In fact, considering Davy’s current mood, perhaps the kerosene lamps were best left unlit.
Shadows were swallowing the room. The west window was a light show, ranging from fire-edged pink to mauve to deep, cobalt blue. A star hung in it. OK, a planet—Venus, if he recalled Dad’s astronomy lectures correctly.
But Davy wasn’t enjoying the sunset. He assaulted the cupboard, and another handle came loose. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Goddamn flimsy rotten piece of shit.” He hurled it against the opposite wall.
Crash, the handle hit a picture. Sean winced as glass shattered.
This was unnerving. Davy usually maintained near-pathological control over his emotions, with the notable exception of his passion for Margot, his new wife. On a normal day, it took the emotional equivalent of a catastrophic earthquake to make him lose his temper.
Davy rummaged through the cupboards. “I know there’s a bottle of Scotch around here. Unless you drank it and didn’t replace it.”
“Nope. I wouldn’t drink that stuff if you held a gun to my head. Would you calm the fuck down? You’re making me tense.”
“I’m making you tense?” Davy spun and kicked the swinging door. Smash, and one side dangled forlornly from its bent, twisted hinge. “I’m the one who bailed your ass out, and I am making you tense?”
“You did not technically bail me out,” Sean pointed out. “I was not technically under arrest! I didn’t—”
“Nah, just hanging out in the interrogation room for fun, chatting on the technical aspects of car bomb construction with local officers of the law. All of whom think you’re a delinquent. Many of whom, like Roarke, have personal reasons to hate your guts—”
“That’s not my fault!” Sean protested.
“You’ve been using that excuse ever since you learned to talk!”
“Well, sometimes it’s valid. And you did not bail me out,” Sean said obstinately. “No money changed hands. And you guys are my alibi for last night, so there’s no reason to get all—”
“Oh, yeah? How lucky is that? How does it look, that you’re so fucking unstable that your brothers have to follow you around to make sure you don’t hurt yourself when you go out drinking and whoring?”
“Whoa! Harsh words! Those girls were not whores! They just like to party! They were very sweet, cute, ah—sexually emancipated—”
“Aw, shut up,” Davy snarled. “Imagine the scene if we hadn’t followed you. Can you tell us where you were the morning of August the eighteenth, Mr. McCloud? Uh, well, Officer, I was having a drunken clusterfuck with some chicks that I met at the Hole, but I don’t remember their names. They had nice butt cheeks. Gave great head.”
“I do, too, remember their names!” Sean pondered for a moment. “Their first names, anyhow,” he amended.
Davy snorted like a maddened stallion and kicked the wall.
“It’s not like you guys have to follow me around all the time,” Sean argued. “I’m usually a good, solid citizen. It’s only on August—”
“The eighteenth, yeah. Think about it, if you remember how that’s done. Is it in your best interests for anybody to remember that today is the anniversary of your twin brother’s truck bursting into flames?”
Sean sat without breathing. “Maybe not,” he conceded.
Davy slammed both fists onto the countertop. The jars rattled nervously on the shelves. “Where the fuck is my whiskey?”
Sean got up with a frustrated sigh. He spotted the bottle, in plain sight on top of the propane refrigerator, and handed it to his brother.
Davy yanked out the stopper and sloshed a shot into the glass. He drained it, and fell into the chair. It creaked under his weight.
A heavy silence fell between them. Davy was a master at heavy silences. Sean was not, as a rule. He liked movement, dynamism, noise. But he felt tired enough to stare blankly into the dark today.
He chose his words carefully when he finally broke the silence.
“You’ve already ripped my head off about my past stupid stunts,” he said. “I don’t feel like getting lectured for them all over again.”
“Oh, no.” Davy poured another shot. “No, you did plenty of brand new stupid stuff. The last time you got within a hundred yards of Liv Endicott, you landed in jail. Did that fun fact flash through your head?”
“If I’d stayed away, Liv and Madden would be fine particles in the stratosphere, and there would be a crater where the Trinket Trove Gift Emporium used to be.” Sean pointed out. “Be glad that didn’t happen.”
“That’s not the fucking point,” Davy muttered.
“Then what is the point? For Christ’s sake, enlighten me.”
“The point is, you’re doing it again. Putting yourself in the worst possible place at the worst possible time! Throwing yourself in front of a locomotive because you’re bored, or someone dares you, or you want to impress some girl. Or you feel like shit and can’t handle your feelings. You never apply logic. And I’m getting déjà vu. I’ve said this all before.”
“Many times,” Sean confirmed, his voice heavy with resignation. “Lecture 967. Impulse Control. Part C: Actions Have Consequences.”
“And you know what burns my ass the most?”
Sean cringed. “Uh…shoot, Davy, I’m not sure if I do.”
“This is all about your dick!” Davy yelled. “You can’t keep your pants zipped to save your life, so you end up in custody, surrounded by people who would love to see you burn in hell. Every fucking time.”
“What was I supposed to do? Slink away like a whipped dog?” Sean flung his hands up, helpless. “The thing with the police, I don’t know why the fuck that keeps happening to me. I swear to God, I don’t go looking for them.”
Davy snorted. “Right. No clue. Like when you lost your scholarship and got thrown out of school. Why? For boffing the Dean’s trophy wife. No thought for consequences. No thought for your future. Your brain just kicks back and lets your glands run the show.”
Sean fidgeted on his chair. “She came on to me,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, don’t they always. I bet she had to tie you down.”
Sean tried to recollect the details. “Now that you mention it, she was pretty adventurous that way. She had a closet full of fun toys—”
“Zip it, you smart-ass punk. I’m not in the mood for your crap.”
“When are you ever? I don’t blame the woman. Hot, sexy thing, married to a physics nerd with dandruff in his eyebrows. I was just a squeeze-toy for her. And she was so good at squeezing my—”
“Shut your flapping face before I put my fist through it.”
Sean
