Page 10 of Total Exposure

When I turn back to the sheriff’s station, I’m alone again. Just me, and the wind, and the cold.

I shove my hands into my pockets and head for the road to hitch my way back home.

Jordan Wells can fuck off.

“So here’s the deal,” I tell the girl on the phone as I run my fingers through my now-wet hair. That shower felt good. Like the best shower in my entire life. I’m currently sitting on my bed in my one-room house on the edge of Washaki Ten, Wyoming, sucking on a smoke, and doing my best to placate the angry woman on the other end of the phone because I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about. “I’m fucking sorry, OK? I just need to come by your place and get my car. And my keys,” I add. Because she’s got those too.

“Fuck you, Ix. Just fuck you. I told you not to get involved.”

I sigh and pinch the space between my eyes, then stop. Because that’s a Jordan gesture if ever there was one and I haven’t done that in years. Dude’s back in my life for five minutes and I’m already picking up his mannerisms. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night and… whatever happened.”

“You’re such a dick.”

I don’t even remember what happened. This girl just called me up yelling like I ruined her life or something. But how much of a life can one man ruin in one night? And you’d think I’d have some sort of recollection of that, right?

I didn’t really have ninety-one missed messages. It was only forty-seven. And most of those were from Jordan. Dude must’ve been looking for me about that job he’s got lined up and that’s how he figured out I was in jail.

The other fifteen or so were from this girl. My caller ID says her name is Rachel. Sounds a little mean, if you ask me. And not in a hot way, either. So I called her back and she’s been yelling at me for—I look at the clock on the side table next to my bed—eight and a half minutes. And the only reason I’m still talking to her is because one of those almost incoherent sentences in her long rant mentioned my car and the fact that she was gonna throw my keys in the river.

“I just need the car, Rachel.”

“I’m not Rachel,” she snaps. “That’s my sister, you asshole. You broke my phone, remember?”

Oh.

“The caller ID…” But I trail off. Because if the caller ID said Rachel, I’ve obviously been talking to her, right? Yeah, losing battle, this one. “Fuck it. Either give me your address so I can come get my car or leave it somewhere and text me the location, or whatever. Because—”

She hangs up.

I consider how much I really need that car back and decide she can have it. I don’t care. I got a bike sitting six feet in front of me. And yeah, it’s gonna be a helluva cold ride to wherever I decide to go next. But ya know what? I’m tired of this place anyway. Losing the car is a lucky break. Now I don’t have to worry about the logistics of getting my bike outta this crap-ass town and into a new crap-ass town.

My phone rings in my hand and I have a moment of hope it’s Rachel’s sister coming to her senses about my car and maybe I won’t have to ride the bike in sub-freezing weather…

But no such luck. It’s Jordan.

“What?” I say, answering it.

“You’re coming to Denver,” he says. Like it’s a command. Like I actually take commands.

“You think so?”

“It’s a good job, Ixion. And it’ll give you… direction for once.” He’s a lot calmer than he was yesterday. But that’s Jordan for you. He’s all act, ya know. Everything’s a game to him. If he’s pissed it’s for a reason. If he’s calm, also for a reason. There’s not a true emotion in that heart of his. Not one. Just an act.

“Fuck you,” I say, blowing out the smoke from my cig.

“Are you smoking? You better not show up smoking.”

“Don’t worry ’bout that,” I say. “I’m not showing up at all. I don’t need your charity, Jordan. I can pay my own bills. In fact, I’ll cut ya a check for the seventy-five grand and send it—”

“I don’t need the money back,” he says. “I need you.”

I barely contain a laugh. “Why?”

“I can’t talk on the phone.”

I almost choke on my smoke. “You never fucking change, do you?”

“That’s not why. Be at my office tomorrow at noon. Talk then.”