He releases his locked hands around his knees and puts them both up in the air. “Fine. Whatever.”
And then he lies back on the sun lounger and resumes his super-relaxed position. “So what was your
job?”
“I was… in accounting.” I decide to withhold information about the lab. At least for now. Because
that lab job is too close to the real reason I’m in this situation in the first place. But I can talk about
the job I did before the lab. That was years and years ago when I was just a kid. I can’t just not tell him anything. I have to give him something.
“Hmm. Interesting. I thought I knew all people involved in the money. At least on this side of the
world.”
“Not money,” I say.
He sits up again. “What else does an accountant keep track of?”
“The people.”
He glances over his shoulder. And even though it’s dark and there are no lights anywhere on the
horizon in that direction, I know what he’s looking at.
The prison island is that way.
“The people,” he says, his voice low. Like he’s not really talking to me.
“The prisoners,” I say, trying to explain. “I keep track of the prisoners.” But saying that out loud
makes it seem a lot worse than saying it in my head, so I hastily add, “But that was a long time ago.
Now I’m a lab tech.”
“A lab tech? What kind of lab tech?”
Shit. I should not have said that. But I’m in now. And I need to keep going. “You know. Blood
samples, and microscopes, and stuff.”
“I don’t understand. Why were you taking blood samples from prisoners?”
“I didn’t take the samples. There were nurses for that. I mean—” I pause to gather my thoughts.
He’s making me nervous. “I was just a kid and all I really did was enter prisoner names and test
results into a database. I just… processed them.”
“OK. But still. What kind of tests were they doing?”
“How should I know? I just did what I was told. Isn’t that what you do, Johnny Boston? What
you’re told?”
He sighs. Loud. “You know what? I’m fuckin’ tired. I’m sure you’re tired too, so how about we just
go to sleep and figure it out in the morning.”