Don't Look Down

Chapter 6

A little after noon, Wilder walked to the edge of the trailers and trucks parked in the base camp underneath the bridge. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the shot schedule for the last three days of shooting. He scanned it and relaxed. Bryce was off, which meant that he was off. Wilder read on and winced as he saw the next day's schedule. The first helicopter stunt and Bryce was going to be shooting a gun. Blanks, but still. He already knew the gun was going to be all wrong, but he made a mental note not to make too big a deal of anything unless it had the potential to kill someone. When he'd pointed out what was wrong with the knife, he'd ended up with Althea in his bed. Which had been great. Well, good. And strangely enough, cold. Althea was the kind of woman who could heat you up and freeze you out at the same time.

Well, hell, he hadn't died. Even if he had given up his gun.

Guns. Bryce. Wilder checked his watch. Bryce was supposed to be picking him up but he was nowhere around, probably somewhere with Mary Vanity, the makeup girl. Everyone was doing everyone here-he and Althea, Bryce and Mary Vanity, Armstrong and Nash…

That wasn't good. The last thing he needed was Armstrong and Nash together against him. He thought of Armstrong in that blue shirt. Should split them up, he thought. Divide and conquer. Disarm the enemy. That's what had happened to him,

Guns, damn it. He hefted the backpack he'd hauled with him from the hotel room. It had been hidden under the bed, the reason he had gone to the damn room and been ambushed. Time to get a cache established since his room obviously wasn't the place to run to in an emergency. He strode away into the thick vegetation of the woods on the far side of the road and locked down his brain into mission mode. Pace count. Every time his right foot hit the ground he added. He glanced at his left wrist. The compass strapped on it gave him the bearing: 266 degrees, almost due west.

When he was 112 feet into the woods, out of sight of the road and base camp, Wilder paused and did a slow 360. There had been an old drawbridge whose roadway had been torn down after the new one was put up, and one of the concrete supports was less than fifteen feet from where he was, an old palm tree collapsed against it.

Wilder went over to it and removed the MP-5 submachine gun from his backpack. It and five spare magazines were tightly wrapped in plastic. He slid it under the log, and then covered it with leaves.

He stood up and checked his handiwork. Unless someone knew the gun was there, it wouldn't be found. He turned to leave, and then without conscious thought his hand went to his back and he slid the Glock out from underneath his shirt. Something wrong. He searched the immediate area in quarters, scan close, then out, then shift. There was the bridge overhead. The old supports. The forest. The swamp. He could see the top of a set of old abandoned grain silos to the east, on the other side of the bridge, and beyond that the hotel where Althea had ambushed him. Across the river and to the west were the cranes that loaded and off-loaded the cargo ships. It took over a minute, but he checked out everything.

Nothing.

Fucking Althea. She was making him jumpy.

Unless Pepper was right and there was a ghost.

He watched for a minute more and then was putting the pistol away when he heard something moving in the brush. He went to one knee, bringing the pistol up, and waited, perfectly still.

The noise came again and he saw a palmetto frond move about thirty feet to his left front, very close to the swamp. Wilder moved now, fast, toward the target, zigzagging, the pistol leading. Five feet short of the frond he came to an abrupt halt as he saw the cause of the noise and movement.

A nine-foot alligator had also come to a complete halt, hearing his approach. Its large left paw was frozen in midair, its nose toward the swamp, but the large head slowly swung toward Wilder and fixed him with its black eyes-check that-eye. The gator's left eye was missing, a scar running through thick scales above and below where it was supposed to be. The mouth was half open, revealing the large teeth.

Wilder nodded and took a tentative step backward. Then another. The gator still hadn't moved. Another step.

The gator moved fast, surprisingly fast, straight for the swamp. It disappeared in the foliage, and then seconds later Wilder heard it hit the water. He shook his head and headed back to the camp. Just before exiting the woods, he slid the Glock back into the holster and covered it with his shirt. Last thing he needed was Althea seeing him with a gun again-

He heard a car take the corner too fast and then Bryce zoomed up in a black Porsche Carrera and skidded to a halt in front of him.

"My man," Bryce said as he got out of the car and slapped the hood. "Like it?"

