We drank in silence. The Bud Lite was the least alcoholic thing in the ice-chest. I'd need a clear head later.
"You ever get scared?" I said, finally.
He turned to me. "No man, I don't get scared. I'm always scared. I've been scared since the minute the explosions happened. I'm so scared sometimes, I don't want to get out of bed."
"Then why do you do it?"
He smiled. "About that," he said. "Maybe I won't, not for much longer. I mean, it's been great helping you. Great. Really excellent. I don't know when I've done anything so important. But Marcus, bro, I have to say. . ." He trailed off.
"What?" I said, though I knew what was coming next.
"I can't do it forever," he said at last. "Maybe not even for another month. I think I'm through. It's too much risk. The DHS, you can't go to war on them. It's crazy. Really actually crazy."
"You sound like Van," I said. My voice was much more bitter than I'd intended.
"I'm not criticizing you, man. I think it's great that you've got the bravery to do this all the time. But I haven't got it. I can't live my life in perpetual terror."
"What are you saying?"