Page 124 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Hey—” Jamie starts but is quickly cut off by Johnny.

“Did you hear Scoot’s engaged? You think that’s true? It’s from a reliable source.” Jamie turns to hold my stare at the stop sign as his brother continues his tirade, “Have you met this dude? How are we protecting Mirri? I am not okay with this.”

Before Jamie can speak, I do. “Hey, Johnny. This is Strider. I’m with Jamie.”

Scratching covers the mic before footsteps echo in the background. “Hambone?”

“Here,” the man in the truck replies, turning down an old state highway.

“You’re with him right now? Did you know?”

“Just found out. Unfortunately, I learned on the sidewalk in front of Fuzzy.”

“Fuck. Do Mom and Dad know? We need to do damage control.”

That’s enough. “Damage control isn’t necessary. I love your sister, and she loves me. We’re adults and we want to make a life together. That doesn’t require some PR spin to make it palatable. Who cares who knows?”

Jamie turns my way, as Johnny repeats, “Who cares who knows?” in absolute disbelief.

Before I know it, we’re in the Jones’s circular drive, and Jamie has the truck in park.

“We’re here to see Mom and Dad now. I’ll call you back. Call Rookie and Skipper. I’ll get Zipper.” He clicks off and opens his door, heading straight for the front door, leaving it open in his wake.

I follow as if being called to the principal’s office. Rufus greets me at the door, energetic and dopey. At least this Jones likes me. Mirren notwithstanding, the all-male Jones firing squad could be intimidating. Who am I kidding? Mirren is daunting, too, but she’s mine… and that’s all that counts.

“Mom? Dad?” Jamie calls, wandering toward the library Harry uses as an office.

June isn’t here, but I don’t dare reveal that.

Harry pokes his head out, looking between Jamie and me. “What’s wrong, son? Hey, Bootsy.” He extends a hand.

“Bootsy?” Jamie echoes, and I wonder how weird things can go before they are righted.

53

hazing

Mirren

Vibrations in my pocket pull me from the meeting I’m in.

Mom

The hotel is seedy as shit. Definitely not my style.

What time should I expect you?

The plane that exploded was a continuing flight. One hundred and seventy-three people on board. Best info I can find, it was Minneapolis to Phoenix with a stop in Austin. Why Austin, I have no idea. Air travel makes no sense. Who makes these routes? Regardless, fourteen through passengers became thirteen. One deplaned in Austin after leaving their suitcase on board.

What are the chances with all that’s going down this week that your cohort from Minnesota was on that flight?

Okay, call me when you can. And grab some dinner for us on your way back. I’m thinking barbecue. The good stuff.

Will do.

Will do will annoy the hell out of her, but I don’t care. She’s looking for me to engage, and I’m too busy. I turn back to the two men I’m meeting with, still staring at my phone as if I can see through the message to understand the bomb and nearly two hundred lives lost as if it were no big deal. Two hundred families wrecked just before the holidays… not that it would be easier in August or February.

The city of Austin is scrambling or at a screeching halt with no in between. Feds are en route if not already on the ground. State officials are in crisis mode.