“I’m hungry,” Krishna said. “I want to go get some food. Can I go and get food and come back?”
“Quiet,” Dewayne said. “Not another fucking word, you sack of shit.” He said it quietly in a neutral tone that was belied by his words. He settled his head back on his folded forearms like a babe settling its head in a bosom and looked back through the window. “Ah,” he said, like he had taken a drink.
Krishna climbed slowly to his feet and stood off a pace or two, staring at Drew. He reached into the pocket of his old bomber jacket and found a lighter and flicked it nervously a couple times.
“Don’t you light that cigarette,” Davey said. “Don’t you dare.”
“How long are we going to be here?” Krishna’s whine was utterly devoid of his customary swagger.
“What kind of person is he?” Davey said. “What kind of person is he? He is in love with my brother, looks at him with cow-eyes when he sees him, hangs on his words like a love-struck girl.” He laughed nastily. “Like your love-struck girl, like she looks at him.
“I wonder if he’s had her yet. Do you think he has?”
“I don’t care,” Krishna said petulantly, and levered himself to his feet. He began to pace and Alan hastily backed himself into the doorway he’d been hiding in. “She’s mine, no matter who she’s fucking. I own her.”
“Look at that,” Darrel said. “Look at him talking to them, his little army, like a general giving them a pep talk. He got that from my brother, I’m sure. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a trail of manipulators who run other people’s lives.”
Alan’s stomach clenched in on itself, and his butt and thighs ached suddenly, like he’d been running hard. He thought about his protégés with their shops and their young employees, learning the trade from them as they’d learned it from him. How long had Don been watching him?