Wilder nodded, not sure what proper car etiquette was. He was used to guys for whom a mean ride was a sixty-ton Abrams tank with a 120-millimeter main gun that was ride-stabilized and could put a round on target over two miles away while moving at sixty miles an hour.

"I'm heading into town," Bryce continued. "Want to come? Between me and the car, we will get laid."

Right, Wilder thought. One of his ex-wives had told him that cars like Bryce's always made her want to yell, "Sorry about your penis." He'd thought it was mean, but she might have had a point.

Still, getting away from the set seemed like a good idea; it was too damn full of unknowns, worse than the swamp, which just had one-eyed gators. He looked over at the parking lot and spotted Stephanie the assistant coming out of Armstrong's beat-up camper looking bitchy again. Which meant Armstrong probably wasn't happy, either.

"J.T.?"

Good time for a retreat. "Sure. Let's go now."

Bryce smiled. "Cool. Let me just touch base with Althea, and we'll be out of here. Last free night before we get into the big stunts."

"Althea?"

Bryce rolled his eyes. "You know how girlfriends are, always wanting to know where you are. You gotta keep them happy."

"Girlfriends?" Oh, shit. "I thought you and the makeup girl, Mary-"

"Well, yeah," Bryce said with his trademark cocky grin. "But Althea doesn't know about that."

"Right." Wrong. This was not good. Not good at all.

"I always say, what people don't know can't hurt them," Bryce said cheerfully.

"Good point." Wilder considered backing into the swamp so Althea wouldn't see him and say, "Great lay last night." Plus there was Armstrong, who probably would not be happy if he was upsetting her star. Not good at all. It'd be a lot safer to run into the gator again. It had shown better sense than anyone he'd met here.

"You ready?" Bryce said, jerking his head toward the camp.

"Uh, sure." Well, how bad could it be? He'd been shot at by experts. What were a couple of angry women?

He thought of Armstrong biting into that apple and hesitated.

"J.T.? You sure you want to go?" Bryce sounded uncertain, as if afraid his new best friend didn't want to play.

Imagine how he'd sound if he found out his new best friend had screwed his girl. Fuck.

"Right behind you," Wilder said. Way behind you. Cover me, I'm going in.

Then he followed Bryce into the camp, wishing he were back at Bragg, where there were damn few women and no movie people.

Lucy had driven back to base camp with Pepper singing "Us Amazonians" again, riding shotgun with her loot. She'd parked the camper in the lot and Stephanie had opened the side door, stuck her head in, and said, "We're at the Wildlife Refuge today, starting with Rip and Annie driving and then arguing in the car."

"Good." Lucy unlocked the driver's seat and swiveled it around so that it faced the dinette. "Now come in here and explain to me why this movie was a Harry-Met-Sally romantic comedy about a stockbroker and a bank teller and then suddenly at the end Brad is a former Navy SEAL and there are helicopters and exploding armored cars."

Stephanie looked around and then climbed into the camper, narrowly missing a collision with Pepper, who was heading for the bed in the back to spread out her stuff. Stephanie sat down and lowered her voice. "Finnegan paid Lawton, the old director, to tack on the rewrite and the extra stunts even though they have nothing to do with the real movie." She leaned forward. "It's so wrong, Lucy. It was an honest love story when I wrote it. Then Lawton let Finnegan change the perfect movie into a guns-and-bombs mess."

Lucy blinked at her. "You wrote it? I thought Lawton wrote it."

Stephanie swallowed. "I met him when he taught a screenwriting course in my film school. He said he could get my script made if he put his name on it-"

"Oh, hell," Lucy said, feeling sorry for her for the first time.

Stephanie shrugged. "It worked. It was getting made." Her face grew dark again. "And then he hooked up with Finnegan and did this to it."

Lucy almost reached out and patted her hand. "Well, you did a good job," she said instead. "Except for all this stunt stuff at the end, it's really well written."

Stephanie flushed. "Thank you. But that's not the point. The point is that the characters are violated by that change." She looked at Lucy, her heart in her eyes. "Don't shoot the stunts, Lucy, they'll ruin my film."

Lucy blinked her surprise. "I have to. There's a contract, Stephanie. I have no choice."

"But they're awful," Stephanie said, her voice rising in a wail. "They're ruining my script."

