a place of his own. A new start, so to speak. Now,
however, he wasn’t so sure if that was sound strategy.
    “You’re not that old,” he said. “You just can’t put
down the bottle. And that leads to you taking shortcuts to try and get ahead.”
    “Tell that to the AARP,” replied Duncan, ignoring the latter
part of the previous statement. “Those bloodsuckers have been trying to get
their hooks into me since I turned the old double nickel.”
    “Sixty is the new forty.”
    “I’m not sixty, a-hole,” Duncan said playfully.
    Charlie laughed. “You’re closer to sixty than fifty, though.” And your liver is pushing seventy .
    Duncan pushed past the shorter man, muttering something about
the pot calling the kettle black. He opened the fridge and took out the next to
last Budweiser. Working on a decision, he paused for a second with the cool
draft hitting his face. Shrugging, he reached back in and snagged the last
bottle by its slender neck.
    When the door sucked shut, Charlie was reaching out to
receive one of the beers. But there was no handoff as Duncan spun the other way,
raised both bottles out of reach, and crabbed past Charlie on his way back to the
sagging sofa.
    “You’re never going to change, are you, Old Man?”
    “Hope not,” Duncan replied. “Because they broke the mold
when they made me.” He sat down hard on the couch, getting jabbed in the butt by
a faulty spring for it. Grimacing, he scooted sideways a foot, snatched up the
remote and turned on the television. “Come get yer beer, ya crybaby. Let’s see
what the snakes in D.C. are up to now.” And as he took a swig of his Bud,
he couldn’t help but think about Matilda, an old family friend he called ‘Aunt’
whose tiny