6:00 P.M.
Brian
It'd been a week.
It's weird, how the world keeps spinning after somebody dies. Especially when you're close to them. I think there's nothing more sobering than the way life goes on without them. It's like, as a survivor, we half expect the world to just stop, for life as we know it to brown and wilt and eventually fade away the moment the people that are in our daily lives are gone. It doesn't seem like anything should exist any longer if they aren't there.
But one step at a time, you get over it.
And it's kind of like they were never there at all.
Except that Nick had gone mental.
We were stuck in Sweden still because the FBI had yet to give Nick clearance to leave. Associates of Officer Lennon had returned a couple times to question him, but she didn't come back herself at all. She seemed this phantom bad memory of Nick's, a threat that never materialized. But Nick was always cussing under his breath, receiving weird phone calls, and sneaking out of the hotel room that we were now sharing at night without saying anything.
I'll be honest, I was kind of starting to wonder about him myself.
That is until dinner, one week after he'd banged on my door announcing he'd found the bloody hotel room, when he ordered champagne from the hotel restaurant and looked at me seriously across the table. I stared at my plate of pasta. "Brian," Nick announced, "I've figured it out."
"Figured what out?" I asked.
Nick took a deep breath.
"We gotta solve this ourselves."
"We can't even leave the city, Nick," I said.
"We can't," he answered slowly.
I raised my eyebrow.
"But Officer Gustov and Officer Sheppardcan."
"Who's that?" I asked.
Nick glanced around, then reached into the backpack he had at his feet. He withdrew a wallet, which he handed across the table to me. I stared at the smooth black leather, and then slowly flipped it open. Inside was a badge, declaring Officer Sheppard was from the Los Angeles Federal Bureau of Investigation. Inside was identification - a driver's license. And staring up from that license was... well, me. But I was labeled Kyle Sheppard.
I looked up at Nick, my heart racing.
"Where the hell did you get this?" I demanded.
"I had them made," Nick answered quietly.
I threw the wallet at him. "Nick, you need to get rid of these," I said, my voice raising to a squeak, "Do you have any clue how much trouble you could get into with that?"
He took a deep breath, "Bri...AJ's dead and -"
"And the real FBI is taking care of the investigation," I hissed, shoveling a mouthful of pasta into my mouth.
Nick shook his head, "Dude, Brian, they're wasting all their time looking into me instead of the real person that killed one of our best friends."
"Well you have been acting weird lately," I answered in an accusatory tone. "Sneaking around and being all weird..."
Nick reached for his bag, "You want to see why I've been acting weird?" he demanded. He pulled out two .45s and slid one across the smooth, maroon table cloth at me.
My heart almost stopped as the heavy metal fell into my hand.
"I've been getting everything we need, Brian," he whispered. "I've put a lot of thought and effort into this and... I need you to get on board."
I stared at the gun in my hand.
"Oh Lord," I muttered, feeling the pasta I'd been shoveling rise up in my throat. I pushed the gun back to Nick, leaped up, and ran to the rest room.
Nick
I have anticipated Brian freaking out. Brian was the good boy. The boy that tried to find a church on Sunday no matter where we were. The guy that brought old ladies on stage because he didn't feel cheat-y that way.
So sliding him a gun across the table probably wasn't the brightest idea. Bri was kind of like a virgin. You kind of had to ease them in, get them comfort, and then go for broke.
By the time Bri returned I had pocketed both guns and finished dinner. He sank down and picked up a napkin, dabbing at his forehead. I folded my arms calmly and we stared at each other.
"Nick..." he begged.
"Preston," I corrected. "Preston Gustov. Secret agent by day. Lover by night."
"I can't help you."
I had prepared myself for that as well. I smiled. "Why?"
"Why? Because if we're caught we're going to get arrested and put away for a long time. You can't go around impersonating government officials!"
"I know we can do a better job as impersonators than the real deal can."
"You don't even know how to shoot a gun," Brian argued.
"Yes, I do. Kevin took me once."
"When? Fifteen years ago?"
I scowled. "Don't worry about it. Bri, I'm going to be honest. I do need help and you're the only one I trust."
"What about Howie? Why don't you ask him? Where's his badge?"
I snorted. "D's a good man, Bri, but he doesn't have the instincts we do. Besides, Howie and I don't work well together, But you...we're Frick n' Frack. You can read my mind without me having to open my mouth."
"Which is good because your breath reeks most of the time."
"No it doesn't." I lifted my palm to my face and blew hard. The aroma of garlic bread swirled around me. I blew again.
"It smells good," I argued.
Brian drained the last of his drink. "Let's go back to the hotel."
"We're not going back to the hotel."
"Yes we are."
"I'm not."
"Where are you going?"
I patted the inside of my jacket. Nestled in my pack of cigarettes were two airline tickets.
"First, are you with me Sheppard?"
"People will recognize us."
Even though it was an argument, it was a faltering one. He was weakening. I leaned forward and glanced around.
"I have disguises."
"What, fake mustaches?"
"No, I have professional stuff. Noses, wigs, scars. Brian, this is an adventure that could mean the difference between finding out the truth or having AJ's possible death be all in vain. Doesn't he mean more to you than that?"
Guilt. It was the last blow to his already crumbling stubbornness. His shoulders rose and fell.
"I swear to God if we get caught--"
"I'll take more of the blame."
"I have a wife and son. I'll never see Baylee grow up if I'm behind bars."
"But on the other hand, they'll think you're a hero if you help me figure this out."
I pulled out the gun and nudged him under the table with it. He hesitated a moment before taking it. We stared at each other again.
"So where are we going?" he asked. I pulled out my cigarette pack.
"One clue," I said.
"Konichiwa."