"I know," Lucy said, patiently. "But I have this contract…"

Stephanie's face grew hard again. "I hoped you had principles. Connor thinks you're the best, he says so all the time." She shook her head. "I should have known better. You make dog food commercials. Of course you'd sell out."

"Actually, I was sold out," Lucy said, but Stephanie was already getting up to go, her chair swiveling behind her.

She stopped in the doorway. "Daisy said this was your big break, but you don't care at all."

"It's not my big break" Lucy said. "I like working with animals. I like dog food commercials. "

"Sure you do," Stephanie said and went out, slamming the camper door behind her.

Oh, hell. Lucy called to Pepper, "I'm going to go check on Althea, but I'll come get you when the shuttle's here."

"I'm going to stay in base camp today," Pepper called back. "I want to see if Estelle in wardrobe can make my WonderWear fit better. Do you need me to bring you apples?"

"No, no, I'll be fine," Lucy said, thinking, Thank God, a day without apples. She went back and kissed Pepper goodbye, getting a hug for her pains, and then left the camper and headed for Althea's trailer.

Halfway across the lot, she ran into Gloom.

"Tell me something good," she said, and he slung his arm around her shoulders and gestured to the lot.

"You are now the mistress of all you survey," he said expansively.

Lucy looked at the beat-up trailers and dingy foliage. "How is that good?"

"The crew has decided you're the real deal," Gloom said. "Morale is improving. Bryce thinks you're terrific."

"And what does Captain Wilder think?" Lucy said before she could stop herself.

Gloom grinned. "If he has any brains, he's thinking, 'That Armstrong chick is hot, I'm gonna hit on her.' "

"Forget I said that," Lucy said, thinking, That would be good. "I am not interested in Captain Wilder. What's going on with these dumb stunts? And what's up with Daisy?"

Gloom let his arm drop from her shoulders.

"Oh, God, that bad?" Lucy said, feeling a chill even in the sun.

"I don't know," Gloom said. "The best I can get is that she'd been tense ever since this Finnegan guy came in with the extra money, very nervous, crying a lot."

"Oh, hell," Lucy said and thought, Connor. It had to be Connor. Connor and Finnegan.

"Then about a week ago, she changed," Gloom said. "I didn't get any details, but the gist is that she got calmer, but she started screwing up, not paying attention."

"Oh, just hell," Lucy said, not wanting her suspicions confirmed.

"Yesterday when we got to the set, she wasn't there because she'd fallen asleep in the stunt van. My guess? Somebody's giving her something to keep her calm, Valium, Xanax, I don't know, but whatever it is, she's taking a lot of it."

Lucy closed her eyes. My baby sister. "I'll talk to her. I'll get the pills away from her."

"The best thing we can do is get her out of here," Gloom said. "Whatever it is that's making her crazy is here. You can take away all the pills you want, but she can get more. We need to get her happy again so she doesn't need them."

"She won't leave," Lucy said. "I don't know why-"

"Hello, Lucy," Althea said as she walked by, practically singing the words.

Lucy smiled at her mechanically. "Hello, Al. Good day?"

"Good night," Althea said, swinging back to face her, looking smug and satisfied.

Well, good for Bryce, Lucy thought, and then remembered. Bryce. Althea was thinking of cheating on Bryce. "That's great, Al. Hey, before I forget, that dating thing Stephanie told you? It was twelve partners, not seventy-five, so you can stop at seventy-three." She tried to smile at her, in spite of her misery over Daisy. "I think you've found your guy in Bryce."

"Seventy-four," Althea said, beaming.

"Seventy-four," Lucy said, and then it registered. "Seventy-four?"

But Althea was now smiling past her, and when Lucy turned she saw Bryce heading for them, looking clueless as usual, and far behind him his best pal Wilder, broad shouldered and narrow hipped, looking anywhere but at Althea.

Lucy straightened. Son of a bitch.

"I think Stephanie's right," Althea chirped. "Seventy-four was pretty damn good. I can't wait for seventy-five."

"The first-team shuttle is here, Al," Gloom said, not unkindly, and Althea went, practically bouncing on her little round heels, while Wilder looked up at the empty blue sky.

