Page 38 of In the Nick of Time
“Yes.” Nick nodded. “But he could more easily have pushed me. Hechoseto push you. I’m just saying it seemed odd. And we both know that odd things seem to be happening to SPAM agents.”
Doug eyed him thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll take that into consideration.”
“You’re taking me seriously?” Nick was a tad flabbergasted, if that was a thing.
“Yes, I’m taking you seriously. I think,” Doug began, opening the hotel room door and ushering Nick out, “that you are smart and observant no matter what kind of act you put on for people.”
“Huh,” was all Nick could come up with. Also, the comment confirmed he wouldn’t be telling Doug that Tim could communicate. Any respect he’d earned would immediately return to below zero.
“So, where are we headed? Dancing again? Trying our—your—luck at the gaming tables?”
Doug had his phone out but slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans. How did a superhero manage to look so good in jeans? It already wasn’t fair they looked good in Lycra—not that Nick had seen Doug in his superhero heyday, but it just went with the territory, didn’t it?—but Doug filled out jeans and that damn polo shirt like nobody else.
“—where Agent Schoenhut was found.”
Nick blinked the Lycra image away. “What? I’m sorry, I missed that.”
Doug sighed.
“I ordered a Lyft. We’re going to check out the scene where Agent Schoenhut was found.”
Opening their room door, Doug motioned Nick into the hallway. Nick waited until they’d made their way downstairs and outside to ask his questions.
Taking his place next to Doug under a canopy where presumably the rideshare would stop for them, Nick asked, “Did you forget to tell me about Agent Schoenhut?”
Doug looked blank for a minute.
“See?” Nick took the moment offered him. “Senior minute. Moment.Whatever. You definitely shouldn’t be heading off to Montana all by yourself.”
A white Toyota swung into the parking lot. Doug pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen—Nick presumed to makesure they weren’t being picked up by a kidnapper—before he opened one of the back doors and squished himself inside. Nick climbed in after him.
“How do you drive that tiny car of yours?” Nick said as he did his best to clip his seat belt.
“Happily, every time I have to fill up the tank.”
Nick really wanted to ask Doug where the scene was and what they were going to do there, but it was also possible that he’d told Nick already and that Nick hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t space out on purpose; sometimes his ADHD brain just took a little vacation. Why did he have to develop feelings for Doug Swanson? He probably wouldn’t enjoy ADHD brain all the time, so Nick was going to try harder to be at least sort of normal.
“I suppose you have a point.”
Doug confirmed their destination address with the driver, who shot them a what-the-hell look in the rearview mirror but didn’t say anything. Nick had the feeling he didn’t pick up a lot of tourists who wanted to go wherever they were headed.
“Wow,”said Nick, staring out the passenger window at the derelict strip mall where the driver was dropping them off. Several tumbleweeds rolled by them, along with a plastic bag and scraps of paper. They’d ventured into abandoned Vegas. More likely it was the “real” Vegas, whereas the Strip was Vegas dressed up for a night out—forever. Wherever they were now was dirtier and dustier than Old Town had been. At least the neighborhood around Nitti’s seemed like the atmosphere was gritty by design. This was just depressing.
“Out, Nick. The guy has places to go.”
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Nick opened his door and stepped out into the oppressive heat. Even at this time of the day, the air was stifling.
At one point, someone had dreams. A little gas station, a deli—which would have been handy to reload up on candy—a nail spa, and, inexplicably, a pet grooming shop, were all lined up next to each other. The businesses were permanently closed, the windows boarded up and, because plywood was an excellent canvas, now covered with graffiti art.
“Whoever painted those is pretty damn talented,” Nick commented. “Why are we here?” he asked Doug. “Wondering, also, is anyone going to come out here to pick us up or are we going to have to walk back to our hotel? I did not wear the right shoes for this.”
TEN
DOUG
In which Doug reminds himself there is no such thing as coincidence.
Doug staredaround at the no-longer-in-business businesses. The For Lease signs were tattered, and hope had clearly been abandoned long ago. He’d wanted to see where authorities had discovered Agent Schoenhut. What was it about this spot? Had it meant something to the killers? Why a coffin? Was it convenience or a message?
