I doubted Silvina shared much history with the place. Maybe she’d known the racoon’s grandparents. I scouted enough to confirm it was abandoned, used a cracked window to get in the back door, felt the smell and texture of abandoned, old, not-used around me, and hid the go-bag under a tarp. Put an array of rusty tools overtop like mulch. Then got the hell out.

Relief.

My phones were still in the weeds.

Just like me.

[47]

I drove home. Past fast-food restaurants and baseball fields, parks and the brief ache of that particular coffee shop. Drove through a grid and grief of traffic so predictable it lacerated me now, when I wanted to go fast and reckless. We all expected the slowness, even if it didn’t slow us down. All of our minds drifting there together alone.

The needling pulse, the inability to resist, to analyze: why was Fusk so resistant? On principle? Because, in his circles he’d know Langer by reputation alone? Or because that hummingbird in particular meant danger to him? I had Fusk and Furtown and a journal full of memories. I had a man behind a fence doing violence to another man.

Even when the traffic lessened, I kept driving slowly—into our neighborhood. Drove like I was a solid citizen. Parked in the driveway and got out casual. Didn’t bother going inside but walked to the backyard, onto the lawn. The swing seemed peaceful to me. I liked standing in that space and not seeing a soul. I let out a long, deep breath, looking up at the windows of our house.

Start over. Try again. Work with what you have.

I called Fusk using yet another phone card, yanked out of Shovel Pig’s guts.

When he answered, I railroaded over his “Hello?”

“Fusk, next time I’ll call from an open line, easily traceable, and whoever you’re afraid of will know for sure I’m the one who called you. I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore.”

Wreck the shreds of my anonymity to expose him. Burn down another part of my life. Because I had to. Because they already knew where I lived, so what did it matter? Except, it did matter. I was sweating, pacing. Decided to retreat toward the woods.

Silence. He didn’t hang up, but he didn’t say anything. I needed more. I could feel it. Luckily, I had more.