“You know what else?” Xavier says. “What else is on your fridge?”
“Photos of you and Fionna’s family and…”
Dad. Pictures of my dad…
My father and I have never really been close, not since Mom moved out when I was in middle school. Now that he comes to mind, I recall that he’s supposed to be flying down Monday to visit — something that had slipped my mind earlier and just adds to the things on my already full plate.
But I know Xavier isn’t talking about the photos of my dad.
“And of Charlene.”
He nods. “Yeah. What, at least five or six of ’em? Then if I looked at your calendar and checkbook I’d see signs all over the place of how much she means to you. Don’t read too much into this morning, dude. She’s upset, we’re all upset about what happened. She just cares about you. She wants to know you’re thinking about her.”
“I am.”
“But you weren’t. At the cliff.”
“No, but I was trying to catch—”
“I know, I know, I’m just saying. You’re a risk taker by nature, Jev. You leap before you look. It’s who you are. She needs to know that you’re going to look in her direction before you leap next time — that she’s important enough to make you think twice.”
I’m quiet. “That was pretty well put, actually, for someone who’s not good at relationship advice.”
“It’s based on something I read in a fortune cookie one time. A loose translation.”
“Ah.”
We’re close now. Emilio’s house lies just down the street.
“You know, Xav, I’m probably reading way more into this than I should, anyway. I’m sure it’s nothing, just something for us to sort out.”
He doesn’t respond right away. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”
I park by the curb in front of the house, which is brown, nondescript, and surrounded by scraggly cacti that don’t look like they’re handling the heat very well.
It’s a humble home, unpretentious, and easily forgettable — exactly the kind of place my friend wanted so he could disappear into the fabric of everyday suburban life when he was in Vegas doing shows.
I unpocket the pen as we step out of the car. We start up the driveway, but even before I can get the top of the pen unscrewed to get to the spring, I notice that Emilio’s front door is slightly ajar.
Xavier must see it too, because he pulls out a Taser.
“Since when do you carry a Taser?”
“Betty’s been with me two weeks now.”
“You named your Taser ‘Betty’?”
“Yup. You think we should call the cops?”
“Let’s have a peek inside first.”
We walk to the house.
“Betty, huh?”
“I’ve always liked the name.”
I press lightly against the door and it eases open. “Hello?”
No reply.
“The lock is shattered,” Xavier points out unnecessarily.
“Yeah.”
We both stand there for a moment, unsure what to do. “Well,” he says at last, “it wouldn’t be breaking and entering.”
“Just entering.”
“That’s right.”
“Which is what we were going to do anyway.”
“Good point.”
I put the pen away and he asks, “You scared?”
“Naw. I know TaeKwonDo.”
He smiles. “Well, I know Betty. And she has a black belt in kicking butt.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many Bruce Willis movies.”
“That may be true.”
Honestly, I don’t think there’s much of a chance that I’ll need to do any TaeKwonDo or that Xavier will need to do any butt kicking with Betty. Yes, the door has been jimmied, but the neighborhood is quiet. No dogs barking, nothing out of the ordinary — except for the open door.
I step across the threshold.
The house is silent.
Tired sunlight passes blearily through the curtains, but even without the living room lights on I can see that the room is in terrible disarray.
The magic paraphernalia that normally lines Emilio’s shelves lies scattered and broken throughout the room. The TV and its stand are knocked over.
The couch has been slit open and is spewing its contents onto the carpet. Emilio’s bookshelves have been swept empty, and his collection of magic books is strewn all across the floor. One bookshelf has been pulled loose from the wall and lies sprawled across the books like a mother trying to protect her children from whoever had been in here rifling through everything.
“Hello?” I call again.
Still nothing.
Both of us are silent as we edge forward. I peer into Emilio’s home office and see his computer’s hard drive has been ripped out. The books on his desk have been knocked down, and several of them, The Singularity Is Near, Singularity Rising, and Humanity 2.0, lie flipped open on the floor. From what I can see, they’re heavily highlighted and dog-eared.
A jumble of books on transhumanism, whatever that is, lies nearby. His checkbook and a Visa credit card rest in a clutter bowl on the edge of his desk.
I take it all in.
I’m near the fireplace, glancing up the stairway, when I hear the back door clack shut. It’s impossible to tell if it was from someone entering or leaving.
“Who’s there?” Xavier calls loudly as he flips Betty around in his hand. I’m not sure how to use a Taser, but I assume he’s doing whatever he needs to in order to make sure she’s ready to do her thing.
No reply.
I move toward the door to the patio. Out the window, I can see someone fleeing down the alley behind the house toward a white pickup truck parked near the intersection.
The guy is really moving and I can’t make out much, but whoever it is, it isn’t Tomás Agcaoili, the snake wrangler. Tomás is Filipino. This guy is Caucasian.
By the time I get outside, he has jumped into the truck, and when I run toward it to get the license plate number, he whips onto the street and tears off toward the intersection before I can read it.
“Get back to my car!” I shout to Xavier, who has emerged from the porch door.
We bolt to the Aston Martin. Jumping in, I fire up the engine and we peel away from the curb. Xavier grabs the armrest as I fly around the corner and accelerate toward the pickup.
“Just so you know.” A shot of adrenaline rushes through me and it feels good. “This is my first car chase.”
“I’ve been in a few.”
“Must have been before my time.”
“A lot happened before your time. Don’t lose him.”
I punch the gas. I’ve taken this car out in the desert a few times to see what she can do, and she can more than hold her own on the open road. I’m not sure how much I want to push her in town, but I also don’t want this guy to slip away like Tomás did.
“Any idea what you’re going to do when we catch up with him?” Xavier asks me.
“Whatever we need to in order to find out if he had anything to do with Emilio’s death.”
“That’ll work.”
I floor the gas pedal and let the DB9 do her thing.
Looking Twice
We gain quickly, and after two more turns, we’re almost close enough to read the pickup’s plates.
“I can make out an L,” Xavier mutters, “and a seven. At least I think it’s a seven.”
“It is.” Xavier eyes aren’t as good as mine and I can read the rest of it. The driver we’re following flares left through a red light. When I reach the intersection I slow to a stop. A moment later the light turns green but I don’t stomp on the gas.