The Lead I Refused to Take

Cleo had my collar in one hand and my attention in both. She said the programme could clear me, and I understood exactly what she was offering. What I disliked was how badly I wanted a witness to make it seem less like temptation and more like leverage.

I refused the private introduction. That was not noble. I simply could not bear being recorded choosing between them. There are enough versions of me circulating already: the expert, the laughing rogue, the lad who needs every recovered thing to prove he was not wasting his life. I did not want another camera creating a cleaner, more useful lie.

The assistant’s plate gave me something better than Cleo’s proposition: a route. I watched the bonded compound swallow the van and felt that familiar sadness of standing outside the answer. The warehouse may explain why that camera was in the cinema. It may also be the place Rale has been hiding from everyone, including me.

Rosa keeps giving me facts when I want absolution. I called again because her certainty is steadier than mine, though I doubt I told her that. We matched the plate to the route until the numbers stopped looking random.

Tonight the table is covered in my own arithmetic, and I am frightened by how much I need the next lead to be clean. If it is not, I will still want it. That is probably the worst thing about me.