Forty-Five
For the second time that day, I opened the door to find Agent Nate Duran outside. But instead of lurking behind his ATF colleague,
he now stood alone in jeans and a puffy coat. I ushered him inside, my heart flapping like a decapitated chicken.
He paused to take in the living room. “It looks great in here! Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against tie-dye and disco
balls. But it’s calmer now. I like it.”
This time I offered tea instead of whiskey. We sat across from each other at the kitchen table to avoid our thighs accidentally
touching. It should’ve felt even more awkward than it did, all things considered.
“I have a lot to explain,” I said.
“I’m a good listener.”
I took a deep breath. New Tilly trusted people. New Tilly let people in. I could do this. I wanted to be open and honest with
Nate. To be able to tell him everything. But I’d only known him for a week and a half. If he had to choose between his loyalty
to the ATF and a rando who’d slept with him once and then ghosted him, he wouldn’t pick me. And if I had to choose between
being honest with him and staying out of a prison cell, I’d choose my own freedom. So I looked deep into his gold-flecked
eyes and started spouting half-truths and lies.
I’d been acting so weird partly because I was under a lot of stress, I said.
I’d met a creepy guy named Connor at Huckleberry’s.
He’d drunkenly told me all about an attack he was planning on the capitol in three weeks.
That was almost two weeks ago now. His friends—Ralphie and Errol—had been threatening me ever since.
They told me they’d chopped off a woman’s finger and mine was next.
I hadn’t confessed any of this to Nate and the other agents that morning because I was too afraid. But it was time for me to be brave now.
I left Layna, and Gucci, and Miranda out of my story entirely. Though I knew at that very moment Gucci was likely staking
a giant poster advertising “Nikita’s” stand-up set at the Winter Will Never End Festival into the ground of Miranda’s front
yard. Hopefully Ralphie and Errol would drive by and see my smiling mug on the poster before my set tomorrow afternoon and
think it was a message from Miranda, giving me up. They’d stop harassing her. They’d know where to find me.
Nate took in everything I told him calmly, only interrupting to ask clarifying questions. I kept my answers short, concise,
the better not to trip myself up.
“Why did you think we were going to arrest you?” Nate asked.
“Two federal agents show up at my house? I’m a solo mom. Maybe sometimes I get paranoid that something will happen and I won’t
be able to care for my kids.”
When Nate spoke next, it was calmly, slowly, as if he was sorry to ask me a question it wouldn’t be in my best interest to
answer. “Why do you think Connor Johnson’s phone pinged here? At your house?”
I shrugged, my heart slamming into my ribs like the time I got busted shoplifting lipstick in junior high. “I’m a left-leaning
feminist from Westside LA,” I finally said. “I promise I am not in cahoots with a proto-Nazi I met at the strip club.”
Nate’s look said he knew there were things I wasn’t telling him. But after an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible
nod, then leaned toward me, elbows on the table. I feared he was about to demand the full and unfiltered truth. Instead he
said, “Connor Johnson is a federal informant. We have reason to suspect he might have gotten crossways with other members
of the Imperial Dominion. That he might be dead.”
“Oh my god,” I managed.
“Ralphie ‘the Lizard’ Wheeler and his nephew—Errol Wheeler. They’re major illegal arms suppliers,” Nate said. “Practically
on our Most Wanted list. We’ve had Day of the Rope on our radar. Our sources tell us the attempt will be in eleven days. Catching
them could help us stop it. Especially if we could get them to talk.”
“Well, here’s our chance!” I said, so nervous I made jazz hands. I told Nate about my stand-up set at the festival, how it
was being advertised with my photo and my pole dancing name, Nikita. Ralphie and Errol would likely be there, looking for
me.
“Your pole name is Nikita?” Nate grinned. “Like La Femme Nikita?”
“You’ve seen La Femme Nikita?” I said.
“Watching Anne Parillaud assemble that Steyr AUG A1 rifle in her underwear is probably why I got into the ATF.” He grinned
at me. “Nikita. Nice.”
