21

Darryl rose from the bed and stepped to the window. He’d tried to nap, but as tired as he felt, sleep wouldn’t come. His mind wouldn’t stop racing, running high and hot but stuck in neutral and not going nowhere.

He wasn’t thinking about the future because he didn’t have one. He had AIDS, man. Fucking AIDS. What wouldn’t leave his head was the question of how. How-how-how?

He’d lain there, searching through his past, looking for a way the virus could have gotten into his body. And then it came to him. That one summer years ago . . .

Stupid! What a fucking idiot he’d been.

He looked down at the street from his third-floor window. The sun was dropping but still had a good ways to go. He had his window open despite the heat. No air-conditioning in this old building, but he didn’t mind. He chilled so easily these days. The place was built like a fortress with thick stone walls that kept out the heat. The open window let some in.

How long did he have? He’d have asked the doc but was sure all he’d get was bullshit, any excuse to fill him with drugs that would only make him feel worse and wouldn’t work anyway.

His bladder started complaining so he headed out into the hall and down to the john. Too bad he didn’t have his own bathroom, but no one did. No one had been living here until the Kickers moved in. The Septimus Order had used it only as an office building and meeting space for a long time, but they’d offered it to Hank for his use. That seemed generous, but Darryl was sure there was something in it for the Order. They’d told Hank that certain of their goals coincided, but hadn’t come right out and said which ones.

He stepped into the bathroom. It had two urinals, a toilet stall, and a shower. He was bellied up to a urinal, relieving himself, when a burly, bearded Kicker named Hagaman came in. He lived down the other end of the hall.

“Shit! What’re you doin’ in here?”

“Drivin’ a cab. What’s it look like?”

“You shouldn’t be in here, man.”

Darryl had a sudden bad feeling about what was coming.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you got the sickness, you got the AIDS, and shouldn’t be around, spreadin’ it.”

“Fuck you!”

Hagaman’s face got all red. “Hey, I don’t know who you been fuckin’, but it ain’t me and ain’t never gonna be!”

Darryl tried to hold back, but he lost it.

“Yeah? Well, how’s this?”

He turned in a circle, spraying the room with a yellow stream. If Hagaman hadn’t jumped back he’d have caught some.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, raising a fist. “If I wasn’t scared of catchin’ something, I’d break your face!”

Darryl tucked himself back in and started toward him, pointing to his own chin.

“Yeah? Let’s see ya try!”

Hagaman backed out and hurried away. Darryl might have chased after him and told him a thing or two, but his throat felt so tight he didn’t think he could manage a word.

So instead he hurried to his room and kicked the wall as he fought back a sob.