Goddamn it, Lucy thought. Holding out for a hero is not an option. I just want somebody who doesn't follow his dick through life. Is that so much to ask?

Gloom was watching her. "I don't know what's going on here-"

"I do," Lucy said grimly, ignoring her disappointment to concentrate on her rage.

"-but don't do anything stupid."

"You going to catch this shuttle?" Stephanie called to Lucy.

"No, I have to speak to somebody," Lucy said between her teeth, knowing that would be more evidence for Stephanie that she was a lousy director. Well, screw her. Assuming J.T. Wilder hadn't already.

"Lucy," Gloom said, his voice heavy with warning. "They're free agents."

"Althea isn't. Bryce thinks she's with him," Lucy said and crossed the set, prepared to kill a Green Beret.

Finnegan would be so pleased.

"Hi, Lucy," Bryce said when she reached them.

"Hello, babe," Lucy said, trying to keep her voice light as she took in the macho betrayer beside him, cool-eyed as ever. "You're off today."

"I know. Just came for my man, J.T." He slapped Wilder on the back.

Wilder flinched, which was something, Lucy thought. Well, he was going to flinch some more before she was done with him.

"We're going over to Savannah," Bryce said. "Do some research." He shot her his famous loopy smile.

Wilder was looking at nothing over her shoulder.

"Why don't you go say hey to Althea before she goes?" Lucy suggested to Bryce. "Help her relax for her scene?"

Bryce nodded. "Good idea. J.T.-"

"J.T.'s gonna stay with me," Lucy said, pinning the jerk down with her eyes. "We have some things to discuss."

"Okay." Bryce wandered off toward Althea.

Wilder met her glare without blinking. "Problem?"

Yes,' Lucy said. You fucked your boss's girlfriend.

His eyes flickered when she said "fucked," but she couldn't tell if he was insulted or turned on. Neither, probably. Emotionless bastard. Althea must have been dreaming if she thought this robot was energetic.

Maybe she inspired him.

She took a deep breath. "I thought there was some kind of code that said you didn't sleep with a buddy's girl."

"It's really more of a guideline," Wilder said, straight-faced, and Lucy wanted to kill him.

"No. Movie quotes do not make you funny. Or even marginally human. That was low, Wilder. Bryce isn't a genius, but he hired you and he thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread, he thinks you're his buddy, that the two of you are a team, and then you-"

He nodded, suddenly looking very human, almost shame-faced. "Look, I didn't know she was his girlfriend, and she was in my bed when I got back to my room."

"And you were incapable of saying, 'Get out of my bed'?"

"Are you kidding?"

She felt her temper spurt. He was worse than Connor. At least Connor didn't make jokes when he hurt people. "It's not funny. Bryce thinks this is his big chance to be an action hero, but you'll jeopardize all of that because you can't say no."

"I can say no. I just didn't want to."

Lucy jerked back. "Boy, you really don't care about anybody but yourself, do you?"

He drew back, too, his face shutting down, and she thought, Got you. Good.

"Look, it's just a movie," he said, and she lost it, getting into his face, poking her finger into his rock-hard chest.

"Listen to me, you bastard, this is not just a movie, this is people's paychecks on the line, this is my financial future on the line. But you don't care about any of that."

"Wait a minute," he said, his flat voice finally showing some heat.

"I have three days left to get this movie finished. I cannot afford to have Bryce sulking in his trailer because you screwed his girlfriend-"

Wilder frowned at her. "He was with the makeup-"

"I don't care," Lucy said, beyond logic. "I don't care who he's doing, I don't care who you're doing as long as he's on this set, thinking he's God's gift to women when I need him to be a hero."

"And you call me immoral," Wilder said. "What do you do, pimp for him?"

Lucy's hand jerked, and his hand moved a fraction of a second later, not much, just enough to let her know he'd have stopped her, his eyes on hers.

She drew in her breath and felt herself flush, and he must have seen it because he didn't move away.

"Come on, Armstrong, I didn't know she was with him," he said and smiled at her, apologetic, and the impact of the first smile she'd ever seen from him made her dizzy.

With rage. Dizzy with overwhelming rage, damn it. Fucking Army asshole.

"And anyway," Wilder continued, "it won't happen again."

