I scrubbed until no one would know that my bathroom had been a crime scene unless they possessed a forensic degree. Empowered by cleanliness, high on bleach fumes, I got ready to go out to dinner with Jake.
I pulled on my scrubs and all the silver that I currently owned. Between my belt, bracelet, and badge—which might warn me a second or two before any attack—I’d give myself even odds on surviving for five seconds once I was outside my door. Five whole seconds, although not necessarily painless ones. Hooray for me. I estimated where I’d parked was about ten seconds away, and technically being in my car wasn’t any safer than being outside it, really. If a certain crazed unknown someone in a black truck decided to run me over, my little Chevy Cavalier wouldn’t stand a chance.
While I was standing there waiting, measuring assorted odds, Gideon came up behind me, looming.
“I’ve got to get to my car. Are you willing to spot me?” I wasn’t sure what Gideon could do precisely—but once upon a time, I’d seen Grandfather laser out from the inside of a pissed-off dragon. Gideon nodded, then pointed at the doorknob with his chin.
It took me a second to catch his drift. “Ah. Opposable thumbs must be high on your To Do list.”
Gideon nodded.
“Once I leave, don’t open the door up for anyone but me, okay?”
Gideon nodded again, and with one last look at my badge, I opened the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The only thing I had to be afraid of on my way to my car was ice. The weather wasn’t letting up—instead of snowing enough to run the city into the ground, it kept warming just enough to put a slick sheet of ice over everything as it refroze. I hopped inside and my engine took quickly. With a moment of forethought, I took my ibuprofen out of my purse and tossed it into my glove box—I’d hate to find out Jake had swiped it two weeks from now, when I was on my period.
Jake was waiting for me on the curb outside the Armory. When he saw my car, he put his thumb out like a hitchhiker, and I flashed my high beams at him.
“Hey, Sissy!” he said as he got in.
“To what do I owe the honor?” I said, pulling away from the curb.
“The usual. Your good taste in siblings, the fact that we share a mom.” He grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “How’s it going?”
“Eh. I’m tired.”
“You work night shift. You’re always tired.”
“True.”
“But I have a surprise for you.”
“Really? What?”
“Dinner’s on me tonight.”
I flipped the right-hand turn signal on in my car.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m driving toward the nearest Burger King.”
He snorted. “Go straight two lights, before making a left.”
I did what he said, and there were directions after that. We wound up in a diner at an area just this side of decent. I’d been here before, long ago, when Mom would drop Jake and me off at a forgotten arcade with a fistful of quarters to kill an afternoon. The arcade was gone now, but the diner remained.
“Well, this is a blast from the past,” I said, pulling into a small parking lot nearby.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Thanks. I think I do.” He held the door for me as we went inside.
As I passed, I could see he was wearing nice clothes—he looked pulled together. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around this version of Jake: clean, polite, kind. The waitress took us to a booth.
“Just like old times. Want a chocolate milk shake?” Jake asked as the waitress waited for our drink order.
“Maybe a hot chocolate, instead. And a burger, please.”
“Me too. A double.”
The waitress took our order and went away.
“So,” I said, looking at Jake.
“Soooo?”
“Really, Jake. What is up.” I took my hat off and set it down. It was nice and warm in here at least. Plus, there were no eyeless cyborgs.
“Does there always have to be something up?”
“With you, yes.”
“I just wish you could trust me again.”
“How many times have you stolen things from me, Jake?”
“I don’t want to hash over the past.”
“How convenient.”
“Do we have to have the same conversation every single time we hang out?”
I squinted at him. “Unless we’re not talking that day.”
He crossed his arms, and childishly stuck out his tongue. I couldn’t help but laugh. The waitress came by with our hot chocolates, and we busied ourselves stirring in marshmallows.
“I can’t blame you,” Jake began, and I expected one of the reversals that had followed the last few times he’d said those words. I can’t blame you for whatever problems you have, like not trusting me, he’d say, without ever owning up to his own flaws. But instead he continued, “I can’t blame you for being mad at me. But I want you to know, I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
The irony that it was the dead of winter, and we wouldn’t see any new foliage till late spring didn’t avoid me. “How so?”
“For starters, I’m buying us dinner tonight. And then next month, I’ll be paying for my half of the cell phone bill.”
I pursed my lips. If we were normal, these things would have pleased me; they’d be signs my erstwhile brother was getting back up on his feet. But if Jake had taught me one thing, it was that everything always came with a hitch. “How are you affording it?”
Jake shrugged nonchalantly.
“No. Seriously, Jake. I need to know.”
“I’ve been working very hard lately is all.”
“About that, Jake.” I couldn’t very well tell my brother to quit hanging out with other homeless people—just white guys with dreadlocks who probably sold drugs. “What is it that you do?”
“This and that.”
“Selling drugs,” I guessed, getting ready to scoot out of the booth. Was this the right time to make a scene? Was there ever a right time? Of all the things I would have thought that Jake could do to push me away, this was the last, biggest, final, straw.
“No. Energy supplements.”
“Is that what they’re calling meth these days?”
He inhaled and exhaled. “I knew you would make this difficult, Edie.”
“I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re doing well. But if you’re taking money for running drugs, and then trying to buy me dinner with it, I just can’t stand for that.”
“It’s not drugs,” he protested. I stood up, and he stood up too. Other patrons were looking at us now.
“Why can’t you just have faith in me?”
“Are you really asking me that?” My voice rose as I asked him. He held out his hands, palms up, pleading.
“Edie. I love you. I just need you to believe in me. One more time.”
I stood there, looking down at him, torn between running away and running toward him. I breathed heavy, deep, then sat back down.
“Energy supplements,” I repeated, trying to talk myself into it.
He nodded. “They’re really popular. I’ll cover the phone bill next month. The whole bill. Not just my half. I owe you.”
“Okay,” I said to him, and to myself. “Okay.”
Our dinner came out. Jake opened up his burger and reached into his pocket, under my watchful stare, pulled out a palmful of glass vials.
I’d seen them before. Luna Lobos. Like the ones Luz had, which she may or may not have given to Javier when my back was turned. Jake’s vials held no such Schrodingerian duality—he popped off their caps and poured the contents onto his burger, where they pooled on the cheese. He saw me curl my lip in disgust. “Hey, I’m not just the owner, I’m also a member.” He put the top bun back on and gestured grandly, like he’d done a magic trick, then pulled another full vial out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of me.