Page 112 of Total Exposure

He pauses again. My mind is racing with questions.

“I took responsibility. Jordan was in law school, was about to graduate, about to take the bar exam and join his father back here in Colorado to carry the torch and all that bullshit.

“The point being… Jordan had a future. And yeah, I’d do anything for the guy back then. I loved him in my own way. He’s been my best friend since we were little kids. Partners in crime, we used to joke. Never knowing it’d really turn into that twenty-some years later.

“You can’t be a lawyer if you have a felony record. He didn’t ask me to do it. I just felt compelled. I feel compelled a lot. It’s why I am where I am and… and it’s partly my fault, anyway. Because I lied to everyone. To Augustine, mostly. But everyone. So fuck it, right? Fuck it. Bad choices lead to bad outcomes and fuck it.”

He pauses again. Maybe to collect himself. Because I can hear the hard swallow like we’re just inches apart.

“You should stay away, Evangeline. Play your show, live your life, and forget I ever happened. Trust me, it’s for the best.”

Chapter Forty-Six - Ixion

This time I’m not drunk. I hear the rotors of the helicopter landing outside. The jail in this town is pretty small. Just a substation, really. And the only dude on duty is, of course, my friend Sheriff Gramps. He’s been grinnin’ at me all day. Like somethin’ bad’s coming.

And he’s here. Because that helicopter outside doesn’t belong to the Wyoming law.

It’s Jordan.

Again.

Comin’ to save me from myself, I suppose.

The front door swings open—I can see it from my cell, which isn’t even locked—and Jordan Wells walks in wearing a navy-blue peacoat, three-thousand-dollar shoes, and a watch that probably costs more than Gramps makes in a year.

He brings a bitter winter wind in with him that sweeps into the little building like a vortex, twirling loose papers around and lowering the temperature by ten degrees immediately.

He slams the door closed behind him and the bits of papers settle on the floor.

Gramps looks pissed off about that.

I watch through one cracked eye as Jordan takes the place in, tracking everything like he’s a goddamned detective or somethin’, and then his gaze rests on me.

“Can you give us a minute, Jake?”

Gramps, who must go by the name of Jake, nods, shrugs on his coat, grabs a pack of smokes off his desk, takes a package from Jordan as he heads out the door—probably a bribe—once again, evoking the wind that stirs things up before it settles them down.

“Why am I such a fuckup?” I say, not even bothering to sit up as Jordan enters my cell. “Just my natural talent, I guess.”

“You bashed that guy’s new truck in? Again?”

“No,” I correct him. “This is the first I’ve bashed in the new new one.” I laugh at my joke.

“It’s not fuckin’ funny, asshole. He’s not letting you off this time. Gonna press charges. Why the fuck do you do this shit?”

“Because,” I say. “When I got home from Denver I remembered why I did it the first time.”

“And why was that?” Jordan is seething with anger. Nobody asked him to come up here, so I don’t really give a fuck.

“Because he beats the fuck out of his wife,” I say. “And this time he did it in public. In front of me. And no one in that stupid town wanted to interfere because he employs most of them out at the feedlot he owns. That asshole only stopped hitting her when I bashed in his brand-new headlights on his brand-new truck. So fuck him, he got what he deserved. And if he wants to press charges, well, I’m more than happy to testify how she ended up at Thermopolis General Hospital last night after he knocked her unconscious.”

Jordan blinks at me. “What?”

“It’s a long story that starts with Rachel, the woman’s sister, hiring me to kick her brother-in-law’s ass that night I got drunk a few weeks back. I was already in the bar. Already pretty fucked up. And she had the bat with her, just in case I didn’t have a gun. Which I did, but took the bat anyway. I got more common sense than that. And it ends with me bashing in his new truck instead of his face. You know, because I’d probably have killed the guy and murder’s a long stretch in the pen.”

Jordan blinks again.

“Too long, really.” I sigh. “I mean, I’m looking for a vacation, ya know? Not a permanent stay.”