Lucy took another deep breath. "Here's the thing. I need Bryce happy and working until we're done early Friday morning. Our backer has made his support of this movie contingent on our finishing by early Friday morning."

"Friday morning?" he said, the smile gone from his eyes.

"If we don't get this done on time, the shooting stops and we're in breach of contract and I'm liable for four million dollars. Which I don't have. And I don't want to lose everything because we get behind because Bryce can't work because he's unhappy because you screwed his girlfriend."

She stopped because he hadn't said anything, no expression at all in those flat blue eyes, but he was listening, more alert now than when she'd begun talking.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Right. Okay." She took a deep breath. "Please don't sleep with Althea again."

His face was wooden, but he nodded. "Already told you, I won't."

"Even if she's in your bed," she pushed.

"It won't matter. I won't be there."

Where will yon be? She didn't care where he'd be. "Thank you."

He nodded again.

Show some expression, damn it. Then her treacherous mind added, I bet you showed some with Althea.

She squared her shoulders. "I apologize for… before. I wouldn't have hit you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

Lucy looked up at the night sky, trying to keep her temper. "You're an arrogant son of a bitch, Rambo."

"Not always," he said, and turned away to go with Bryce, and Lucy looked past him and realized they'd had an audience.

Across the lot, Connor watched Wilder, his face like stone. Beside him, a strange woman dressed in a flight suit, brunette but thicker and tougher than Stephanie, stared at Wilder, too, her face as hard as Connor's. Karen, the pilot, Lucy thought. Caught between them, Doc, the little ex-Green Beret with the glasses, looked way out of his league.

And they were all probably in cahoots with Finnegan.

"Oh, hell," Lucy said, and called after him. "Wilder? Be careful."

He looked back, surprised. "Careful about what?"

She walked closer to him. "The backer, Finnegan, called me this morning and told me he knew you were here. He wanted me to fire you.

"He called you?" Wilder said.

"Okay, the interesting part of that sentence was that he wanted me to fire you," Lucy said, exasperated. "And I never told him you were here, so how did he know that?"

"Nash-"

"Nope."

Wilder went very still. "You got a spy on the set."

"Yes." Lucy took a deep breath. "Look, it's not just Finnegan. Connor and Stephanie want you gone, too. And Doc and Karen, the helicopter pilot, are staring at you right now. You've pretty much pissed everybody off, so watch your back."

He glanced over and nodded. "How about you?"

"Me?" Lucy blinked at him, surprised.

"Do you want me g-" He looked down, and she followed his eyes to see Pepper tugging on his pant leg. "Hello, P.L."

"Hello, J.T.," Pepper said, beaming at him. "Thank you very much for the Wonder Woman stuff. I got you this as a thank-you." She held up the Superman key chain, which he took soberly.

"Thank you very much," he said. "It's just what I needed."

Pepper nodded. "It's okay that the doll wasn't a Barbie. Aunt Lucy says Wonder Woman can kick Barbie's ass."

"I said 'butt,' " Lucy said.

"Wrong doll, huh?" Wilder said to Lucy.

"It's all right," she told him. "Pepper loves it."

"A Wonder Woman Barbie would be good, though," Pepper said, not looking at anybody in particular.

"Pepper!"

Bryce called, "J.T!" across the lot, and Wilder said, "I have to go." He nodded at Pepper. "I'll be careful, but she's the one to watch out for. She's little and there's a big old one-eyed gator in the water that comes up on land every once in a while. I don't think he's much afraid of people."

"Moot?" Lucy said.

"Moot?" Wilder said.

"That's what Althea called the one-eyed alligator she saw under the bridge yesterday. There can't be a lot of one-eyed gators around."

Wilder smiled. "Moot. I like that."

He almost seemed human, Lucy thought. But then he said, "You have a good afternoon," nodded to Pepper, and walked away to go be a hotshot and get laid with his actor buddy in Savannah.

Well, she'd warned him off Althea and tipped him to his unpopularity. She'd done all she could. The bastard.

"I really like J.T.," Pepper said.

Lucy watched him climb into the car, torn between wanting to kill him and just wanting him. "Yeah," she said, "he's a peach."

Gloom came to stand beside her. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Lucy snapped.

