He nodded and something crossed into his expression. “I will. Is there anything I should know about?  With Bella, I mean?”

“I’m not following.”

He hesitated. “Between you and her.”

I shook my head. “No. Nothing. I’m just trying to help her out.”

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure I understood the dynamics here,” he said, shrugging. “That’s all.”

“She’s been really nice to me,” I said. “I like her. I like the kid. I wanna help her. That’s all.”  I took a deep breath. “And she knows about your sister.”

“Everything?”

“I told her everything.”

“Wow,” he said. “Okay. Good to know.”

“I trust her,” I said. “If she asks questions, you can answer them.”

“Okay. Where are you headed?”

“To find Zip,” I said. “I need to know how stupid he’s been.”

“You want me to come along?”

“Nope. You stay with them. Convince her about San Diego.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back here later on. Okay if I take your car again?”

“Of course,” he said. “Be careful.”

As I walked to the rental, I thought about how careful I’d been for the previous few months. It had worn on me. It had changed me. And I wasn’t sure it was for the better. I was tired of being careful. If I was really going to help Bella and Jackson, I wasn’t going to be able to be careful.

I was going to need to be me.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The first place I’d run into Zip was the laundromat and I could make several guesses about why he was there.

He needed clean clothes.

He needed change.

Or he was dealing.

I went with the latter, which meant it might be the best place to find him anytime anyone needed him.

I parked across the street from the laundromat and waited for almost an hour before he finally showed up. No laundry basket, no clothes, no running in to get change. He just kind of meandered around the lot of the strip mall. Twice, he walked to a car that pulled up at the end of the lot, made small talk and then a quick exchange through the passenger window before the car took off.

Old habits die hard, especially with idiots.

I drove across the street and parked in the lot. I was already out of the car and heading toward him when he realized it was me.

That stupid, cocky smile spread over his face. “Hey, Noah. What’s shaking?”

“Not much,” I said. “Buy you dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. Sandwich or something?”

“Isn't it a little late?” It was almost nine o'clock.

“Didn't know you had regular meal times, Zip. Dinner or no?”

He eyed me cautiously. “Why?”

“I was kind of a dick the other day, okay?  You said if I wanted to hang out or something, we should. Here I am. Come on. Meal is on me.”

I headed for the car without giving him a chance to answer. I heard his footsteps behind me, following.

“Where’d you get the wheels?” he asked, slipping into the passenger seat.

“Just borrowed them. Had to run some errands this afternoon,” I said, turning the key and starting the engine.

He took out a cigarette, lit it with a cheap blue lighter, and exhaled out the window. “Right on.”

I backed out of the spot, but rather than driving out of the lot, I swung around the laundromat and into the alley behind it.

Which was empty.

“Where are we going, bro?” he asked, looking around.

I yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and jammed it into his thigh, just below the end of his shorts. He screamed and shot up out of his seat, smashing his head into the roof. I held it on his leg for another moment before flicking it out the window.

He writhed in his seat and reached for the door, pulling on the handle. It didn’t budge, thanks to the automatic door locks.

“What the hell, man?” he cried. “What the hell?”

I pushed the button on the door and his window rolled up. I didn’t need anyone hearing him scream again if I had to hurt him.

“Tell me what you told David Hanson about me,” I said.

“I don’t even know who that is, man.”

I put my hand behind his head and snapped it down into the dashboard, his forehead crashing against the glove box.

“Try again,” I said. “Tell me what you told David Hanson about me.”

He sat up slowly, shrinking into the seat, a bright red mark on his forehead. The red dot on his thigh puckered and blistered.

“Told him I knew you back in Cali,” he whimpered. “That we were friends. Well, not friends, but that I knew you.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, man.”

“If I slam your head down again, I’ll break your nose. What else did you tell him?”

He pushed back against the door. “Okay, okay. I told him you were in trouble in San Diego. I wasn’t exactly sure what for, but that you were. Man, he said he was gonna shoot me if I didn’t tell him. I’m sorry.”

Zip wasn’t sorry. He didn’t have it in him to be sorry. The only thing he was sorry about was that he’d been dumb enough to get in a car with me.

“But I didn’t give him any of the details, Noah,” he said. “I swear. Man, I don’t even know the details, alright?”

I didn’t know if that was true or not, but it was irrelevant. David could start digging, could reach out, start asking questions. At the very least, he could tell people where I was.

If Zip hadn’t already.

“What else?”

“Nothin’.”

“You didn’t tell him anything else about me?  Nothing?”

His eyes darted around the interior of the car. “Man, I don’t remember.”

“Try. Hard. Everything you said about me.”

His hands were balled into fists and he couldn’t get comfortable in the seat. “I dunno, man. I told him you were from San Diego. That you were in trouble.”

“Tell him I was a detective?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Tell him where I lived?”

He shook his head. “No. Just said San Diego.”

“Tell him about Carter?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No.”

I’m sure there were other details, but I didn’t think they really mattered. David had enough to get a decent picture of me now, probably enough to know I was a threat. But also enough to know I was vulnerable.

“I’m gonna say this one time,” I said. “One time. So pay attention.”

Zip nodded, rubbing at his leg, wincing from the pain.

“You open your mouth about me again to anyone and I find out?” I pointed at his leg. “I’ll put a bullet there instead of a cigarette.”

He squirmed in the seat.

“We clear?” I asked.

“Clear. Man, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. So quit saying it. And one other thing.”

He squirmed some more. “What?”

“Get out of here,” I said. “Get out of Fort Walton. Get out of Destin. Get out of the Panhandle. I don’t care where you go, but get out.”

“Man, I told you I was on my way to Miami…”

“Then go there,” I said. “I really don’t care. But pack your shit and get the hell out of here. Tonight.”

He grimaced, but I wasn’t sure if it was the leg or me telling him to leave.

“Noah, come on. I need a couple of days to get all my stuff together, get some cash, all that.”

“You don’t have a couple days,” I said. “You’ve got about an hour. Or that wound on your thigh gets a whole lot bigger and bloodier.”

He shook his head and muttered under his breath.

“And you don’t go near Hanson,” I said. “He calls you, don’t answer. He knocks on your door while you’re packing, don’t answer. He’s standing on the street as you’re driving away, run over him. Don’t ever speak to him again.”

He sighed. “He was gonna be my hook-up for Miami. He was gonna get me set up down there.”

“Well, now he’s not. Find some other degenerate to hook up with.”  I paused. “Because if you do talk to him, it won’t be me coming after you. I’ll send Carter.”

Zip’s eyes widened, then he nodded. “No problem, man. I’m gone and I won’t ever say shit to that guy again. Swear.”