“Yeah, except I’m not an assassin,” I said. “But I’m still kind of a badass. Like a Bond girl, but one who survives.” I tried
to keep my voice steady. “Basically, you can use me as bait.”
“I don’t want to use you as bait!” he said.
I needed to sound calm and strong. To not let on how scared I was. “If those two are wandering free, I’m gonna be living in
fear—for myself and my kids. Better to draw them out and catch them than live in terror they’ll find me.” This was the truest
thing I’d said since Nate arrived.
“Ralphie and Errol think you’ll be there,” he said. “But you don’t have to actually be there. You can stay home, stay safe.”
“I know it might sound crazy, but I need to get back into comedy,” I said. “You saw me do my stand-up at Job Talk Tuesday.
This is my calling. Besides, if the ATF is there on the ready, it’s not gonna be hugely risky.” I was trying to convince us
both.
Nate rubbed the top of his head with his hands, which messed up his hair, which made him look even cuter. “Okay,” he said.
“I’ll call my supervisor and see what we can put together.”
“It’s short notice,” I said.
He shrugged. “We’re trained for this. It’s what we do.” He said it so confidently. Maybe Layna had been wrong. Maybe he would
rescue me.
“Thank you. I have one more thing to tell you,” I said. “It’s the reason I was acting so weird after we had such awesome sex.”
“You thought it was awesome?” he said, with such hope and innocence I wanted to lean across the table, grab the back of his
neck, and pull him in for a kiss.
“Of course!” I said. Suddenly my mouth filled with sand. I wasn’t sure I could force words out of such a Sahara. But now was
the time for me to do the hardest thing I’d ever done. “It’s just that when you got up to go to the bathroom, I saw you have
a birthmark in the shape of Florida on your lower back,” I said, my voice a dusty whisper. “And Phoebe has the exact same
birthmark. In the exact same place.”
He looked confused. “Okay?”
“I know this is gonna sound nuts. But birthmarks are genetic.” I was talking really fast now. “You also all three have those
double-jointed elbows. And the cloverleaf tongue thing.” I paused. “I think you might be the twins’ sperm donor.”
He did not have the look of a man who’d heard joyful tidings. He looked catatonic. After what felt like the length of one
of the Dune movies, I waved my hand in front of his face, but he didn’t respond. I started to worry he was having a mini-stroke.
“Are you all right?” I said.
“I get it. You’re a comedian and this is a joke. Ha. Ha.” He was forcing air out of his lungs in a disturbing imitation of
laughter. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“Not a joke,” I said, softly. “I have a paternity test I ordered off the internet. If you want to take it.”
When he finally spoke, it was with the sort of fake cheer I’d use when convincing the twins it would be fun to go to the dentist. “Let’s bust this ring of white supremacists who want to overthrow the state government—because apparently these guys think the current political situation isn’t dystopian enough!
Then we can figure out what to do next about . . . about this theory you have.”
Feeling rebuffed, and with an aching heart, I told myself it was my turn to be patient with Nate.
I didn’t have time to ruminate on the fact that Nate bolted five minutes later. I had a million things to do. Check in with
Cheyenne. Warn Miley O’Riley about the situation. Find a babysitter for tomorrow. Finish my stand-up set. It’d still be rough
by the time I hit the stage, but at this point I needed to focus on progress, not perfection.
But before I tackled any of that, I had an amends to make. I printed a flyer for the festival and headed over to Emmylou’s.
When she didn’t answer my knock, I scrawled a note on the back and slipped it under her door.
Dear Emmylou,
I’m so sorry I blew up at you. You’re a light in our lives and we miss you. Hopefully I can apologize to you IRL soon. If
you want to see me perform at the Winter Will Never End Festival, please stop by. I’ll be doing a comedy set about pole dancing
tomorrow, Saturday ??. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have material for a “comeback.” Thank you.
Lots of love,
Tilly