Gloom sighed. "Well, at least this time you fell for a good one."

"I have not fallen for anybody," Lucy said and walked away before she betrayed herself again.

The sun was setting as Wilder leaned his head against the leather rest and Bryce took a corner a little too fast. The day so far had been a bust. Bryce had driven around in circles-literally-as Savannah seemed filled with parks right in the middle of where the road was supposed to go. Plus, traffic was a bitch, and not for the first time Wilder felt slightly better about having a job where a commute meant a C-130 Hercules cargo-plane ride that ended in a parachute drop, even if the landings were always a bit dicey.

They weren't the only ones lost; a gray Ford sedan had been behind them off and on all afternoon. If Bryce had been a master spy, Wilder would have worried, but as it was, he figured the sedan was just as confused by Savannah as Bryce was.

The bar Bryce finally picked was a dive two blocks away from the waterfront, a place Wilder would never have gone into. But he was tired of driving around in circles and feeling bad about Althea. The right thing to do would have been to come clean: Hey, buddy, your girl was in my bed when I got there, so I screwed her brains out, but I didn't know she was yours, so no harm, no foul, right? Yeah, that would make things better.

He went into the bar with Bryce.

It wasn't a biker dive or he wouldn't have let Bryce go through the door. More a locals-only dive, since everyone in the place gave them the once-over as they walked in. He steered Bryce toward a booth, but Bryce had his mind set differently, and one thing Wilder had learned was that it was hard to redirect Bryce's train of thought once the tracks were laid.

"Let's sit at the bar."

Bad idea, Wilder thought, but kept his mouth shut. Everyone was giving him shit for saying things were wrong, and then there was Althea. Bryce parked himself in the middle of the U-shaped bar, loudly pulling out one of the bar stools and straddling it. Wilder slid around the stool to Bryce's left, careful not to jostle the fat man on the next perch. He didn't like the position, but anyplace at the bar put his back to some part of the room. He wished they could go someplace a little more upscale and better populated with women, since he wouldn't be seeing Althea naked again. After all, what was the point of being out with a moderately famous actor with a toy car if you couldn't be his wingman?

Or we could go back to the set, he thought, although the only thing there was Armstrong bitching at him, so what was the point? Although she'd been worried about him, too-

"Hey," Bryce said.

The bartender had been ignoring them to let them know they weren't accorded the same status as the regulars. Wilder expected this, but Bryce was apparently from a different place. Pluto, maybe, Wilder thought as Bryce slapped his hand on the bar.

"Barkeep."

Who the hell uses that word? Wilder wondered as everyone in hearing distance turned and looked once more.

The bartender was a big guy with white hair and didn't look very happy to be on his feet. He slowly shuffled the short distance from where had been lounging, reading a newspaper.

"Yeah?"

Bryce straightened. ''Can I see your wine list?"

He did not fucking say that. Wilder was already pretending he didn't know the guy he'd walked in with. His wingman was flying solo.

"Red and white," the bartender growled. "That's the list." He shifted his attention to Wilder. "What do you want to see?"

"Bud. Draft. For both of us." He couldn't leave Bryce that open without some covering fire.

The bartender seemed mollified but Wilder noticed he filled the dirty mugs half full of foam.

"Thank you," Wilder said quickly as Bryce prepared to complain, undoubtedly about the dirty mugs, the foam, and the lack of a medium-priced merlot.

"Eight bucks."

Now Wilder was getting ticked. Four bucks for a crappy draft of Bud, there damn well better be naked women dancing on the bar. He was tired of getting fucked with. Plus, he had a headache, and he still hadn't sorted out the mess Crawford had handed him last night. And then there was Althea, whose effect was more powerful than any hangover and, for some reason, almost as bad. And Armstrong, mad at him and sleeping with Nash.

Fuck it. Wilder reached into his pocket and pulled out his combat pay roll, and said, "Sprinkle the infield."

"What are you doing?" Bryce asked.

Wilder peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and laid it on the bar. Considering there were only eight people at the bar, Wilder figured that would cover it and there'd better be change or a handful of naked women suddenly appearing. He'd be damned if he'd do the outfield, especially the three guys who had just walked in and taken a booth.

