Page 22 of Colombian Chemistry

“Exactly. If I was some terrifying serial killer being hunted in the States, you’d be dead, Sweetcheeks. And you’re not, are you?”

I shook my head.

“So, don’t worry about who I am. Just worry about keeping yourself alive and not getting me killed in the process.”

“But if you’re not really a wanted man, then why wouldn’t you tell me your last name?”

“Smith,” he spat out.

“Smith? Your name is John Smith? Yeah, right.” I snorted. “No one, but fake aliases, is John Smith. And really, no one would use that as a fake alias because it just screams fake alias.”

“Or maybe they use it because they know no one would use John Smith as a fake alias because it’s so obviously a fake alias name. Therefore, anyone named John Smith must not be an alias.”

“True,” I agreed. “No one would be that dumb.”

“Exactly.”

I slowed my steps. “Or you’re that smart that you know people will think just that. Your last name isn’t Smith! Wait. Is John even your real first name?”

A tiny smirk caused his lip to tremble for a millisecond.

I hurried back after him. “It’s not! Your name isn’t John, is it?”

He whacked a piece of foliage from our path, his huge bicep bulging with the movement. “And if it’s not, what’s it to you?”

I scoffed. “Well, I just can’t believe you lied to me. So, what is your real name?”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “Like I’m telling you.”

“Why not? It’s because you’re wanted, isn’t it?”

“Just because I don’t want people to know who I am, doesn’t mean I’m a wanted criminal. Maybe it just means I like my fucking privacy. Privacy I had until you crashed into my life, and now I can’t get even a second of it because I’m stuck with you in the goddamn jungle.”

“So, you’re not a wanted criminal?”

He glanced over his shoulder and squared off with me, rolling his eyes as he answered, “No.”

“And your name isn’t John?”

He held eye contact for a long pause then let out a hefty sigh. “No.”

“So, what is it then?”

“Like I’m telling you.” He chuckled and spun on his heel, returning his attention to our path.

“David! No, Eric! No... not manly enough,” I said as I started behind him. “Ooh! Like Jax or Axel or something tough, right?”

“Would you stop?” He pushed a big branch out of the way. It swung back and nearly collided with my face.

“Ow! Careful... Mason?”

He laughed and kept going. “Nope.”

I continued following behind him spitting out names, desperate to find out the real one.

“Why do you care so much? Just call me John.”

“Because I’m a scientist. The best scientists never give up until they get to the bottom of a mystery. We’re obsessed with facts. Obsessed with finding the truth, no matter how deep it’s buried. And it’s a fact that your name isn’t John, so now I must know what it is. Caleb? Trent? Ooh. Wait. Is it a wimpy-sounding name you hate, like Wilbur or Wilfred? You hate it, don’t you? Is it Herbert? You’re Herbert, aren’t you?”