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He could stop this now. Whatever this is. He could say no. I like it here. I don’t wanna go anywhere else. You can’t make us.
“To listen,” Mull says.
A malevolent sound, Private Tonka.
“Give me a minute,” Philip says. “I’ll gather the Danes.”
But even as he slides from the booth, as he crosses the bar to retrieve his friends, Philip is telling himself no, no amount of money, no amount of curiosity is enough to leave all this behind.
And yet, the image of that tape in the military man’s pocket …
Maybe it’s because you can’t see where it’ll lead, Philip thinks, as he plants a hand on the shoulder of Ross’s corduroy jacket. Maybe it’s because people can’t see the end that they agree to begin.
“What’s up?” Ross asks. But Ross saw the man, too.
“This fella wants us to go up to the studio. He’s got a reel he wants us to hear.”
Ross hesitates.
“He’s army.”
“Yeah.”
“Is there any money in it?”
“He said it’s ‘considerable.’”
“Is that for them to consider or for us?”
“He said it’s a lot.”
Ross looks to Larry, dancing down the bar.
“Then we’ll come right back down?” he asks Philip.
“Yep,” Philip says.
But the two friends stare into each other’s eyes for a beat, and in that brief rhythm is the truth that they both know they won’t be right back down.
“What is it?”
“A sound.”
Ross smiles. But it’s not a nice one.
“Well, shit, Philip,” he says, sweating now. “How much trouble can one sound be?”
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