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Back No Going Back: a Novel Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Part 1
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. Part 2
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. Part 3
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. Part 4
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. Part 5
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. Part 6
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. Acknowledgments
  82. About the Author
  83. Also by Sheena Kamal
  84. About the Publisher

He should be tired. It must take a lot of energy to be that deceitful. There’s a moment when I have the courage to ask what he said to Bernard Lam’s father in that car. But I don’t have the courage to hear the answer. I don’t think he would sell me out to use as bait the way that Bernard Lam did. I can’t bring myself to believe him capable of it, though it has become clear to me that just about anyone is capable of anything.

The moment passes, and we settle in for the night.

Somewhere out there Steve is flashing purple and creating awe in the universe. We’re bathing in some pink light of our own, until there’s a flicker, the Szechuan place across the road goes dark, and we are alone in the way I’ve come to associate with him. Ever since he was my sponsor and we’d sit beside each other in the cold of the night and retreat inside ourselves. Alone but together.

I still don’t know what to call the sex, but it’s good in the way it can be when someone is familiar with your body. I haven’t learned someone like this in far too long. Better this than talking. The inch of skin at his shoulder is still my favorite place to visit and stay awhile.

Brazuca doesn’t seem to mind.

I’m not sure his lies matter to me right now.

52

The next morning I find Brazuca sitting at the kitchen table. Abandoned to the side are two breakfast sandwiches from the shop around the corner. His full attention is reserved for the object on the table in front of him: a pistol in a sleek pancake holster meant to sit on the hip.

“Is that licensed?” I ask. “Did you have it with you last night?”

“Yes and yes. Here.” He offers it to me in the holster, but I shake my head.

I know how to fire a gun. Have more than a passing familiarity with them. But I don’t have to feel it up, the way some gun nuts do. I have no desire to romanticize it, to take it apart and put it back together. To wax poetic, call it Baby, and go out with it to destroy some innocent beer cans. I never forget that Baby killed my father and is responsible for what happened to Nate Marlowe in Detroit.

“Why did you bring it?”

“Thought it would be useful to have it if you’re going to be staying here.” Brazuca isn’t offended that I won’t touch his gun, but he’s got something on his mind.

“But.”