The Peripheral

61

I’ve got to sleep,” she said to Burton, in the kitchen, after Corbell had gone with the big man who’d brought in a golf umbrella to walk him back to his car. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“You think Netherton can handle Corbell?”

“Lowbeer and the others can tell him what to say.”

“Who’s that?”

“Conner’s met her. I think we’re actually working for her, but getting paid Lev’s money. Or Lev’s money here, as much as it’s his. Damn. I’m about to fall over.”

“Okay,” he said, squeezed her shoulder, put on his jacket, and went out. The rain had stopped. She put out the kitchen light, went through the living room to check there was no light showing under her mother’s door, then up the stairs. They’d seldom been as steep.

Janice was in her room, cross-legged on the bed with half a dozen Geographics. “Kills me,” Janice said, looking up, “national parks before they privatized. Asshole gone?”

“Burton too,” Flynne said, touching her own wrist and then all four pockets of her jeans before she remembered her phone was in the trailer. She pulled her t-shirt off, tossed it on the chair, then had to root under it for the USMC sweatshirt. Put that on, sat on the edge of the bed, and got her wet shoes and socks off. Undid her jeans and managed to get them off without standing up again.

“You looked whacked,” Janice said.

“Time difference, they said.”

“Ella okay?”

“Didn’t look in,” Flynne said, “but her light’s out.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Picking up the magazines.

“I have seen so much weird shit,” Flynne said. “Woman who told me about the time difference has two pupils in each eye, animated tattoos of animals running around on her ass.”

“Just on her ass?”

“Arms, neck. On her belly once, but then they all ran off to her back, like cartoons, because they didn’t know me. Maybe to her ass. Can’t tell.”

“Tell what?”

“Whether I’m getting used to it. It’s weird, then it’s the way it is, then it’s weird again.”

Janice sat up. She was wearing handknit pink acrylic slippers. “Lay back,” she said. “You need to sleep.”

“We just bought ourselves the damn governor. That’s weird.”

“He’s a bigger asshole than Pickett.”

“Didn’t really buy him. Got a deal with Pickett to pay him on a regular basis.”

“What’s it supposed to get you?”

“Protection. Two of Burton’s guys killed a pair of ex-military who were trying to sneak in. Not just thugs. Down past the trailer.”

“I wondered what they got all quietly excited about.”

“Pickett got Tommy out here to make sure the bodies get disposed of okay.” She made a face from childhood, without meaning to. “Where’s Madison?”

“Over at Conner’s, with Macon, working on an Army copter for Burton. Or he was, last time I checked Badger. Might be home now.” Janice stood up, the old Geographics pressed to her stomach. “But I’m keeping Ella company.”

“Thank you,” Flynne said, and let her head down on the pillow, timesick, or maybe that and that texture thing, her old chambray pillowcase intricate as chess against her face, less familiar.