I don’t.”
And there we go … the guilt trip. “I know, Dad. Love you, too. Tell Mom—”
“She’s in bed, but she knows.”
Brisa laughs. “No kids in the house, your wife’s in bed, and you’re on the phone? Uncle Cyrus, this should be adult play time.”
“Christ, Brisa,” he groans.
“Well, tell me I’m wrong.” She grins.
“What I will tell you is I’m sorry your father got dropped on his head one too many times as a kid.”
Chapter Four
Idiom
Curiosity killed the cat.
Truth
Cats have nine lives.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, scrolling through my notifications when I see a different kind of alert, one from The Sound.
“Stop with that nonsense. After tonight, do you really want to be in bed with any of those assholes?”
“It’s the code! Well, a code and—”
I feel the vehicle take a hard left and grab the dash, squealing, “Brisa, what part of don’t bring attention to your unlicensed ass don’t you get?”
She throws the vehicle in park then turns toward me. “You’re no more licensed than I am when buzzed.” She holds out her hand. “Lemme see.”
I lean over, and we both read the prompts together. “Click the link, enter your phone number, wait for the next text with your one-time authorization code and link for tonight’s event.”
I tap in my cell number then hit send.
We both hold our breath until the text comes.
When it comes, we both recite it aloud, “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.” And then repeat it as I type it in, “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.”
“Get your phone and take a picture of the screen so—”
“I lost it on the beach, remember?” She scrunches up her nose. “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.”
“Then we better both memorize this shit like it’s the periodic table.”
“God, I hate chem.”
“Focus, Brisa, focus.” Just then, Patrick calls. “Shit!”
“I’ll answer on the Rover, you keep your eyes on—”
“No! We’ll call him back.”
She holds her hands up. “Fine.”
My heart starts beating harder as I stare at my screen. Come on, come on, come on, I plead in my head, at the same time wishing that I didn’t give a damn.
When I hear a different ringtone than mine, I look at Brisa, who jumps in surprise.
She turns and leans over the console to pull her duffle bag from behind us. “Apparently, I didn’t lose it.” She unzips her bag, digs through it, and then pulls out her phone. She hits accept and then speaker. “Hey, Tricks.”
“B, everything chill?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’ll be there in a couple minutes. Truth just got an invite from The Sound.”
“Tell her fuck them. I found a bunch of chill people to hang with.”
“You’re on speaker.” Brisa laughs. “She heard you.”
“Well, come on and get me. I called Uncle Cyrus and—”
“We know,” I tell him.
“Did I tell you when you come get me I’m gonna call him and ask if he minds us going to an early breakfast so we have a couple hours more?”
Brisa and I look at each other, both knowing this could work in our favor. Then reality kicks me in the ass.
“Sounds like fun, but Brisa is driving and—”
“You drunken tonight, T?” He laughs.
“Clearly you’re drunken more than me.” I laugh, eyes still glued on the screen.
“We’ll be there in a few, mmmkay?” Brisa asks.
“Cool. Savvy and I’ll chill.”
I look at Brisa from out of the corner of my eye and mouth, “Who?”
She shrugs as she tells Patrick, “Cool.”
As soon as she hangs up, my messenger lights up. I hit it to open the message.
For your QRT code, reply I’M IN to this message.
I tap in I’M IN, hit send, and then another site link pops up.
Brisa sighs. “This is a pain in the ass.”
A Venmo request pops up.
“Venmo?” I ask as I hit the link.
“A hundred freaking dollars?” Brisa gasps. “I’m gonna go with what I said earlier on the beach—fuck them—and what Tricks just said, also—fuck them.”
“They mentioned something about a fight. Maybe we can watch one of those douchebags get their asses kicked by Manbun.”
“Mmmman bun.”
I smack her. “He’s old.”
She grins. “Still nice to look at.”
“You think we can get Patrick to—”
“He’s drunken, so yeah, I do.”
She starts the car while I send the money from the account that Sergeant Cyrus doesn’t have access to.
My messenger lights up again.
I read it out loud to Brisa, “2925 Industrial Boulevard, Lakewood. One hour.”
“So, what you’re telling me is Truth got drunk, you made friends with some bikers, and broke into a house?” Patrick asks.
I sigh. “First, there were no bikes;