“That female was not meant for me,” he said. “So I don’t think I ever loved her in the way you mean. We were never together.”

“How did you know her?”

“She lived in the same village I did. Back… home. In the Old Country. I knew her because I was—” He swallowed. “Anyway.”

“What,” Jo said. “Please, just tell me. This is really helping.”

There were streetlights mounted up high on poles, and as they passed them by, the illumination came through the sunroof’s transparent panel. As the gentle strobing bathed he and Jo to a slow beat, he found that he was glad they were in a car and she had to focus on the road ahead. On the other drivers out with them, though there were few. On the red lights and the intersections.

There was no way in hell he could have gotten through any of this if she’d been staring him in the face.

“I was poor,” he said. “Not the poor where you want things you can’t have. Not the poor where you’re bitter about what other people are doing or what they own. Poor like you don’t know if you’re going to be eating at nightfall. Like you aren’t sure whether there will be clothes for you to wear. Like if you get sick, you’re going to die and you’re okay with that because all you know is how hungry and thirsty and tired you are.”

“God, Syn—”

When she reached over and put her hand on the sleeve of his leather jacket, he moved away sharply. “No. I’m going to get through this once and then I’m never speaking of it to you again. And you’re not going to touch me when I’m talking.”

“But I feel bad—”

“I don’t care.” He looked over at her. “You want a pound of flesh, fine. I get it. Hell, it’s even a fair thing to ask. Do not pity me, though. You can fuck off with your sympathy. I’m not asking for it and I’m not interested in it. Are we clear?”

There was a brief pause. And then she nodded with a sadness that was palpable.

“Crystal clear,” she said quietly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Inside the downtown garage bay, Butch paced back and forth across the space where Manny’s surgical RV chilled out when it wasn’t in use in the field, transporting someone to the clinic for treatment, or being worked on back at the training center.

He checked his watch. Paced some more.

The garage was a nifty bolt-hole on the edge of the field, and the two-story, steel-girded lockdown was stocked with all kinds of supplies: Medical crap. Mechanical crap. Food crap.

Crap, crap, crap—where the fuck was V?

Muttering to himself, Butch walked over to where he’d parked his roommate’s car off to one side, popped the trunk’s release, and went to the four rings on the hood. Lifting up the panel, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, took off his silk shirt, and put on his long-sleeved base layer. In the warmer months, he wore muscle shirts, but they were not there yet with the temperature. It was still cold as balls out there as far as he was concerned.

As he undid his belt and dropped his slacks to the tops of his loafers, he sensed he was no longer alone.

Kicking off his shoes, he said, “It’s for your own safety, and where the hell have you been.”

“I had to go back to the Pit for smokes. Something told me I’d need them.” There was a shcht as V lit up. “And that whole safety argument did not fly with you. What makes you think it’ll work on me?”

Butch stepped to the left and picked up his pants, folding them precisely down the creases and putting them with his good clothes, a sandwich of Armani. “Because you’re smarter than I am. Always have been—and if you try and deny this, I will remind you of alllll the times you’ve felt compelled to point the happy fact out.”

Grabbing his leathers, he pulled them into place, hopping on the balls of his feet to get them over his bare ass.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, cop.”

“There are about twenty other people who can back me up.” He turned around and tucked in his shirt. Then buttoned things up down below. “There’s only one who can Simonize me.”

V exhaled a stream of smoke and leaned back against a counter that had a tool box and six silver jugs of Valvoline Full Synthetic Advanced 0W-20 motor oil on it.

“That metaphor doesn’t work. I’m not buffing and polishing you.”

“Oh, my God.” Butch clapped his hands. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Excuse me?”

“See? You’re smart enough to know about that metaphor thingy not working out. Therefore you are smarter than I am. Henceforth, the logic of you staying the fuck home is more immediately apparent to the likes of you because you’re a fucking brainiac.”

“FYI, you don’t get more points for your argument by tossing around ‘therefore’ and ‘henceforth.’ ”

“It’s the only recourse an idiot like me has.”

“And the last time someone used the word ‘brainiac’ in a sentence was when Flock of Seagulls was hitting the charts and AT&T was ordered to break up.”

“Thank you, Alex Trebek.” Butch bent down and picked his chest holster up out of the trunk. “And by all means, let’s keep talking. It’s just making me look dumber which is a big help to my side of this debate.”

V seemed nonplussed for a moment. “Are you aware of what you’re saying?”

Strapping on his daggers, handles down, Butch shook his head. “Not a clue. Which is what stupid people do, right? Not smart people. Like you.”

He put his ammo belt around his waist. Stocked the guns on either side. Checked his bullets. Then he put his leather jacket on.

“What about your boots?” V muttered.

“You know, unless you’d mentioned them, I would have forgotten to put them on.”

“Don’t you dare sit your ass down on the front of my car.”

“Not to worry. I might be dumb, but I don’t have a death wish.”

Shutting the hood, Butch parked it on the concrete floor by the front air dam and drew socks on. Put his feet in shitkickers. Laced things up.

He grunted as he went back onto the vertical. Jogging everything into place, he put his hands on his hips and stared across the vacancy of the garage.

“You wanted to kill me the first night we met,” he said.

“Still do.”

“But we’re a long way from that now. And if I’m going to do what I need to out there, I can’t be worried about you.”

As V started to look around, Butch went over to a table and picked up a half-full bottle of Coke. “You ash on the good doctor’s floor, he’s going to operate on something you can’t grow back.”

When he cracked the top, there wasn’t a fizz to be heard or seen. “Here.”

V took what was offered and tapped his hand-rolled over the open neck. “I’m not going to let you die out there.”

“The Omega is going to come after you. That he hasn’t already makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s not that smart.”

“You know that’s not…” Butch rubbed his temples as they started to ache.