The bartender stared at the bill, but the pressure from the others at the bar was too much. He got everyone another round, including himself, which was on the slippery edge of bar manners in Wilder's opinion, considering they weren't regulars. Then he took the cash, rang up the bill, counted our the change, and slapped it back down in front of Wilder.

Bryce had watched all this with wide eyes. Wilder had no doubt that whatever movie Bryce was in next, there would be a bar scene and he would be sprinkling the infield.

Bryce held up his dirty mug and turned to Wilder for a toast. "To my buddy, J.T., for teaching me all he knows."

You know nothing I know, Wilder thought. He didn't want to, but he held up his mug and lightly clanked it against Bryce's. "To my man, Bryce. Anytime."

Bryce smiled and Wilder saw why he was on film. He was awkward-looking, but he had a goofy charm, something that made it impossible to stay mad at him.

"The whole movie set thing is pretty wild, isn't it?" Bryce asked as he took a sip of the tepid beer.

Fucked up was what it was. But Wilder was pretty far on his learning curve with Bryce so he didn't say that. "Yeah."

"Nash isn't too keen on you." Bryce tried to sound like a man of the world, but it wasn't coming in clearly.

"He's worried I'll interfere with his job." Wilder looked over Bryce's shoulder at the three guys in the booth. Something wrong there. Two of them looked dumb as dirt, but the third one…

"That isn't all," Bryce said.

"What do you mean?"

The guys in the booth were glaring at the bar. No drinks yet. Well, there's no waitress, dipshits.

"Lucy," Bryce said.

"What?" Fuck, he sounded like Crawford now.

"Nash and Lucy. They were married like twelve years ago, but he's still pretty possessive."

The three in the booth were still sitting there, getting steamed over not getting served. Which meant they definitely weren't locals. Of course, they'd looked pretty stoked walking in.

Bryce leaned closer. "I think Nash is mad because Lucy kind of likes you."

What are we, in grammar school? Wilder wondered. Maybe he should give Bryce a note to pass to Lucy: Meet me at the swings after school. Actually, not a bad idea. They could go down to the river together and feed Moot something. Like Nash.

He looked over Bryce's shoulder. One of the three guys was coming over to the bar. Doofus One. Stocky. Weight-lifter muscles. Definitely on 'roids. Tattoos covering his arms. Probably had fuck you on his knuckles.

The weight lifter shoved his way to the bar between the two of them, jostling Bryce's arm and splattering beer all over him. He missed Wilder because Wilder moved.

There were seventeen people total in the bar, and the way he was sitting, Wilder could account for fifteen of them; the other two directly behind him in a booth were too old to be a threat, considering their walkers were parked next to their table. Of the remaining fifteen, Wilder estimated that besides the three he'd already tagged, only the bartender and one young guy three stools to the left could be trouble, but not likely. Not good odds, considering his wingman was Bryce. He did have the Glock but he didn't want to cause a massacre and the rule was never draw unless you plan to shoot.

"Hey." Bryce had waited a couple of seconds too long to protest, probably searching his mind for the proper reply. "Excuse me!"

Doofus One turned to Bryce, his back to Wilder, which meant he was stupid, which was good. "You're excused," he said loudly. His partners at the table guffawed, though Wilder thought it was not exactly the wittiest repartee he'd ever heard. He wasn't even sure it qualified as repartee.

The partners were getting up. One looked to be an ex-high-school football player-a lineman-whose gut was now threatening to match his height. Doofus Two. The other was short and thin, the smallest of the bunch, but the most dangerous because Wilder could see it in his eyes. They were not dull and vacant like the eyes on Doofus One and Doofus Two. Thin Man, Wilder tagged him. Bad news.

"The least you could do is replace my beer," Bryce whined, and Wilder's shoulders sagged because that was such an obvious opening that even Doofus One would jump on it.

"Sure," Doofus One said. "Bartender, get me another for our friend."

The bartender looked as resigned as Wilder to what was coming. He hit the tap as Wilder considered a quick retreat, but a military axiom is never retreat while still in contact with the enemy. The sad thing was that Bryce had no idea they were in a battle.

Doofus One took the mug from the bartender and emptied it on Bryce's head, and Wilder stood up.