He sits across from me, and I see his face in profile, illuminated by the silver lighter he holds in front of him. He takes a deep breath and sits up straighter.
"Remind you of the good ole days, buddy?" he smirks.
"You're usin' all the oxygen," I grumble, not in the mood for his insolence.
He smiles. "Except that last time, we were sneakin' out of somewhere because you got caught in bed wit' that princess."
I look at him, curious. Why is he bringing that up? Keller's never been one for nostalgia. But I decide to go along with it, because the incident he's referring to is one of the only good memories I have of working with him.
"I didn't get caught in bed with her..." I correct him. "They found me on the ledge outside her window."
He chuckles. "I remember seeing you standing there, wit' nothin' but a...solid gold tray coverin' your junk."
I smile as I remember a much younger—and slightly nicer—Keller, laughing hysterically as we fled the scene. He taunted me about that for weeks afterward.
"I was the one that got you down from there before they started shootin' at ya." Keller continues.
"Yeah," I get serious again. "You had my back then."
"Like I said, the good ole days." Keller says quietly. He stares at the flame, and his eyes become unfocused for an instant.
"They were," I study his face as the flickering light sends shadows dancing across his features. There was something in his voice just now. It sounded almost like...regret.
I like to believe that no one is beyond redemption. But Keller's pretty far gone. I've seen him put a bullet in a man's head without a second thought. He has no regard for the well-being of anyone except himself. The only life that means anything to him is his own. He's a sociopath. Probably a psychopath, too.
But right now I'm seeing a side of him that I've never seen before. It only lasts a few seconds, but it's enough. I realize there's a part of him that doesn't want to be this way. However small that part of him may be—however deep down he's buried it to silence whatever vestiges of a conscience he has—it's there. And maybe, just maybe, he's not beyond saving.
"What happened to you, Keller?" I ask him.
"I could ask the same thing to you, Neal." He shakes his head slowly. "I could ask the same thing to you."
I don't bother mentioning what I just observed. He would deny it in a heartbeat. Maybe because he doesn't even realize that part of him still exists. But I know what I saw. This lying, thieving, murderous, despicable monster let his guard down for a single instant, revealing the man underneath.
It's the strangest thing—here we are, stowing away in the back of this truck, preparing to steal a twice-stolen treasure, just to keep this psychopath from killing Elizabeth.
And in the midst of all that, somehow Keller's moment of humanity actually gives me hope.