Two from the Heart(35)

Hours pass. As the shadows deepen, strings of multicolored year-round Christmas lights pop on, outlining buildings and fences up and down the street. Kind of pretty, especially because it’s all kind of blurry. The last thing Bron sees is Luke and Timo doing drunken hip-hop moves on the deck. The last thing he hears is the pounding of the music from the speaker:

Got money on my mind, I can never get enough…





Chapter 10


TYLER BRON is 170 pounds of dead weight—out cold and snoring. Timo holds his ankles, Luke has him under the armpits. They carry him the ten yards back to his room and set him gently on the bed. Luke slips Bron’s sandals off and places them neatly on the floor.

“I wasn’t planning on this part,” says Timo.

“I’m not the one who mixed the drinks,” says Luke.

They head toward the door, but Timo has a thought. He goes back and rolls Bron onto his side. “Just in case he pukes,” he whispers. Luke gives a quick thumbs-up. They slip out and close the door softly.

As they walk down the wooden walkway toward their room, hands on each other’s shoulders, Luke says, “Okay, he’s down. Are we done?”

But… he’s not talking to Timo or to anybody else in sight. He’s talking into thin air. But talking to whom?





Chapter 11


SPOOKY. REALLY spooky.

I’m watching a hi-def feed from a camera on the motel deck. Everything’s in night-vision mode now. Very Zero Dark Thirty. Luke and Timo look like two glowing ghosts moving along the porch toward their room.

Daisy is standing near the monitor, wearing a nearly invisible Bluetooth headset. As usual, she does the talking.

“That’s it for tonight, guys. Thanks.”

I give myself a little pat on the back. God knows I won’t get one from her. I have to admit, Luke and Timo are perfect. Daisy couldn’t have done a better job with the casting. Now Tyler Bron has a couple of bros—just the way I wrote them.





Chapter 12


DAMN, THAT’S good weed!

The trim brunette in a peasant skirt leans against a stucco wall outside her place of employment, which is definitely a smoke-free environment. It’s a beautiful day, and getting mellower by the minute. She looks up into the cloudless sky, takes another deep drag, then exhales an impressive plume, which is carried away on a light desert breeze.

Whoa. Not too much now. Need to be on point. But the sky is so beautiful…

Ding, ding, ding!

Shit! It’s the bell from inside. She takes a final puff, stubs out the joint carefully against the wall and sticks it in her pocket. She brushes her hands briskly over her top and skirt to make sure no ashes linger, then straightens her name tag.

WILLOW BAILEY, LIBRARIAN.



Inside, Tyler wanders past neat rows of wooden card catalogs and stacks of neatly filed books. In a tiny space labeled KID’S CORNER, colorful beanbag chairs surround a low table scattered with oversize picture books and stuffed animals. Bron’s head is still throbbing from last night, but this morning he’s a man on a mission. He calls out toward the back of the room…

“Hello? Anybody here?”

Willow pushes open the door from the back hall, shifting back, shifting back into professional mode.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just me today,” she calls out. And then, as she rounds the corner into the main room, “Hi, there. I’m Willow. I’m the librarian.”

Okay, Bron thinks to himself, this is no dowdy book checker. Young, hip, cute. Maybe a little… spacey.

Okay, Willow thinks to herself, this is no local cowboy. Tall, polite, attractive. Definitely a little… sunburned.

“How can I help?” asks Willow. “Looking for anything special?”

“Hi. I’m Tyler. I just got here yesterday, and to tell the truth, I’m not even sure how I got here, but anyway… I need some help connecting with the world.”

“Oh,” says Willow, “like… self-help?” She brightens. Right up her alley. “Chakras? Meridians? Inner power? That sort of thing?”

“No, no. I mean connecting. Actually connecting… digitally.”

“Oh.” Willow’s expression falls just a little.

“Please tell me you have a computer,” Bron says.

Willow recovers and gives Bron a don’t-be-silly look. “Of course we have a computer. It’s in the back…”

They walk past a row of well-worn encyclopedias and a wooden pedestal holding a huge Spanish–English dictionary. Following a step behind, Bron can’t help but notice the sway of Willow’s hips. And her bare feet. And the rings on her toes. Making small talk with attractive young women has never been Bron’s forte, but he gives it a shot.

“Can I ask you something?” Bron says.

“Sure.”

“What’s the story with this town? Is it actually on the map? Does it even have a name?”

“Nada.”

“Nada? Nothing? You mean… it doesn’t have a name?”

“No, I mean Nada is the name. Before 1940, this was just desert. Then they started mining for uranium here, for the Manhattan Project. They put up some Quonset huts, built a few buildings and bars and some hangars outside of town. Thing is, they never found any uranium. Not a speck. So the scientists called the place “Nada.” Their little joke. These days, nobody really calls it anything. It just kind of… is.”