Cause and Effect

Chapter 23

penultimate [pəˈnəltəmət]

(adj). the last but one in a series of things; the second to last

//--//--//

He'd kind of expected Dutch to be relieved he was back, to give him a oh son, I'm glad you're back at the very least, and a smoke and a talk at the very most. 

Not this whirlwind of paranoia that swept around him, acknowledging his presence with a nod and addressing the papers pinned up on the walls like they would swoop down and grant him passage somewhere where his mind couldn't torment him. 

Arthur felt a burst of sadness for his childhood. 

For the times when it had been him and Hosea and Dutch, and Dutch was carefree and reckless, but it was the good kind of reckless, the type that was harmless and fun, and made his cheeks hurt from laughing so much. The times when Dutch would let him drive his bike, when Hosea had been real adamant about him not driving one, and he'd tasted that high of racing along empty backroads for the first time, and Dutch had just smiled like he knew. 

Missed that connection the two of them used to have, of bikes and racing and hot summer nights and secrets. 

Well, harmless secrets, like the secrets they kept from Hosea, type of secrets. Not like now, never like now, and Arthur's heart twisted as he slowly took a seat, waiting for the man across from him to turn back into the man he had remembered so well. 

"Did you hear?" Dutch looked wild, a word Arthur would never thought would fit the man, but fit now. He needed to shave, the stubble on his face past the five o'clock phase. He tucked hands in his armpits, nodding slowly, and glancing over at Hosea. 

"I heard." 

"O'Driscolls up north," he rammed a pin into a map. "Got that fucker," the venom in his voice made Arthur cringe. "Montez and his gang of degenerates down all around us," crammed a few pins to emphasize the point. "And we got the feds too." Another pin, down near Houston. "What did they say?"

"The feds?" Arthur shrugged. "Not much really, jus' wanted to know 'bout you, and the guns. Tried sweatin' me out, by leavin' me in isolation, but it didn't work. Point is they know for a fact we all are ridin' official now. Take that as you will."

"John didn't say anything?" Dutch was inspecting the map, and Arthur passed a hand over his hair. He needed a shower bad. 

"No, got us both out too. Marston didn't talk, if that's what you were afraid of." Arthur glanced between Dutch and the wall, and then stood up from where he was leaning against the table. "Dutch, when's the last time you slept, huh?"

Dutch fixed him with a look he couldn't decipher. "Ain't got time for that son," he said softly, and Arthur laughed. 

"Ain't got time for you fallin' over either, Dutch." He made his voice big and loud, making it fill up the room with a false sense of confidence that he felt himself sorely needing. "You take an hour or so, me'n'Hosea, we'll take a look at some of your notes, alright? Talk to you when you wake up, figure out how to light out of here."

Dutch didn't move, and Arthur felt the air shift. 

"The guns got stolen off of us," he said quietly. "Our handler double-crossed us and sold us out to the del Lobos, and we lost the guns. How do you think that happened?"

Arthur stared at him, before shaking his head. "Wasn't here for that, but I'm real sorry 'bout what happ--"

"Why didn't John say anything about Montez?"