Gotcha.
People put a lot of stock in tracking devices and GPS shit these days. I am here to tell you, however, that there’s nothing, and I do mean nothing, like the thrill of the chase, all up close and personal like. When he pulls up in front of The Chronicle building, the bottom drops out of my stomach. And pretty much every other organ inside me.
I park across the street and watch him go in. Once he hits the elevators, I’m basically blind until he comes back out.
I mean, yeah, I debate going in there, following him all stealthy like and what not, but there’re too many people who saw me with Green just a couple days ago that might say something to her. Or better yet, she might see me.
I’d much rather keep the upper hand here, for a while, and figure out what the hell is happening before she knows I know she’s in with Walker.
I wait.
Apparently, I do a lot of that shit in this job.
Not that I mind. I mean, what the fuck else is there to do right now?
Touch base with Stix, nail Jim Galley to the wall, and avoid life in general.
When Walker’s not back out in about a half hour, I start dozing off. It’s kinda hard not to when the heat’s kicking, the music’s playing, and I haven’t slept right for about a week and a half.
Know what I mean?
I’m not sure how long I’m out when a familiar scene plays out in my dreams.
Me and Mikey, yelling at each other in the middle of the street.
Go home, Mike.
Him being a stubborn ass.
“No, man, talk to me.”
Me being a dick to him.
“Go the fuck home!”
Only this time, when I turn to leave him standing there, and I hear the screech of car tires, I turn to see the scene play out in slow motion. It’s not Mikey who’s lying dead in the street because of me.
It’s Green.
My eyes fly open, and I look around. My blood doesn’t slow down for a couple seconds when I realize where I am and what I’m doing here.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of Walker, exiting the building with Green.
Fuck if I don’t want to let my mind go where it’s headed.
I watch the woman of my dreams, literally, very carefully. She’s all business, whatever she’s discussing. Me, I’m guessing. It’s not too long before I pull away. I got what I came for.
Confirmation of the FUBAR kind.
Regardless, it’s getting late, and I’ve got work to do.
Like maybe doing a background check on a certain writer who likes getting herself in too deep with the wrong fucking crowd.
X X X
As I lay on my couch, bouncing my favorite nerf ball against the ceiling, I’m stumped.
Nothing I find on Green adds up to conspiracy participant.
Only child. Straight A’s. Majored in literature but minored in law. Her dad, however, is a bit more interesting. Card dealer on the gambling cruises down on the southeastern coast. Prison security guard for a while. Jobless for even longer.
Something tells me Papa Green isn’t the most up and up kinda guy.
I have no idea how all this ties in with Walker up here but I’m sure as hell it ties in. I feel it in my gut. And it does not feel good, my friends.
My guess is, he fucked up—small town rumor mill drove Green batshit crazy, and she couldn’t escape her family’s legacy.
Welcome to the fucking club.
I bounce the nerf against the ceiling some more.
It helps me think.
“Calculating.” Bounce.
“Infuriating.” Bounce
“Conniving, manipulating, chatter-fest…” Double bounce.
“You all right there, Jackie?” The sound of my brother’s voice in the apartment all of a sudden should probably be cause for concern. The truth is, this shit happens all the time.
I know, right?
Welcome to my world.
“No.” I look back at him. His shoulders barely have room to breathe in the doorway. He looks way too fucking amused for my taste today. “How’d you get in?”
I know the answer. I’m trying to give him a hint. He doesn’t get it, though. Instead, he holds up the culprit and grins. “Key.”
“I thought I took that back last time you broke into my house.” I tried. Fucker has a kung fu grip like you wouldn’t believe.
“Nope.” He curls it up into his mammoth hand. “It’s mine forever.” All cocky fucker like, he slips it into his front uniform pocket.
Funny guy.
“You seem frustrated.” Nick likes to state the obvious. Always has.
Bounce.
“Yep.”
“Emma, I’m guessing?”
BOUNCE.
“What makes you say that?”
He catches the ball on its way back down.
“Women, that’s why.”
“Then yes.” I sit up and drag both hands through my hair.
“And?”
I look up at him like crazy is written across his face. Because, hello, isn’t it obvious?
“She’s a pain in my ass, that’s what.”
“And?”
I stand and swing a hand at the highly irritating air.
“She’s a fucking know-it-all, leaving-shit-out-of-her-backstory, and can’t-just-fucking-be-honest-with-a-guy.”
Nick chuckles. “Anything else?”