Page 95 of The Pleasure of Panic

“This?” Caleb says, kicking me in the ribs. “This is Special Agent Finn Murphy, Senator. The guy they sent here to bring you down, motherfucker!”

I’m still looking at Issy. She’s still looking confused, so I shrug, close my eyes, shake my head, and shrug again.

But then the senator comes to stand between us, severing our connection. “What?”

“What?” Caleb mocks. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

The senator doesn’t answer.

So Caleb continues. “About four months ago there was a raid outside DC, remember that?” He kicks me again. Right in the same place as last time.

“Drugs?” the senator says.

“Good guess, but try again, you goddamned elitist idiot. Payoffs, asshole. You remember what those are, right? Bribes? You should,” Caleb says. “You took enough of them.”

The senator stays silent.

“And there was a standoff between two federal agents. Both named Murphy.”

No, no, no. This asshole does not get to tell my fucking story.

“And they drew on each other.” He leans down to grab my hair the same way he was grabbing Issy. “Isn’t that right, Finn? But you, being younger, got there first and pulled that trigger.”

I close my eyes, wanting to make this all go away.

“At least you thought you did. Maybe.” He stops to lean over to look me in the eyes. “Did you really think you killed him?”

“What?” I croak.

“That wasn’t a trick question, son. Did you really think he died?”

“Of course he fuckin’ died!” I say. “I went to his goddamned funeral!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m—” But I stop. Think about that day. I caught him taking bribes. I confronted him. He pleaded with me to see it his way. Tried to give me some of the money. And I said no, and I said a lot of other shit too, and then we drew. Him first, but really, me first. And we fired.

I shot him in the chest, but he didn’t have armor on. He shot me in the chest too, but I did have armor on.

Then there were sirens and flashing lights, and I was in the ambulance, and he was in another ambulance, and a few hours later, his boss, Deputy Assistant Director Kenner, came into my hospital room—I had two broken ribs because his bullet didn’t hit me center mass—and he broke the news.

“Your father didn’t die, Finn. They all lied to you. They’ve been lying to you your whole life and you ate it up. And so when they pulled you aside after he died”—Caleb does air quotes for that —“they offered you a deal, right? ‘Go spy on someone for us. Go get those bad guys. Go bring them in, Finnegan. And we will forgive you for killing one of our own. For killing your father? No. Just one of our own.’”

“What?” Issy whispers. “This is all about you?” she asks.

“And then I found this,” Caleb continues. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s holding up my burner phone.

He throws it at me, hitting me in the head. It bounces off me, then it bounces off Issy’s cheek, leaving a red mark. Just like it left a red mark on mine when she threw it at my cheek in the car.

It spins, like a top, between us.

Caleb and the senator argue back and forth about who is about to go down, walking into the kitchen to look for a drink.

I realize this is the fucking safe house Declan sent me to with Issy. And just as that thought manifests in my head, he’s there. Standing in the doorway, looking down at me with pure malice.

He looks at me, then Issy, and I close my eyes and pray, Don’t, please don’t… please don’t…

Then he says, “Go get rid of that fuckin’ car,” to the group of thugs waiting around for Caleb to give them orders. “Take it somewhere remote and drive it over a cliff.”