Page 88 of Joker

I do.

Logan thinks for about three seconds, then starts issuing orders the way good presidents do when the room shifts from speculation to readiness.

“Shadow, Blaze, widen the perimeter checks. Keep it casual.”

They nod.

“Dom, run the plate, see if the deputy’s had any recent calls out this way, and flag anything weird tied to the diner or gas station.”

Another nod.

Then Logan looks at me. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”

Which sounds suspiciously like he’s known exactly what I’ve been doing all along.

I don’t bother asking. My phone buzzes in my cut before I can say anything else.

Unknown number.

I stare at it once, then answer because there are only so many people likely to have this phone number and still show up unknown.

“Yeah.”

“Joker.”

Grinder. His voice comes rough through the line, all business and very little patience. The man did not become president of anything by enjoying long, emotional check-ins.

“Your pres says I should call you for an update,” he says.

I glance at Logan, who watches me without comment.

“Logan’s right here,” I say.

“He told me to talk to you.”

That shouldn’t land like it does.

I move a few steps away from the others, out into the bright heat just beyond the garage opening. “Then talk.”

“You got her?”

The question is simple. Notare they comfortableoris Lexi eatingorhow’s my daughter adjusting.Just: you got her?

I understand the language.

“Yeah,” I say. “I got her.”

A silence ticks by. Not distrust. Assessment.

Then, “Anything I need to know?”

Not yet, I think. Maybe soon.

“Not yet,” I say instead.

Another pause.

“She settling?”