Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

“Tell her that I’m being a total bitch, as usual. It’ll give you guys something to talk about.”

She smirks. “You’re only a total bitch when you barge into my room uninvited.”

“Oh, I knocked. You just ignored me.”

“By choice.” She nods towards her paintings, mouth twisting in annoyance. “Gonna take us for ever to clean that up.” She turns back to me, as if seeing me for the first time. “Speaking of cleaning up – you’re looking good today. Nice to see you making an effort.”

Perfect opening . “Thanks. Hey, so I wanted to ask—”

The door opens behind me. “Oh, Annie,” Reggie says. “Good. You’re here. Do you know anybody out in Mesa Verde?”

“Out in where now?” Annie stands in the doorway, looking as confused as I am.

Reggie explains about her missing state trooper. “So, do you?”

“Do I… what?” Annie glances at me, like she’s expecting me to step in and help.

“Do you have anybody out in Mesa Verde?”

“Uh… no.”

“What about Paul, then?” Reggie swings back to her Rig, distracted. “Or Africa?”

“I’m here!” Africa bellows from the lounge. Then he’s striding in, ducking his head to get through the door. “What you need?”

“You must know somebody ,” Reggie says to Annie.

“Reggie, Mesa Verde’s like five hours from here.”

Africa frowns. “Messa Ved? What is that?”

“Town on the Arizona border,” Paul shouts from the main room.

“I thought we were at the airport tomorrow. For Mister Germany.”

“So nobody has any contacts out there? Not even in law enforcement?” Reggie sounds irritated. “Well, get on it. Start making calls.”

“OK, why are you being weird?” Annie says. I’m really glad I didn’t have to ask the question, because I need Reggie on my side right now.

“I’m not being weird.”

“Sure you are.” Annie folds her arms. “Who gives a fuck about Mesa Verde? Or some missing cop? Probably just ditched his wife and went to Vegas.”

A look of real anger crosses Reggie’s face. It deepens, threatening to explode… then subsides. She closes her eyes. “You’re right. Forget it.”

Africa tilts his head to one side. “You OK?”

“If one more person asks me that, I’m going to…” She takes a very deep breath. “Never mind. Go back to what you were doing. Go do the Joseph Schmidt thing.”

“Jonas Schmidt,” I say, before I can stop myself.

“Yes. That. Now, please.”

“You sure you OK?” Africa says. “I can make some food or something if you want?”

“Come on, dude.” Annie pulls him away. “Let’s help Boss Man clean up.”

“You needed something, Teagan?” Reggie says.

Her question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to ask her about cooking school, to pop the big question…

But the words won’t come.

“No,” I say. “We’re good.”

“All right then.” She gives me a nod. “Give me a call if you find anything.”

She turns back to her Rig. I linger for a second, willing myself to say something, anything . I open my mouth, close it again, then head for the door, cursing myself and my stupid brain and my stupid life and my ability and Moira Tanner and all of it.

“So you know where to come tonight?” Annie asks, as I close the door behind me.

It’s the second time today that I missed her standing next to me. “Jesus. Yes. No. I don’t know. What?”

“Tonight. Dinner at my mom’s. Remember? I texted you the address a while back.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Of course I did. I just forgot that it was tonight, that’s all. Is she still doing it though? I mean, with the quake and everything?”

Annie gives me a pained look. “Take a lot more than a little quake to stop my mom. I don’t bring you clowns over tonight, she’ll never let me forget it.”

Dinner at Annie’s – let alone her mom’s – would have been inconceivable a few months ago. Annie was more likely to eat Big Macs with Donald Trump than invite me into her life. But she’s thawed a little since the whole Carlos thing, and a couple of weeks ago, she grudgingly announced to the office that her mom wanted to have us all over for dinner in Watts.

“1773 East 107th,” she reminds me. “Just be there six-thirty. And wear something nice.”

I point at my outfit. “This is literally the smartest thing I own.”

“You know what I mean. More dinner-datey.”

“Sure. I’ll pull out my ballgown.”

“Could we please get back on track?” Paul says. He and Africa have righted the whiteboard, and he’s already sketching a diagram of Van Nuys Airport, his Sharpie dancing. “Before every American asset in the free world gets compromised?”

The Meitzen Museum occupies a large building in Exposition Park, southwest of Downtown. Matthew and Amber arrive just as the doors open for the day.

The entrance is a huge, airy rotunda of steel and glass, bordered by wings made of red brick. The earthquake from the night before doesn’t appear to have damaged the museum, although there’s a section of steps with a major crack in it, surrounded by plastic orange cones. Matthew sidesteps them, hardly able to contain his excitement. He feels like he’s journeyed off the edge of the map into bright blue seas, speckled with islands to plunder for hidden treasure.

“Amber, come on!” he yells over his shoulder. He’s wearing a short-sleeved green button-down with jeans and sneakers, and he made Amber comb his hair. He hates getting his hair combed, but he needs to look good today.

The inside of the museum is hushed and cool. There’s almost nobody in the entrance rotunda – a few security guards, a small group of Asian tourists. Matthew skids to a halt, head tilted, as if sniffing the air. Then he spots what he’s looking for – a stairway, heading up to the second level – and bolts for it. He’s brought up short by a security guard, a stocky man with cornrows who steps in front of him. “Hold up, son. Gotta get a ticket first.” He spots Amber, jogging up. She’s wearing jeans and a green tank top, with a faded denim jacket. Her scraggly blond hair hangs loose around her shoulders. “Over by the window, ma’am. Entrance is free, but I need to see a wristband.”

The urge to grab some soil out of one of the nearby plant pots and attack the guard with it is almost overpowering. Matthew makes himself wait, dancing from foot to foot. He can’t just make the people here do what he wants – well, he could , but he’d get in trouble. Real trouble, not just the kind where Amber tries to get mad at him. He’s got to be more careful here. He hates playing pretend – it always makes him think of the other kids at the School, who acted like babies. But he can do it if he has to.

When Amber finally brings him his wristband, he all but snatches it from her, flashing it to the security guard and bolting up the stairs.

There are exhibit signs everywhere. Secrets of the Pharaohs ; Earth’s Changing Climate ; Pollution Solution ; Mission to Mars . Amber lingers at this last one, staring longingly through the open double doors, where there’s a glimpse of a NASA logo.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for.

The California Earthquake Exhibit has an air of permanence, a lived-in look that speaks of a lot of foot traffic and not a lot of maintenance. It’s a big, dimly lit room filled with dilapidated exhibits. There’s a shake table, holding plastic blocks designed to be formed into miniature buildings; a giant globe showing tectonic plates; a model of the Earth’s core.