Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"I've got a headache, dude, that's all."
Scotch probably won't help, Junior thought, but Guerrero was no idiot, he knew that.
Which raised the question, why was he drinking anyway?
Junior looked at Guerrero silently turning the empty tumbler in his hand, watching the ice-cubes glide back and forth in the remnants of his second or third drink with odd concentration.
Was he brooding? About the job they'd just finished? Junior wished he could know for sure.
"First time I've heard you mention headaches", he tried cautiously.
"Maybe I need glasses or something." Guerrero poured himself another drink.
Or maybe it's the job we do. Ever since his run-in with that bodyguard in San Francisco that thought just wasn't leaving Junior alone. He was having trouble sleeping lately. And Scotch somehow tasted differently, too.
If Guerrero felt the same…
Talking to the Old Man about this was out of question. Baptiste had been a harder decision to make, but in the end Junior had decided against that, too. He just couldn't trust him.
But what about Guerrero? He had always been able to trust him.
"Work is work", his friend suddenly stated, apropos of nothing, and emptied his glass completely in one go.
Junior's heart sank. He recognized the gesture, the tone. Guerrero had just made a decision. And Guerrero usually stuck with decisions.
Damnit, maybe if he had said something two seconds earlier… Junior slammed his fist on the table. He was SUFFOCATING from all the unspoken things that were going through his mind.
Guerrero looked up at Junior's sudden outbreak. "Dude?"
"Think I'm getting a headache, too." Junior got up and left the room.
Frowning, Guerrero studied the empty space in front of him. "Weird", he thought.
Just as weird as those strange questions he was asking himself lately.