None of your business, in other words, Billy thinks. Which is, in a way, fair enough. He’s just an employee, after all. What they’d call a hired gun in the old Western movies Mr Stepenek used to like.
Thinking of Mr Stepenek makes him think of a thousand junked cars – it seemed like a thousand to a kid, anyway, and maybe there really were that many – with their cracked windshields winking in the sun. How many years since he last thought of that automobile graveyard? The door to the past is open. He could push it shut, latch and lock it, but he doesn’t want to. Let the wind blow in. It’s cold but it’s fresh, and the room he’s been living in is stuffy.
‘Hey, Billy.’ Nick is snapping his fingers. ‘Earth to Billy.’
‘I’m here.’
‘Yeah? Thought for a minute I lost you. Listen, are you actually writing something?’
‘I am,’ Billy says.
‘Real life or made up?’
‘Made up.’
‘Not about Archie Andrews and his friends, is it?’ Smiling.
Billy shakes his head, also smiling.
‘They say that a lot of people writing fiction for the first time use their own experiences. “Write what you know,” I remember that from senior English. Paramus High, go Spartans. That the case with you?’
Billy makes a seesaw gesture with one hand. Then, as if the idea has just occurred to him: ‘Hey, you aren’t getting up on what I’m writing, are you?’ A dangerous question, but he can’t help himself. ‘Because I wouldn’t want—’
‘God, no!’ Nick says, sounding way past surprised, sounding actually shocked, and Billy knows he’s lying. ‘Why would we do that even if we could?’
‘I don’t know, I just …’ A shrug. ‘… wouldn’t want anyone peeking. Because I’m no writer, just trying to stay in character. And passing the time. I’d be embarrassed for anyone to see it.’
‘You put a password on the laptop, right?’
Billy nods.
‘Then nobody will.’ Nick leans forward, his brown eyes on Billy’s. He lowers his voice like he did when telling Billy about the Baked Alaska. ‘Is it hot? Threesomes, and all that?’
‘No, huh-uh.’ A pause. ‘Not really.’
‘Get some sex in there, that’s my advice. Because sex sells.’ He chuckles and goes to a cabinet across the room. ‘I’m going to have a splash of brandy. Want some?’
‘No thanks.’ He waits for Nick to come back. ‘Any word on Joe?’
‘Same old same old. His lawyer’s appealing the extradition like I told you and the whole thing is on hold, maybe, who knows, because Johnny Judge is off on vacation.’
‘But he’s not talking about what he knows?’
‘If he was, I’d know.’
‘Maybe he might have an accident in jail. Never get extradited at all.’
‘They’re taking very good care of him. Out of gen-pop, remember?’
‘Oh yeah. Right.’ That seems a little convenient is an observation Billy can’t make. It would be a bit too smart.
‘Be patient, Billy. Settle in. Frankie says you’re meeting the neighbors out there in Midwood.’
So. He hasn’t seen Frank in the neighborhood, but Frank has seen him. Nick is checking his sexy new lappie at will and also keeping an eye on him at his temporary home. Billy thinks again of 1984.
‘I am.’
‘And in the building?’
‘There too, sure. Mostly at lunch. The food wagons.’
‘That’s great. Blend in with the scenery. Become part of the scenery. You’re good at that. I bet you were good at it in Iraq.’
I was good at it everywhere, Billy thinks. At least after I killed Bob Raines I was.
Time to change the subject. ‘You said there was going to be a diversion. Said we’d talk about it later. Is this later enough?’
‘It is.’ Nick takes a mouthful of brandy, swirls it around like it’s mouthwash, swallows. ‘Happens to feed into an idea I wanted to try out on you. The diversion is going to be a couple of flashpots. Do you know what those are?’
Billy does, but shakes his head.
‘Rock bands use em. There’s a bang and a big flash of light. Like a geyser. When I know for sure that Joe is coming east, I’ll have a couple planted near the courthouse. One for sure in the alley that runs behind that café on the corner. Paulie suggested putting one in the parking garage, but it’s too far away. And besides, what terrorist blows up a fucking parking garage?’