The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

The Real Rescuers

Previously: "The Littlest Possible Help" 

Carson is cut from the same mold as Caleb: a gawky, skinny science nerd. But he's also got some street smarts—it's how come he can prank the school jocks—and is pretty fearless. So maybe you shouldn't have been so shocked to find him out here.

You, on the other hand, have no science smarts and precious little street smarts. So of course he's got every right to be shocked at finding you here.

So you can't really get mad at him for demanding to know what the fuck you are doing here. Especially as it wasn't really your idea to come.

"I'm on a rescue mission, or something," you mutter as you peer past him.

"What?"

"There's some guys here that aren't supposed to be here. Freshman, sophomore types. I'm supposed to come get them, take them outta here."

Carson stares, then swivels his head to take in the room.

"The fuck business is it of yours?" he demands when he turns back to you. "If people wanna come out here to have fun—"

"I don't know!" You are now starting to get really pissed at him, because he's asking questions you can't answer, questions you should have put to Tiffany and Mattie. "These girls I was with— They heard that one of their friend's kid sister is here, and they were both, like, Go get them out of there for us!" You make a face and cross your arms and dodge Carson's eyes. "So here I am, trying to get them, as a favor to those girls."

Carson stares at you some more, then mutters, "Jesus." He looks around again. "So where are they? They here?"

"Yeah, they're in that booth. The girl. Don't stare!"

"I'll stare if I want, man," he says. Then he adds, "What's wrong with 'em being out here."

"She's kinda young, isn't she?"

Carson snorts.

"They gotta come out here sometime. And she's got more balls than you've got. Have you ever been out here?"

"Bite me, douchebag."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. So how are you getting them out of here? Through the awesome power of standing in doorways?"

"I'm getting some help."

"From who?"

When you don't answer, Carson gets a pained expression. Then he shakes his head and trudges back whence he came, to flop back into his chair and mutter at James.

They're watching you still when Emily reappears, inside a doorway on the far side of the saloon. She's got a guy with her.

Not until you've got a good look at him do you realize that there are number of guys like him in the saloon: burly assholes in red t-shirts and jeans, with lanyards and whistles dangling from their necks. You just took them to be the kind of assholes you'd expect to find somewhere like this: Jocks rocking a place where they can manhandle girls and shove guys like you into walls. But something about the way they swagger around puts you more in mind of cops. That and the way they are all dressed in red shirts suddenly causes you to think Security.

Not that this makes you feel any safer when one of them comes barreling past.

The one with Emily is a guy you might have seen at school before, but he didn't make an impression if he did. He's tall and wide-shouldered, but not built like a refrigerator or anything, though he does have a visible chest under the ripple of his t-shirt, and he carries himself with the confidence of someone who can throw a punch. He has dark hair cut pretty short, and dark, narrow eyes set in a narrow face. But he's not unhandsome.

As you watch, his eyes flick over the room as Emily talks, settling briefly on you before settling more lingeringly on the girl you came out to get. He murmurs a quick word at Emily, then makes a wide, casual saunter of the room. You stiffen (you can't help it) as he draws up close to you.

"There's a couple of people here you're supposed to take out?" he asks you in a low voice while surveying the room.

"Yeah. The girl in that booth, and the guy with his arm around her, I guess." You're getting tired of pointing them out. "She's got a sister who thinks she shouldn't be here."

"And her boyfriend too?"

"I guess. I was asked to bring both of them home."

He nods curtly.

"Okay, you go outside and wait. I'll bring 'em to you. But it's your job to keep 'em out if you don't want 'em coming back again."

You look over (and up—he's got two inches on you, at least) to find him giving you a very steady look.

"That's her sister's job," you correct him. "I'm just the poor asshole got stuck with getting them out of here tonight."

He smiles thinly, but his eyes warm a little, and he pushes off. He's wearing heavy boots, you notice as you turn to go outside.

Emily catches up to you a minute later.

"I guess it's all set," she says. "Blake is such a cuddle-bunny, I could kiss him all over. Can you handle them once they're out here?"

"I guess I'll have to," you repeat.

"Well, I'm going back in. I'm glad I could help you."

That's when you realize you haven't thanked her for her help. So you do, and ask her to pass the same along to Blake.

"Sure, and you're welcome. What school do you go to?"

"Westside."

"Me too! Maybe I'll look for you. I'll recognize your hat, at least."

She's gone before you can think to tell her that you don't wear the cowboy hat to school.

* * * * *

The two you were sent for come shuffling out a few minutes later, looking mad enough to scream. The girl—Bree—looks especially angry, and she shrieks and snarls at you. The guy—Jonas—only glares.

"Hey, I'm just the guy sent to get you," you tell them. "You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Tiffany and Mattie."

You turn to walk toward your truck. After taking a few steps you look back. Bree is locked in place, thrashing from the hips up and snarling, while Jonas seems to be coaxing her along. He gives you a quick, helpless look. You hold up a finger, indicating him to wait, then get your truck. They are waiting there still when you drive up, and he has to manhandle her into the cabin before crawling in after.

"Where'm I taking you?" you ask after you are on the street.

"Back!" Bree snarls.

"Where's Lacie and them?" Jonas asks.

"Legends, I guess."

"I'm not—" Bree starts to say. Then she screeches and bats off Jonas when he tries putting his arms around her.

You have to drive aimlessly around the city—the safer commercial district—for a bit as they mutter with each other. Finally, Jonas, with an air of aggrieved defeat, tells you to take them back to "Bree's place." He's the one who gives you directions.

And when you drop them off in front of a pleasant-looking house in a pleasant neighborhood down by the river, he asks you to wait a couple of minutes "in case I come back."

He does come back, too, crawling into the cabin like a whipped cur. "Jesus," he sighs.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

"It's not your fault," he says. "Oh, fuck," he adds, "yeah it is. But I get it." He folds himself up over on his side of the cab.

"Where am I taking you?" you ask.

"My house, I guess." He gives you an address, and a short set of directions. After you've driven a block he says, "I've never seen you around with Lacie and them."

"I don't even really know them," you confess. "I only really met them today, we wound up hanging out."

He looks over at you. "And you just came out to get Bree and me when they asked?" His tone is both accusing and incredulous.

"They asked me. They said there wasn't anyone else they could send."

"There's no one else who'd go! All the other guys, they'd just tell 'em to fuck off!"

"Well, they asked me."

"Oh fuck!" he snarls. "Just let me out here!" You're pulling to a stop at a sign anyway, but the truck's still moving as he throws the door open and jumps out. "Go fuck yourself, asshole!" he yells into the truck before he slams the door shut.

You bite down on your own anger, and wait until he's stalked half a block off before turning your truck around.

Of course, you steer for home.

* * * * *

You feel nothing but aggravation, and you're feeling it still the next morning as you get ready for church. How is it that you went out last night looking for fun and maybe a chance with a girl, and you wound up ruining another's guy's night and getting him and his girlfriend pissed off at you? You'd like to put the blame on Tiffany and Mattie, but you know that you're the one who is to blame. For, as Jonas basically pointed out before cursing you out, you could have told them you wouldn't.

There's two texts on your phone when you turn it back on after church. You wince at both of them.

The first is from Carson, asking if you want to get together with him to do something. You're still not happy with him from last night, but maybe he wants to make amends for being kind of a jerk.

The second is from Lacie, gushing with gratitude over the "massive favor" you did for her last night, and inviting you out to her family's restaurant for lunch. On me, she adds.

* To see Carson: "Carson Serves a Swerve" 
* To see Lacie: "The Hero Gets His Reward" 
* To see neither: "After the Magic Has Shriveled" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"