Page 98 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Billy pulled off the road, tires scraping gravel, coming to a sudden stop in the grass, his foot clumsy on the brake.

‘Careful!’ Jet said.

‘We’ve already had this discussion.’ Billy pulled up the parking brake. ‘If I’m driving, you’re not allowed to criticize.’

‘Actually, we said I was allowed to criticize twice per trip. I got one more left.’

‘Not my fault anyway,’ Billy said. ‘Brakes are too sensitive.’

Jet gasped, placed her left hand on the dashboard, leaned forward to whisper: ‘He didn’t mean that, baby.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ Billy turned to her, across the darkness, whites of his eyes and whites of his teeth.

‘I’ll go inside, cover the cameras, turn off the security alarm.’ Jet swallowed. ‘Go find some incriminating spreadsheet or something, which explains Luke’s behavior, points right to my killer, and we solve my murder and go home and get a large beer. Easy-peasy.’

‘No problemo,’ Billy answered.

‘Keep the change, ya filthy animal.’

‘Yippee ki-yay,’ Billy said, leaving the best bit for Jet:

‘Motherfucker.’

‘OK, let’s go.’ Billy opened his door, stepped out.

‘You’re coming in?’ Jet got out. ‘I thought you were staying in the truck?’

Billy smirked. ‘And let you have all the fun?’

‘Ah, so youarehaving fun? It kinda suits you.’

Billy’s smile deepened, pushing out one side.

‘But wait, really.’ Jet grabbed his arm, wearing the duct tape like an oversized bracelet. ‘You know you can still get in trouble, right? I’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s called dying. You don’t.’

Billy looked down, gently pressed Jet’s bandage, one corner that was peeling off.

‘I’m obviously coming in with you,’ he said. ‘I go where you go. Best friend shit, yeah?’

Thank fuck, because Jet really hadn’t wanted to go in alone. Not that she was scared – no, remember, she couldn’t get scared anymore. But it was just nice, to have a Billy again. She grinned at him, her gut unclenching, heart spinning, both at home when Billy was right here beside her. How had sheforgotten, for so many years, this easy feeling she only had around him? Nothing to prove, and no reason to try.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll make up a handshake later.’

Billy flared his nostrils. ‘You’ve forgotten our handshake?’

‘Come on.’

Billy hesitated, glancing back at the powder-blue truck.

‘Won’t someone spot the truck, driving past? Not exactly subtle.’

Jet shrugged. ‘Nah. They’ll probably think it’s just two teenagers, screwing around, because his parents are religious and hers are light sleepers.’

‘Your mind,’ Billy muttered, shaking his head, following her down the drive.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘You can keep it, when I’m gone. Pickle it, in a jar.’

‘Jet, stop.’