Anarchy by James Treadwell Page A

what she’s doing. Tell her we’re begging her. If she wants money, we’ll give her money.”
    A boy freewheeled down the slope on his bike. She turned her face away from the road and let him pass out of sight.
    â€œMay I ask,” she said, carefully, “what it is Shawn thinks he did?”
    â€œHe didn’t mean no harm. He’s a good kid.”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œPlease,” the voice said, shrunk to a whisper so bereft Goose could barely hear it even on that deserted street. “Just tell her.”

8
    N ot sleeping too good, huh.”
    â€œIs it that obvious?”
    Jonas drew crescents under his own eyes with his fingers.
    â€œI was unpacking,” she said. “I’ve been putting it off.”
    They were in the window booth at Traders, simultaneously having breakfast and being visible. Cope, who perhaps knew enough about Jonas to figure that he’d sit in the station watching TV if he could, was big on being visible.
    â€œBoxes fought back?”
    â€œYeah. It was, like, ten against one.”
    He chuckled, opening his third sugar packet and stirring.
    She’d hadn’t plugged in the laptop. The mere thought of doing so had made her sweat. Her phone had gone off three times, unknown callers. She’d desperately wanted to talk to Annie but something about the way the phone sat there buzzing at her made it impossible for her to touch it. She’d tried to tire/bore herself to sleep by unpacking. Hours later, as it turned midnight, she’d been standing in the kitchen, holding her cheap wok in one hand and crying into the other because she couldn’t remember where she’d put the matching lid she’d unwrapped two minutes earlier, or at least that was the only obvious reason.
    â€œYou wanna go home and catch some zees? I can watch the shop.”
    Jonas was so absurdly even-tempered that it hadn’t quite occurred to Goose to think of him as kind. She smiled, embarrassed.
    â€œNah. I’ll be okay. I’m off later this morning anyway, right?”
    â€œYep. I’m thinking you could break early.”
    â€œI’m fine. I need stuff to do anyway. Think I’m getting cabin fever.”
    â€œAhh, we can keep you busy if we try, can’t we, Courtnee?” The waitress had brought his eggs. She was a hefty teenager who went speechless in the face of Jonas’s easy charm, like every other female in the town. “Gonna rustle up some malfeasance for Goose here, huh? Hey, is that French? Thanks, hun.” Courtnee retreated to her greasy sanctuary behind the kitchen door, blushing helplessly.
    â€œYou’re great with the kids.” Goose watched him eat. “You should have your own.”
    â€œNo way.” Even for him the negative was emphatically protracted. “Different kettle o’ fish.”
    â€œThey should have let you sit down with Jennifer Knox right at the start. I bet you’d have had the whole story out of her in ten minutes.”
    He glanced at her, suddenly wary, and went on eating.
    â€œWhat?”
    He finished chewing, very deliberately. He dabbed at his mouth. He’d have driven her mother crazy. You could see he had something to say, but it was like he needed to warm up. Alors, accouche! (waving the lit cigarette in her hand in her impatience, scattering tiny flakes of ash: who’s going to clean them up? Goose would be thinking angrily).
    â€œGirl’s still bugging you, huh.”
    â€œAren’t you even curious, Jonas? Of course you aren’t. What am I saying.”
    â€œI’m curious about whether there’s a God too. Don’t let it keep me awake, though. You know the sarge don’t want us going looking for her again?”
    â€œOh yeah. I got the message.”
    â€œHey. Take it easy.”
    â€œAre you guys up here always like this about missing kids? Like, oh well, never mind, plenty more where they came