Page 43 of Blind Spot
“I’m twenty,” Rafe said.
“That’s what I said.”
We stood in line for vests against the back wall, six players plus Sully, and the kid had the look of a man who didn’t know whether he’d escape with all limbs intact. He wore a long-sleeved compression jersey and running sneakers. I’d suggested the uniform on the phone two days ago, and he’d bought it.
“Rule one of laser tag,” I said.
“Is this an actual rule or a Varga rule?”
“Rafe, look at me. Don’t interrupt. Every rule is an actual rule. That’s the entire system. Rule one is under no circumstances do you trust Pratt.”
Across the room, Pratt was tightening the straps on his vest. He didn’t look up. He never looked up. He’d spent his entirecareer facing the rest of us from the wrong end of the rink, and he’d come out of it with the eyes of an animal that hunts at night.
“He’s always nice to me,” Rafe said.
“That’s hockey. This is laser tag. And he looks calm now, but sharks are always calm before an attack. Last time, four of them came around the fog machine like a firing squad, and Pratt—he laughed, Rafe. I’d never heard him laugh. I didn’t know he could.”
“You walked into the open,” Heath said, from down the line, not looking up from his own straps.
“I walked into the open because I trusted my people. Do you hear what he’s admitting? In front of the rookie?” I turned back to Rafe. “Write it down. Heath ambushed a teammate at the fog machine, and he stands by it. This is who you’ve fallen in with.”
Rafe did a silent thing I realized was his own version of laughing. He let one corner of his mouth go and then put it back. Kieran, two spots down, was helping Sully sort out a vest that kept chirping. The two of them had their heads together over it like it was a crossword.
The door from the lobby opened, and Rook walked in.
I was as shocked as everyone else. Just two weeks ago, I’d told HeathI doubt itwhen he asked if Rook would come. But there he was, wearing jeans and a gray henley. He was holding a vest a teenager at the counter had just handed him, like he wasn’t sure it was clean.
Trier asked, “Is that Rook?”
I cranked up the Show. “Oh, no,” I shouted. “No, no. Who invited the old man? He’s going to stand in one spot for the entire game. He’s a pylon. We can’t —“
“Heath invited me,” Rook said.
“And you said yes? Heath, what did you say to him? Did you tell him there’d be snacks? He only leaves his house for—“
“He said you’d been training for months,” Rook said, “and that it would be a shame if no one was there to watch.”
Heath lifted both hands like a man declining to confirm or deny.
It was a perfect Rook line for the Rook and Varga Show. He deadpanned the loud guy. Everybody laughed and went back to gearing up.
I didn’t know why he’d come. He didn’t tell me in advance.
A man like Rook doesn’t do something like laser tag for no reason. He has a purpose behind everything, usually one he’s worked out three moves ahead. I couldn’t see this one yet.
He crossed to the wall and stood near me to deal with his vest. He got it over his head, but he couldn’t find the side strap.
“Other side,” I said.
“This is the other side.”
“It’s the other other side. Give it.” I reached over and pulled the strap around for him, my knuckles brushing his ribs through the henley for less than a second. It was the kind of contact two teammates have a thousand times, but we avoided it in the locker room. “There. Now you’re armed and dangerous. Well, armed.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Rafe watched us. He didn’t concentrate hard, but he was two feet away, taking it in with eyes wide.
“Rafe, you’re with me. We’re going to lose together, with honor, like Canadians.”
