"I'm good at watching myself, living out here," John said, watching the other man almost like a cat with a mouse. Close up, the way he prickled and snarled was just enough to have John wondering what might be back there, but still it was secondary to the sudden frenzied need to figure out just exactly how Harlow was climbing walls and tagging when he was supposed to be fucking dead. Abruptly a thought occurred to John that didn't bode well for the other man, though it had absolutely nothing to do with him. Maybe Harlow had wanted out, and had set the whole damn thing up in an elaborate fucking ruse. Maybe Harlow was perfectly fine.
He smiled suddenly, hard and bright and creepy as a clown doll. "My name is John," he said, and fast as lightning he landed a cracking punch to Rodeo's jaw.