Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Thomas - Day 758

James’s head flung back in a fit of laughter, but once he composed himself, the words that followed were serious. “Don’t forget what I did for you.”

He tried his best to beat back Thomas’s glare with his own but only managed to look foolish. If he were to take a few steps forward, his head would be just under Thomas’s chin. There would be no intimidating Thomas, not by James.

“All’s I’m saying,” James continued, “is you need to try and remember who saved who. When the shit hit the fan, who got you out of there?”

Thomas shook his head then spoke slowly for effect. “I appreciate what you did for me, I get it, but our arrangement is much different than it used to be. Unfortunately for you, rank doesn’t carry over to the Second Alliance from the Army.”

James scowled. Thomas’s words had clearly stung him.

“I’ll never forget Syria,” Thomas said. “Maybe that’s why you feel… whatever the hell this is, maybe that you think I owe you. I don’t know what the hell it is that goes through your head sometimes. What you did was disgusting. I don’t care why you did it. We got out of there, but…” Thomas wiped across his mouth. “I don’t care that we had a falling out just as long as you remember that what I say goes this time around. If you don’t remember anything else, remember that.”

James turned his back to him and began skimming through a magazine. Thomas was certain he hadn’t seen the cover—a Time magazine criticizing the Syrian War and the U.S.’s response. It wasn’t exactly his taste. Thomas took this opportunity to double check Joseph’s overnight bag, occasionally checking on James. He finally tossed the magazine onto the kitchen counter and looked back to Thomas. “We’re a team. Just like old times, right?”

Thomas barely brought his attention from the Joseph’s bag.

“I’m only messing with you.” James tried to save face. “I figured coming in like that would get a rise out of you.”

Thomas knew this move, had seen it before, another last-ditch effort to save face. “You’re not pulling that crap with me. I’m not some gullible moron you can pull this over on. Listen! We’re doing our jobs and that’s it. I don’t care about anything else.”

“I said we’re good, man. Damn!” James smacked him on the shoulder. “Lighten up! Live a little.”

“We’ll see.” Thomas grabbed his gear from the floor and reached for the doorknob. “You ready then?”

“You in that big of a hurry?” He started shuffling the pieces of a chess board that sat on the kitchen counter. He fixated on the white knight, picking it up and staring at it in an odd manner, almost longingly. “I saw you talking with the rat man. He offer you any of his special meat? Chuck’s chuck?” James started laughing.

Thomas waited for the laughter to fade then tried once again to get him out the door, but James started in again. “Still surprises the shit out of me they didn’t banish his ass for serving rat meat. I mean… I guess it makes sense for easy meat, but shit man… rats.” He started toward his equipment. “What a nut,” James mumbled, as he brought his rucksack onto his shoulders and slung his rifle across his chest. “I know you’re in a big type of rush, but I gotta grab a soup from the cart.”

“I’m good with that.”

Thomas confirmed that he hadn’t secured the deadbolt, and the two of them started down the stairs. Kate’s door sat open, and Thomas set Joseph’s overnight bag just inside. She was busy sorting through some photographs at her coffee table. He gave her a quick nod and a wave. “If I forgot anything, the door’s unlocked upstairs. Thanks again.”

“I hear ya.” She scooted them on with a few flicks of her wrist. “Be safe you two.”

The gate to the breezeway crashed again as they made their way back onto the street. “I don’t see how you do it, man,” James said. “I don’t understand why you don’t give him up. Let one of the Mothers take him in. Make it easier on yourself.”

“I made a promise.”

“They aren’t around to know any better. What’s he—”

“Don’t even start on that. Your spoiled ass has been with the S.A. since it started. You don’t know what it’s like to take care of someone besides yourself. You know how many times I had to stuff him in a closet to handle some shit, then come back, just praying that he’d still be there? You know how terrifying that is? To have someone like the Butcher get a hold of Joseph?”

James stood in silence.

“I joined the S.A. for a better life,” Thomas continued, “not just for me, but him too. If something happens to me, then and only then, will one of the Mothers take him.”

“I’m just saying…”

“That’s not how I operate. I keep my promises. Let it go. It doesn’t affect you, so don’t worry about it.”

“It affects you.”

“Just get the damn soup.”

“You’ve been through here, right?” James asked, pointing toward the last entry gate into the Queensgate Yard.

“Barely and it’s been awhile.”

“Then you won’t mind me leading.” He broke past Thomas almost as quickly as he had said it.

Thomas gazed through the fence before stepping through—briefly ingesting what this truly meant—his transition from merely observing from afar, eyeing the worn paths where gravel had been scattered, to his own journey, his boots adding to the wear of the rail yard, stomping over the crabgrass and purslane that flourished through the cracks in the exposed earth, his boots navigating through the rows of abandoned trains that bore the scrawling of colored mischief and dead trademarks. This was indeed the tipping point. This day.

“Hustle up!”

He caught up to James, and the two of them traveled as closely as possible to the boxcars, trying to remain hidden from those that may wish them harm, but as far as Thomas could tell, they would be surrounded by nothing but picked-over rail cars and a few service buildings.

“We’ll stay like this on up to Camp Washington and then cut up to the school on Probasco St.”

“It’s going to be hard to keep an eye on things from down here.”

“There won’t be anyone for us to see down here. Hell, you know that—you watch this yard more than anyone I know.” James continued to amuse himself with another snide comment at Thomas’s expense.

Thomas swore he could see James’s smile stretching round toward the back of his head as he walked. There wasn’t a point in trying to confront him again. All he could do was roll his eyes. He had already said his piece, and this would probably be the last time he’d have to work with him. There’s no changing him. Be the bigger man. Be the one who bridges the gap. I hate to say it, but I need him on this. Just let him lead through here and use his knowledge to make sure we get promoted.

James seemed unconcerned with the idea of any threat as he pushed on with a confident swagger. His rifle hung from his shoulder, swinging as he walked—not a care in the world. He’s too damn cocky. While James continued on, paying no attention to the crunching sound of their boots against the small stones which made covert movement impossible, Thomas took nothing for granted. He carried his rifle at a low ready with the index finger riding alongside the frame. It was only occasionally, and by Thomas’s request, that they stopped to see if anyone’s carelessness would ring out, checking for those distant indicators of ill intention.

“How many missions are you up to now?” Thomas curious to what point James would feel so comfortable outside the walls.

“Enough. I really can’t remember—too many to keep count.”