Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
The three remaining photos were of Sam and his mother. Surprisingly, one of the pictures had been taken in this kitchen, which told me he hadn’t recently moved in. It actually looked like he’d spent his entire life here.
I leaned in and studied his mom. She was blonder than Sam, but her eyes were the same shade of greenish blue that his were. She looked happy in the photos. They both did. One had been taken when he was a fat, jolly baby, another when he was maybe five or six, and one when he was about eleven. There were no more after that, which made my heart ache.
“That’s my whole life in a nutshell.” I jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice right behind me. He was good at moving quietly.
“Your mom was beautiful.”
“For sure. She was smart too, and funny. She could always make me laugh, even when I was mad or upset.” His voice wavered a little, so he changed the subject by pointing at the wedding picture. “That’s Matt and Cassie. The three of us have been best friends since the ninth grade. We were even roommates for a few years, but after they got married, Matt was offered a job in Denver. They’ve been there the last four years, and Cassie’s pregnant with their second child.”
Before I could say anything, he changed the subject with, “Anyway, I just need to do one last thing, and then we can get going.”
Sam found a shopping bag and opened a cabinet, which contained nothing but protein bars. After he packed all of them, along with the energy drink from the fridge, I followed him to the foyer. He scooped up a backpack and a large duffle bag before heading out the door and locking it behind us.
Agent Alvarez waited with the motor running while he opened the garage, backed out a rusty blue Chevy Nova, and locked up again. Once we got our luggage and ourselves situated, we began to make our way out of the neighborhood.
The SUV followed us for about eight blocks before turning off. “We’re on our own now,” I murmured.
“Good. I prefer it that way.” Sam fished around in the glovebox and put on a pair of sunglasses. Meanwhile, I shifted in the passenger seat and tried to get comfortable.
We rode in silence for a while. Eventually I asked, mostly to make conversation, “Are you remodeling?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because there was almost no furniture in your living room.”
“Oh, that. Before I got the job at SPAM with its decent paycheck, I had to sell my stuff piece by piece when I needed money. The house is paid for, but it costs a lot to maintain it and pay the property tax.”
“Do you have roommates?”
Sam shook his head. “I rented out a couple rooms after Cassie and Matt moved out, but the tenants were totally disrespectful and didn’t take care of the house. I couldn’t stand that. It’s all I have left of my mom, and…” He fell silent for a few seconds as he tried to get his emotions under control. It was surprising to see so much vulnerability from him. Finally, he said, “Anyway, I’d rather struggle to make ends meet than put up with shit like that.”
He cleared his throat, and then he changed the subject by indicating the SPAM-issued bag at my feet. “Why don’t you take a look at our supplies? I’m curious about what’s in there.”
I moved the bag onto my lap, unzipped it, and counted the bundles of money. “There’s five thousand dollars in small bills.” I dug deeper and reported, “We also have water purification tablets, some weird foil pouches labeled ‘food,’ which fill me with dread, and the world’s smallest first aid kit. It includes bandages and a tourniquet. We’re now ready for two types of injuries—minor scrapes, or losing a limb.” I dug down to the bottom and produced three plastic bags. “Finally, we have a pair of outdated cellphones, and something labeled ‘weapon.’ I think it’s a stun gun.”
Sam glanced at the black, oblong object in its plastic bag and nodded. “It is. Be careful with that.”
“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to zap you for funsies.”
“All in all, our supplies could be worse.”
“Could they? I mean, the cash is useful, but the rest of it’s pretty lackluster.”
“What were you expecting? One of those spy kits like in the movies, with ten types of foreign currency and five fake passports?”
“That would have been cool.”
I slid a folded sheet of paper from the outside pocket of the bag, and Sam asked, “What is that?”
“It’s a SPAM request form. Under recipients, it says Anderson Chen, code name DP, and Sam Miller.”
A laugh burst from him. “Damn, you never mentioned that special skill.”
“I don’t know what it stands for, but it’s not that. Also, why do I have a code name, and you don’t?”