“Me neither,” said Banger. “I still don’t understand half the rules. Friggin’ place should have a website.”
Zoe stood, so full of energy and emotion that she all but ran across the lobby. She didn’t want Banger to see her face.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s so—it’s so fair. Because he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He was an innocent little kid and they treated him as if he was some kind of monster like—”
She broke off.
“Like me?” said Banger.
“I’m sorry,” said Zoe. “I’m not judging you. All I know is you were a bartender and you stabbed somebody in a bar—I don’t even know why. I’m just glad that X doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”
Neither of them spoke, as Zoe absorbed the astounding news about X. The only thing that stopped her from tap-dancing around the room was that she felt sorry for Banger. He would never be free. He shoved the remaining junk food into his pockets now—she could hear the potato chips splintering into dust as he forced them in—and threw the empty wrappers into the trash.
“You don’t have to leave,” said Zoe. “Do you? Can you stay a bit?”
Banger seemed touched by the invitation. He smiled, and sat back down on the stone floor. Zoe pointed to a tattoo on his right arm: a weird, spotted animal with a spiked tail and a long curving neck that nearly touched the ground.
“X has that one, too,” she said. “I never asked him about it. You have different animals in the Lowlands, huh?”
Banger snorted.
“We actually don’t,” he said. “The guy who inks all the bounty hunters? He’s this senile old dude who’s been dead since, like, Pompeii—and he doesn’t remember what a lot of animals actually look like. This one is supposed to be a giraffe.”
“No way,” said Zoe.
“Way!” said Banger.
“People don’t say that anymore either,” said Zoe.
“I figured,” said Banger. “Anyway, I wigged out when I saw the tat. This thing with the horns is supposed to be a monkey.”
Zoe laughed. She thought of “Never Don’t Stop.” Would she ever date a guy with normal tattoos?
“Does X know they aren’t real animals?” she said.
“I never told him,” said Banger. “It’d break his heart, and I’m kind of protective of him—because, like you said, he’s an innocent. Don’t you tell him, either, okay?”
“I won’t,” said Zoe. She smiled. “I’m kind of protective of him, too.”
Zoe glanced at her watch. It was nearly ten. Soon, her mom would be outside honking for her. She didn’t want Banger to go. He was her only connection to X, and she liked him. But he had an evil bus driver to find. His eyes had lost their glint. His sugar high had ended. He seemed to be crashing, and was sweating faintly again.
Banger had endangered himself by taking even an hour to deliver X’s message—he’d put himself at the mercy of not just the Trembling but the lords. Zoe had been so obsessed with her own feelings that it hadn’t occurred to her.
“Are you going to get in trouble for coming here?” she asked.
Banger shrugged.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But after the mess I made of my life, they can’t do anything to me I don’t deserve.”
He stared down at his hands just for something to look at. They were calloused and bruised and held nothing.
“You know how you said you didn’t judge me?” he said.
“Yeah,” said Zoe.
“You should,” he said. “I’m not anything like X. I wish I was.”
Zoe didn’t know what to say. She waited.
“You know why I stabbed that guy?” said Banger. “Because he was acting like a dipshit, and I was in a bad mood.” He paused. “My whole life was a bad mood.”
Zoe didn’t want to hear any more.
“You don’t have to talk about this,” she said.
“I want to,” Banger said. “After I killed him, I emptied the cash register and bolted. Never spoke to my wife or daughter again—because what would I say?” Again, he paused. “My daughter was autistic. She had this thing where you couldn’t hug her. It just, like, overloaded her system. She’d totally freak out. She’d be eight now. Probably has no idea if I’m alive or dead.” Banger looked away. “So, anyway, yeah—you can judge me.”
It was Zoe’s turn to look at her hands.
“Are you sorry?” she managed.
“God, yes,” said Banger. He pulled off his hat, revealing again the catastrophic bruises that he’d inflicted on himself. “Have you met my forehead?”
Zoe frowned—seeing his forehead the second time was no easier than the first.
“Being sorry’s got to count for something,” she said.
“Does it?” said Banger, as he pulled his hat back on. “I’m not so sure. It’s pretty easy to say you’re sorry—especially once you get caught.”
Zoe asked him if he ever thought of trying to visit his wife and daughter while he was out of the Lowlands.
“I’m too ashamed,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think deep thoughts, and here’s the thing: you can’t do what I did to my family and expect them to forgive you. Hearts are fragile—the good ones, at least. Best thing would be if they decided I was just a bad dream.”