Page 28 of Existential

And as the plain, unmarked cruiser pulls up to my left I figure out what it was that killed the capacity to feel: the realization that even with my old man’s death there was never going to be any escape, simply a new puppet master.

“Time’s up.”

I stare straight ahead. No point in looking his way; I can’t see him. An open window on the passenger side is all I’m afforded in case of prying eyes.

“Without stepping into Wingmen territory, I can’t get a hold on this.”

“That’d be your problem, not mine.” His voice is clinical, cold, and everything I’d expect from a federal robot like him.

“I still don’t get why you need me for this; you have all the connections.”

“I have suspicions, reasonable doubt—no hard evidence.”

“And that’s my problem how?”

A low chuckle emanates from the car beside me. “Need I remind you?”

Certain he can’t see much above my waist, I scoop out a bump and numb the strain. “Where to from here, then?”

“I need a statement from somebody on the inside detailing who’s at the head of this supply arm—that doesn’t change.” The distinct flick of a lighter punctuates his words. “How you get it is up to you; I can turn a blind eye to that. But I have a meeting in a week with the heads of this investigation.” Smoke drifts out the window. “I promised them a name, and an end game.”

“Another week.”

“I’ll need the contact name, and location within six days at most. Gives me twenty-four hours to do my paperwork.”

Fuck it all. I’m clutching blindly at straws as it is—what’s another week going to achieve? I’m destined to fail, which makes my message with Dagne all the more important to deliver.

“Sure.”

“Don’t come back empty handed this time, Josiah. You fail to get what I need, I put the evidence I have into the right hands and you face the rest of your life behind bars.”

Asshole.

I start the bike and peel away before the fucker can get another word in. His navy sedan fades in my rearview as I open the throttle and find the space to breathe again.