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'It doesn't matter why,' John said. 'I'm sure it has something to do with the black rain. But that's not our concern, right now. What we need to do is get organized so we can protect ourselves.' |
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'Hey,' said a big guy with a beer mug in his hand. 'Who died and made you king shit?' |
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'It's all yours,' John told him. 'You can be king shit.' |
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The guy sneered. 'You trying to be a wiseguy?' |
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'I'm totally serious. You take over. I don't want this, anyway.' |
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Cassy frowned at him. 'Hey, John, come on.' |
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'I don't even want to be here, much less be the guy giving orders. Let macho man . . .' |
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'Hey, shove it,' Lynn told him. 'If we waste time arguing, those jerks are going to break in and God only knows what'll happen to us. So just shut up and listen to John. We've got to have a leader and I don't know most of you people, but I know my John and he's the man for it.' |
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John looked at her. He felt a swell of pride at the way she was taking on the bastard, but he wished she would shut up. He didn't want to be the leader. The only reason he'd gotten involved was because someone had to take control fast and nobody else was doing it. |
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'Gimme a break, lady,' the guy said. 'I know who he is. He's the fuckin' painter.' |
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I'm not so anonymous after all, he thought. |
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'Yes, he's a painter,' Lynn said. 'He's an artist.' |
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