Hazard and Somerset

there.
“John.”
“I saw him.”
They parked in the garage next to the Odyssey, and Somers shut off the engine.
“Gun?” Hazard asked.
“Locked up inside.”
“Go get it,” Hazard said, reaching for the door.
“No.” Somers shook his head. “Let’s just see what’s going on. It’s not like he was trying to hide; he could have been waiting inside the house if he wanted to hurt us.”
Hazard nodded, but he still grabbed a baseball bat from the pile of sports gear before heading out to the front of the house. Somers walked at his side and then took Hazard’s free hand and squeezed it once. Hazard gave him a look, but Somers just shook his head.
“Hello,” Hazard said.
The guy was sitting on the porch steps, his knees pulled up to his chest; at Hazard’s voice, he stood, and Hazard realized his first impression was wrong: this guy was really just a kid, probably still in high school, and he was tall and lanky. His hair was buzzed short, and his eyes were a dark amber that glittered in the distant light from the streetlamp.
“Can we help you?” Hazard asked.
The kid’s eyes went to Somers first, held there for a moment, and then followed their joined hands to Hazard. This time, his gaze lingered.
Somers drew in a sharp breath. “No fucking way,” he muttered.
“What?” Hazard asked.
Somers didn’t answer, but he was clutching Hazard’s hand hard enough to hurt.
“Who are you?” Hazard asked the kid.
“You’re Emery Hazard?” the kid said. He had a low baritone voice, smooth and assured.
“That’s right. Who are you?”
The kid smirked, displaying a crooked eyetooth. “I’m your son.”
-
The guys will be back in Hazard and Somerset: Arrows in the Hand.

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Learn more about Gregory Ashe and forthcoming works at www.gregoryashe.com.
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