Merle stopped in his room to shuck off his jeans and boots. After the second knock he headed for the door in a none-too-clean wifebeater, dingy boxers and dirty socks, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. "I'm comin'," he shouted. "Christ, what's your hurry?" He stuck the cig in one corner of his mouth and opened the door, squinting against the light at two men.

"Atlanta PD," the first dude said contemptuously. "We've got some questions for you." He and his partner were beginning to doubt the information they had been given about this safe house. Of course a safe house shouldn't look like what it was but this was out in the country, isolated and indefensible. If that kid wasn't here, maybe the occupant would have a better lead at least.

The man who answered the door didn't seem surprised. He looked like the type who was questioned by the law on a regular basis. But he was cagey enough to ask for ID. They flashed credentials that were good enough for a cursory inspection but wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny.

Merle glanced at them and mumbled, "Whaddya want?"

"We want to come in and not be kept waiting on your porch."

Merle turned, stumbled to his chair and sat down. The two dudes cautiously drew guns and followed. The first dude checked the kitchen and bathroom while his partner took the bedrooms. Dude came back to sit opposite Merle. Partner leaned against the entrance to the hall.

Merle belched. "Nobody here right now. I'm between lady friends, you might say." He lifted his beer. "Brew?" he offered absently.

Dude and Partner looked at each other. Might as well play it friendly for now, see if this half-drunk asshole could tell them anything.

"Cold one sounds good," Dude said.

There was silence for a couple of seconds until Merle said, "Do I look like the fuckin' maid? You already know where the kitchen is. I s'pose you'll recognize the refrigerator when you see it."

Dude nodded to Partner who went down the hall.

Merle drank some beer and looked around vacantly. "Where the hell are my Cheetos?" He felt in the pocket alongside the chair then looked at Dude. "You see 'em on the floor anywhere?"

Dude automatically looked down around the chair. As Merle set the beer down his free hand reached under the loose flap of vinyl on the top of his chair back and pulled out a sawed off shotgun. Dude looked up in alarm and reached for the gun he'd replaced in the small of his back after searching the house. Merle blasted him in the chest then leveled the shotgun at Partner who had just appeared in the hall with a can of beer in each hand.

"Drop the cans and keep your hands up," Merle ordered. Partner dropped the cans but went for his weapon as he backed away. Merle shook his head sadly and shot the guy's gun arm. Partner fell against the wall howling and clutching his bloody upper arm. Merle duct taped a dish towel around the arm with the bullet hole then wound more tape around Partner's wrists and ankles. He pushed the guy to the floor with his back against the wall.

Merle went to the pantry and pulled up the false floor. "Okay down there?"

Glenn

Dirt fell when the shooting started. I thought the place was going to collapse on me. I go up the stairs and follow Merle to the living room. A man is sitting against the wall and there's another man on the floor who looks dead.

"You killed him?"

"He was reaching for his gun," Merle says. "We only need one alive." The live one is moaning and holding his arm.

Merle makes a call, reports briefly and asks for clean-up. Then he makes a second call. "It's me. We got them visitors you expected."

A few moments of silence when I can't hear the other end of the conversation.

"Course he's all right. He was down cellar the whole time."

Silence as Merle listens.

"One's dead and the other is keepin' pressure on his arm to slow the bleeding. Team's on the way."

More silence.

"We'll be here."

Merle hands the phone to me. "Daryl wants a word."

"Hi." I'm not sure what to expect. I haven't seen or heard from Daryl for over a week.

"How are you doing?" Daryl's voice sounds a little rough.

"I'm okay. Merle was unbelievable. He saved my life. I don't even know how to thank him. I really didn't think it was this serious. But Merle took care of me."

Merle is rolling his eyes and making a 'gimme' gesture with his fingers so I hand the phone back.

"Drive fast. Your boy is gettin' a crush. 'Nother hour alone, I'm not gonna be safe and he'll forget about you."

More silence then Merle disconnects.

I can't help staring. "You … uh … are you gay?"

"Hell no. But you are."

"Well, yeah. But there's nothing between Daryl and me. What did Daryl say when you said that about forgetting him?"

"Probably shouldn't pass it along but he said it was one-sided."

I bite my lip. "I was afraid of that. I hope I didn't embarrass him. I didn't even know for sure if he …"

"Oh, he's queer all right," Merle says. "But you mistook my meaning. Daryl thinks it's one-sided on his part."

"Really?" This is great news. "How could he? I felt like I was being so obvious. But I couldn't help it. And there was no response and he sent me here and I wasn't sure I'd even see him again."

Merle sighs. "Do I have to do everything? Even play matchmaker? Maybe I should mention Daryl is choosy. Rather fuck his fist than just any stray piece of ass. So if he wants to fuck you it must not be random."

I smile. "You seem to know Daryl pretty well. Do you work with the FBI very much?"

"Nope, I'm ATF. But Daryl asked me to look out for you and I don't turn down my brother."

I'm stunned. "You and Daryl are brothers? And you're with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms!"

Merle picks up his beer and waves his cigarette at the shotgun. "Always was a walking ad for the Bureau. Figured I might as well get paid for it."

"Aren't you supposed to regulate those things, not promote them?"

"I didn't understand that part 'til I joined up."

"I can't believe you're a federal agent."

Merle grins and speaks good English with no discernible accent. "You look surprised. You must have thought I was a redneck asshole. Appearances can be deceiving."

"I'm ashamed that I only saw the stereotype," I admit.

Merle switches back to his usual drawl and dialect. "Don't fret, yeller feller. Just means I'm good at my job. Now, we're about to have company. I better get dressed." He goes to his room and pulls on the discarded jeans and boots.

"Why weren't you wearing pants?"

"Man in his underwear makes the other guys think they're in charge. They thought they had the psychological advantage."

I hesitate before asking, "You wouldn't mind if something develops between Daryl and me?"

"Long as you don't want a threesome with me, it's none of my concern."

I'm excited. I've got the brother's blessing.