Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

“I took a risk, Ms Frost. A calculated risk. I had no idea what the outcome might be, but I wanted to see if your new abilities would present themselves. I’m pleased to say they did.”

“No. You’re wrong. I don’t—”

“You can rest easy, by the way. At present, Ms McCormick and I are the only ones who know. It’s going to stay that way.”

She doesn’t have to say the last part. I can hear it just fine. It’s going to stay that way… as long as you continue to do what I say .

Tanner purses her lips. “And you are definitely far too important to be spending your time at culinary school.”

I blink. Did I mention that to her? The last few weeks have been a blur, but I’m sure I would remember if…

She shakes her head, as if shooing away a fly. “I would be a very poor intelligence operative if I didn’t understand what it was my assets wanted.”

“…Why can’t I? What difference does it make?”

“Because I know you, Ms Frost. You would launch yourself at it, to the exclusion of everything else. Your work with China Shop would suffer, and I can’t allow that. Not with so much at stake.”

“Oh, bullshit. You can’t just… just run my life like this. Anyway, I’ll do it on my own time. I’ll pay for it. If I’m allowed a life outside of China Shop, then I should be allowed this.” I hate that I’m bargaining with her, doing it without meaning to. “Everybody thinks they know what’s best for me. Nobody’s ever asked me what I want.”

“Tell me,” Tanner says quietly. “If you could have stopped Matthew Schenke from ever reaching California, but in doing so you’d be required to give up your dream of being a chef for ever, would you have done it?”

“So I’m just selfish now? That’s what you’re saying?”

The very slightest smile. “Ms Frost, you’re putting words in my mouth. Think of it this way. Jonas Schmidt – who you seem to have developed quite a bond with, by the way – turned his plane around when the San Andreas fault went off, at considerable risk to himself. What do you think his answer to my question would be, if he was in your shoes?”

I don’t reply. Which is a good thing, because I’m not sure I could do it without swearing. A lot.

“We’re not finished with this,” I tell her.

“I have no doubt. And in case you’d thought I wouldn’t mention it, we are going to have a thorough debrief on the Schmidt operation. But, for the foreseeable future, you and I are going to continue working together.”

“Might be a pretty boring job.” I spread my arms, gesturing to the rest of the world. “LA isn’t exactly what it used to be. My guess is the world’s super-criminals will probably take their shit elsewhere.”

“On the contrary, our targets may flock to Los Angeles. A damaged place is always profitable, if you don’t care about damaging it further.

Would you be kind enough to – ah, never mind. There she is.”

Reggie’s obviously been watching, keeping half an eye on us. She’s wheeling her way back out from the kitchen. “They’re doing Jäger shots,” she says to me.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Yep. Believe they told me that if you don’t join them, Annie is going to sit on you while her cousin pours it down your throat.”

“I’ll do one if she does one,” I say, jerking my finger at Tanner, who looks like I’ve just invited her to go skinny-dipping in a pool of pee.

“She’s more a wine gal,” Reggie says. Tanner has turned away from us, hands clasped behind her back. Surveying the empty yard, as if examining captured territory.

“Of course she is. Care to get shitfaced with us?”

“You go on ahead. I’ll come over in a bit.” She looks over at Tanner – and this time, there’s no fear in her eyes. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Halfway across the yard, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans.

Phone service is still spotty, but they’ve managed to get a basic version of it back online. And I know without looking exactly who is texting me. He’s sent so many messages over the past few days that I can probably figure out what he’s saying, without reading it.

I pause for a moment, hand wavering over the pocket of my baggy cargo pants. Then I let it go, head back inside. I probably need to be a lot more drunk before I deal with that. Actually, before I deal with anything. My little chat with Tanner has left me feeling like there’s still an earthquake happening, the ground shaking under my feet.

It isn’t just Annie doing shots. It’s about ten people, and they all cheer when I duck into the kitchen. I was introduced to a few of them earlier, but I’ve already forgotten their names. Hands reach for me, pull me into the circle, squashing me down on a chair next to Annie. She looks over at me, the grin on her face at odds with her red-rimmed eyes. She’s drunk now, not quite able to focus on me.

I reach over, wrap my arms around her. “I love you, Annie. You know that, right?”

She mumbles something in my ear, impossible to make out over the loud voices.

But she squeezes back.

Someone shoves a whiskey glass filled with a double shot of black liquid into my hand. Everybody has one, and everybody shoves their own forward into a giant communal toast. It’s a miracle we don’t break any of them.

As the horrible concoction nukes the inside of my mouth, there’s a commotion from the front of the house. Shouts. Laughter. The blat of an engine – and not a car engine either.

Annie’s eyes meet mine. “The fuck?” she mumbles.

The front porch is crowded with people. Ditto for the yard. They’re all cheering and laughing at… something out front. I’ve lost track of Annie somewhere between kitchen and porch, but I push my way through the crowd. I can’t see a damn thing, and it doesn’t help that I’m about half a foot shorter than anybody here. It’s only when I get to the front fence that I finally see what’s causing the ruckus.

Africa.

Fucking Africa.

He’s standing on the ATV he stole, arms spread like he’s conducting an orchestra, a smile on his face the size of California. He’s guffawing with laughter, calling out people in the crowd, pointing. There’s a woman by the ATV, looking around, standing awkwardly while Africa soaks in the applause. She’s stick-thin, with scraggly red hair and a pinched, nervous face.

Jeannette. The stupid son of a bitch found her.

He catches sight of me, and the smile gets so big it threatens to crack his face in two. “ Teggan! ” He roars. “You dëma ! You made it, huh?”

I can’t help smiling back.

How in the blue hell did he know that Paul’s memorial was today? How did he know where to come? And how in the name of all that is good does he already know everyone here?

Actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’ll tell me the story before long.

Some of it might even be true.

Later.

I’m sitting on the front porch, not really thinking about anything. I’m drunk, but not nearly as badly as I should be. It’s like the beers and Jäger and – tequila? Yes, tequila – just went right through me.

There are still voices in the house, but they’re quieter now. Slowly, the crowds drifted away, people leaving in twos or threes. I went to the bathroom at one point, and came back to find just about everybody engaged in a massive clean-up operation, black trash bags appearing from nowhere, people stacking plates and sweeping up the odd broken glass. Rocko, Sandra-May’s enormous dog, ran around barking and pretending he was being useful. About the only person not helping was Annie, who was passed out on a couch, snoring like a beast. Sandra-May was in the middle of it all, saying she hoped it wasn’t too much of a bother, she and Reggie directing operations, Reggie immediately calling me over to gather empty beer bottles. It made me think of the day after the first quake, when Paul asked for help cleaning up the Boutique, and I had to excuse myself for a few minutes to get my shit together.