Koen

 

I woke up at seven in the morning every day so I could come here, to this used car lot in middle-of-goddamn-nowhere Indiana, and try to move used cars. I'd been doing it for the last three months, ever since Jace and I had left New Orleans.

 

Wherever she was now, I just hoped she was having a better time of it than me.

 

Now, Billy Lyons was sitting here, asking me about whether or not he should ask out the new receptionist, see if she wanted to go grab a drink with him after work on Friday. And all I wanted to do was eat my burger, finish the next chapter of the book I was reading, and get back to work to finish out this day.

 

“Come on, Peter,” Billy said, slapping my shoulder with the back of his hand, “gimme some hints here, brother. Gimme some tips, or let me like, rub your head or something and get some of that lover-boy charm of yours.”

 

That was me. Peter O'Dwyer. Born in Washington, moved out here after high school. I'd been told by Claire McKesson to not make any friends, form any long-term attachments, or let anyone get too close, or too suspicious.

 

“Talk less about yourself, less about politics, or anything else,” she advised. “Your job is to stay insignificant. Eat most of your meals at home. Don't go to bars, don't get drunk.”

 

“So, don't have fun,” I suggested.

 

“Exactly. You're hiding in fear of your life, not going on vacation.”

 

I blinked slowly as I looked into Billy's eyes. “I got no idea what you're talking about, man. I haven't been laid in months.”

 

Billy rolled his eyes and guffawed an awful, braying laugh. “Ha, right, dude,” he said, braying again. “I've seen the way those MILFs look at you, dog, at the way they get their husband to even go for the clear coat.”

 

“That's because the clear coat protects your paint job, Billy.”

 

He brayed out another laugh. “Right, man, right,” he said, slapping my upper arm again.

 

It's a funny thing when you're playing roles. If you act a certain way long enough, like really put your mind to becoming that thing, sometimes it sticks and you start to think it's not just a role. Maybe because it wasn't anymore.

 

I'd followed Claire's advice, had kept my own personality down. I listened more than I'd used to, kept my mouth shut twice as often as I ever had, and tried to just be all around more humble and not accept a single bit of credit.

 

I wanted to be a fly on the wall, a shadow in the back of the room. And that's what I became.

 

I thought that, maybe, just maybe, if I could keep my ego in check going forward, I'd be a better man. It had been my ego, after all, that had gotten me into this mess. Somehow, I'd thought I could almost single-handedly rip off a Russian mob boss, then outwit him into proving his own guilt.

 

I was wrong, of course.

 

And everyone paid the price for my ego.

 

All those months ago, Fed had warned me where we were headed. He'd told me I'd bring this all upon myself.

 

Boy, was he right.

 

Too late to tell him now, though. He was long gone, just like Jace and the rest of my life.

 

“Alright,” I told Billy, then wiped a napkin across my lips, “see you out there. Got some cars to move, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, Pete,” he said. “See you out there, buddy.”

 

I ain't your buddy, Billy. That was what I wanted to say at least.

 

But, instead, I kept my mouth shut. No one wanted to hear that trash from me.

 

# # #

Jace

 

Wanna be bored out of your mind? Go work in an indie bookstore that specializes in old history books. Then live above it.

 

The only people you'll ever talk to that are your own age are delivery guys from the deli down the street. They'll leer at you, their eyes traveling up and down your body like they want to own it or possess you.

 

And the whole time you'll know that, in your previous life, they never could have afforded you. And you'll also know, too, that they wouldn't have known what to do with you, even if they could.

 

God, I wanted to tell them to fuck off and die, just so I could watch their little, sad faced wither. Not because I was mean, but because it would have made my life a little less boring.

 

I woke up. I opened the shop. I waited on the handful of customers that came in each day. I closed the shop. I went home.

 

Sometimes, though, I went to the movies on a Friday night. That wasn't too often, unfortunately.

 

And the worst part about it was that this whole thrilling, exciting life was led under the constant gray of the Seattle sky. It was like God had specialized in, and truly gone out of his way when it came to making me lonely.

 

New Miserable Existence! Only $9.99! Now with extra drizzle!

 

As I sat there at the cash register, staring out the front window at the streaks of damp running down the glass, I sighed. This was my life now. And, if I wanted to keep it, I had to stay boring. No impulsive actions, no one night stands, even if I'd wanted them. No drinking. No friends. Because that kind of life had nearly gotten me killed, once upon a time.

 

The phone rang, the old handset's ringer loud enough to disturb the dust on the even older books, and nearly sending me jumping. Even after three months of this place, I still hadn't gotten used to that ring.

 

“Walter's World of War, this is Andrea speaking.”

 

“Hi Jace,” Agent McKesson said on the other line.

 

“Oh, it's you,” I said. “Hey.”

 

I know I should have been more excited to hear from an old piece of my previous life. I should have been nearly ecstatic to hear about anything that wasn't old books about old wars my dead papaw wasn't old enough to have even fought in.

 

But, I wasn't.

 

Instead, every time Claire called it was just another sad reminder of the life I'd left behind back in New Orleans. It called up all those memories, too, of those mistakes I'd made, and the things I'd left undone.

 

“Any word on Koen?” I asked, not even bothering to whisper. If there had even been a customer in here, their hearing wouldn't have been sharp enough to hear me if they were in the stacks. “Can you at least tell me how he's doing?”

 

“He's alive,” she said, as tight-lipped as ever, “and that's as much as you're going to get out of me.”

 

I grunted. “Still won't let me call him, will you?” I asked. I'd spent the first month begging her every chance I could. Just to give me his number at least so I could talk to him. I even promised to just call and hang up right away. Anything to simply hear the sound of his voice asking who was calling, or who was there.

 

Even sound of his breath would have been enough to set my world ablaze.

 

“Nope,” she said. “Besides, I'm here to see how you're doing.”

 

“Today is a Wednesday,” I said. “So, it rained. Guess what it did yesterday, and what it's going to do tomorrow. Come on, McKesson. Guess.”

 

Claire laughed a little. “Your pessimistic attitude isn't doing you any good,” she said. “You know that, right?”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But, surprisingly, it makes me feel warm and cozy like my boyfriend used to.”

 

“Come on, Jace,” Claire said, a little bit of chastisement in her voice. “You both agreed to this. You knew what the deal was. You took your shot, it didn't work. That's life, and it sucks. But that's how it is sometimes. But, at least you tried, right?”

 

I didn't respond. I just let my silence do the talking for me.

 

“Right,” Agent McKesson said. “Alright, I was just checking up to make sure you're fine. You know the drill, right? You spot anyone crazy or weird hanging around, you call me alright?”

 

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, rolling my eyes even though she couldn't see me. “If I see something, I say something.”

 

“You got it, Jace. Talk to you soon.” Then she hung up, and I was back to my normal, humdrum, boring life.

 

I blew out a sigh. “Great,” I said before laying my head down on the counter. “Just fucking great.”