bed, since the bunker door wasn’t very large.
In the doorway stood a hunched, dark form. It leaned into the light and looked up at Quinton—he’s a little shorter than I am, so the figure was hunkered down pretty small. It was a dark-skinned man, but I couldn’t tell if that was natural or just dirt. He held out a metal box—some kind of electrical equipment to judge by the colored wires hanging off it. He was shaking and looking behind himself, wrapped in a twitchy haze of substance withdrawal.
“Hey, Q-man. I brought you the radio. See, I said I would. It’s OK, right?”
Quinton took the radio and looked it over. “Yeah, this’ll be good. Hang on.” He went to one of the tables, put down the radio, and picked up a palm-sized object made of black PVC pipe with a couple of metal horns sticking off one end. He carried it back to the door and started to hand it to the man. Then he hesitated.
“You know how to use this?”
“Yeah, yeah!” the guy said, reaching out for the thing.
Quinton looked askance at him and kept the black tube just out of reach. “Sure, Lass. Let me show you, just in case. You hold the plain end and you push the button on the side, see.” A blue-white ribbon of electricity jumped between the horns with a crack. “Make sure that bit’s touching the bad guy when you push the button, OK?”
The hunched man nodded vigorously and accepted the shock gun. “Yeah, yeah. OK. Got it.”
“No shocking Tanker’s dog, all right?”
“He scares me! I don’t like . . . animals,” he added, shooting another glance behind himself.
“Avoid him. If you take out that dog, Tank’ll take you out— zap gun or no zap gun. Got it?”
Lass hung his head. “Yeah, yeah . . . No shocking the dog. I got other ways around that dog. . . . All right. Just the creepy guys. And monsters.”
“Monsters? What monsters?” Quinton asked, intense.
The smaller man looked startled and backed up a step. “You know. The things that come out of the walls, up out of the holes, the sewer . . .” Lass’s voice got shrill and he started to shake harder.
“Ah. Those. Yeah. That’s all right. You go ahead and shock the hell out those,” Quinton said, patting the man on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right.”
The other man nodded and tucked the little device into his pocket. “Yeah. OK. Thanks, Q-man.” He scampered off into what looked like a brick corridor beyond the door.
Quinton closed the wooden portal and turned back to me. “Want that beer now?”
“Sure,” I said, relaxing into a chair I pulled out from under one of the tables. I was reassured by the little scene that Quinton wasn’t a dangerous lunatic who had lured me to his lair to kill me or something. Lass would have been an easier mark and less likely to cause complications.
Quinton gave me a New Belgium Brewing Company bottle that had lost its label. “Mystery beer—figured it was a better risk than the Rolling Rock.”
I made a face while Quinton uncapped the brown bottle for me. The contents proved to be Sunshine Wheat. That was fine.
“Does that sort of visit happen often?” I asked.
Quinton quirked his mouth up on one side and frowned a little. “Not quite like that. People do ask me to fix things or solve problems, but Lass’s been really freaked out lately and wanted something to drive the spooks off—he’s been trying to quit drinking again, and he gets jittery and crazy.”
“So, he’s got DTs—hallucinating and that sort of thing.”
“Maybe. He’s sure there’s someone after him, but around here there may well be. Vampires turn up around here sometimes, hunting.”
“You know, Quinton, you’re pretty calm about the vampire thing. Most people don’t believe they exist. Most people don’t believe in anything
In the doorway stood a hunched, dark form. It leaned into the light and looked up at Quinton—he’s a little shorter than I am, so the figure was hunkered down pretty small. It was a dark-skinned man, but I couldn’t tell if that was natural or just dirt. He held out a metal box—some kind of electrical equipment to judge by the colored wires hanging off it. He was shaking and looking behind himself, wrapped in a twitchy haze of substance withdrawal.
“Hey, Q-man. I brought you the radio. See, I said I would. It’s OK, right?”
Quinton took the radio and looked it over. “Yeah, this’ll be good. Hang on.” He went to one of the tables, put down the radio, and picked up a palm-sized object made of black PVC pipe with a couple of metal horns sticking off one end. He carried it back to the door and started to hand it to the man. Then he hesitated.
“You know how to use this?”
“Yeah, yeah!” the guy said, reaching out for the thing.
Quinton looked askance at him and kept the black tube just out of reach. “Sure, Lass. Let me show you, just in case. You hold the plain end and you push the button on the side, see.” A blue-white ribbon of electricity jumped between the horns with a crack. “Make sure that bit’s touching the bad guy when you push the button, OK?”
The hunched man nodded vigorously and accepted the shock gun. “Yeah, yeah. OK. Got it.”
“No shocking Tanker’s dog, all right?”
“He scares me! I don’t like . . . animals,” he added, shooting another glance behind himself.
“Avoid him. If you take out that dog, Tank’ll take you out— zap gun or no zap gun. Got it?”
Lass hung his head. “Yeah, yeah . . . No shocking the dog. I got other ways around that dog. . . . All right. Just the creepy guys. And monsters.”
“Monsters? What monsters?” Quinton asked, intense.
The smaller man looked startled and backed up a step. “You know. The things that come out of the walls, up out of the holes, the sewer . . .” Lass’s voice got shrill and he started to shake harder.
“Ah. Those. Yeah. That’s all right. You go ahead and shock the hell out those,” Quinton said, patting the man on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right.”
The other man nodded and tucked the little device into his pocket. “Yeah. OK. Thanks, Q-man.” He scampered off into what looked like a brick corridor beyond the door.
Quinton closed the wooden portal and turned back to me. “Want that beer now?”
“Sure,” I said, relaxing into a chair I pulled out from under one of the tables. I was reassured by the little scene that Quinton wasn’t a dangerous lunatic who had lured me to his lair to kill me or something. Lass would have been an easier mark and less likely to cause complications.
Quinton gave me a New Belgium Brewing Company bottle that had lost its label. “Mystery beer—figured it was a better risk than the Rolling Rock.”
I made a face while Quinton uncapped the brown bottle for me. The contents proved to be Sunshine Wheat. That was fine.
“Does that sort of visit happen often?” I asked.
Quinton quirked his mouth up on one side and frowned a little. “Not quite like that. People do ask me to fix things or solve problems, but Lass’s been really freaked out lately and wanted something to drive the spooks off—he’s been trying to quit drinking again, and he gets jittery and crazy.”
“So, he’s got DTs—hallucinating and that sort of thing.”
“Maybe. He’s sure there’s someone after him, but around here there may well be. Vampires turn up around here sometimes, hunting.”
“You know, Quinton, you’re pretty calm about the vampire thing. Most people don’t believe they exist. Most people don’t believe in anything
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