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“What if I want you to expose the dirt, and I don’t give a fuck about the arrangement?”
“We sometimes have greater aims that I’m not at liberty to share with you, Mr. Peep.”
“Very funny,” Shane says. He drums the table with one hand, then says, “So you’re offering Mr. Peep immunity and a chance to break his ties with Jarrod Travis.”
“If he gets me in,” Big Mike says.
They both turn to stare at me.
“Are you any good?” I ask.
Shane rolls his eyes.
“What?” I ask. “They’re going to know something’s wrong if he can’t break into systems.”
“I’m good,” he claims, although we’ll see about that. “I’ll send some information for you to review. You’ll have to pretend we’ve known each other for a long time.”
“I’ll say we’re neighbors.”
He reaches out a big beefy hand, presumably for a shake. I glance at Shane, who gives the slightest nod, more an angling of his head, and I shake it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Big Mike.”
“Say…” he pauses, glancing at the cage. “Do you want a hamster? Turns out they’re more work than I thought.”
“You can’t give it back to the kid?”
“Her parents were pretty eager to get rid of it.”
“Not a great selling point. Say, what’s your real name?”
I don’t expect him to tell me, and I’m not disappointed. “Mike Hunt,” he says with a wink. Then, “How about that whiskey?”
Shane seems inclined to stick around, but I feel a powerful urge to leave, now. “I’ve got to go,” I tell him. “But send me that information, and I’ll take a look.”
If his portfolio isn’t impressive enough, we might have enough time for me to make it look more impressive. I don’t enjoy knowingly dissembling, especially to someone who used to be special to me, but Daphne didn’t show any contrition about trying to manipulate me. And if they’re not doing anything dangerous, then “Red Snake” will have nothing to find.
We head out the door, closing it behind us, and Shane makes for the stairs. Something compels me to hang back. I don’t know what it is until I see it from the corner of my eye.
“I’m going to take the elevator,” I tell him.
“Seriously? There’re only two flights of stairs.” Then he must remember the edited version of the elevator story I told him, because he smiles and shakes his head. “You could just go upstairs and knock instead of drowning yourself in nostalgia.”
He’s right. I could. But I feel this urge to do it anyway. No, it’s more of aneed.
He feigns tipping a hat to me. “You do you, buddy. I’ll see you down below.”
I walk to the elevator, feeling strange in my body, like my legs are too long, my feet un-sturdy. I press the button.
It glows, and I hear the old gears working.
Suddenly, I know, without knowing how I know.
Or maybe I just hope.
Then the doors slide open, and I step in—and there Mira is in front of me. She looks just like she did the day we were stuck on the elevator, although I’m sure she’d tell me she was wearing a different outfit entirely. Her hair is pulled back, several pieces escaping the small bun, and her eyes are done in that cat-eye look.
Her lips part in surprise or maybe displeasure as the doors close behind me. I feel the elevator start to descend, and then it suddenly jolts to a stop.
What are the odds?
