Both Ends Burning (Whistleblower Trilogy Book 3) by Jim Heskett Read Free Book Online Page B

help, and my wife is on retreat this week, so I have plenty of free time.”
    “Still,” I said, “you didn’t have to do that.”
    “I can’t imagine what it’s like for them to be hiding out up there, not knowing what’s going on. I know they’re not supposed to leave, so I thought it was the least I could do.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’d have gone up again today, but I’ve got my son with me.”
    He nodded at a teenager sitting on the couch, whose face was lit up by the glow of a phone screen. The kid wasn’t paying the slightest attention to us.
    “Noah,” Rodrick said, “this is my friend Candle. Candle, this is my son Noah.”
    Noah looked up, and I experienced the strangest déjà vu. He had messy dreadlocks just like Zeke, the guy who’d driven me from Dallas to Austin. Same crunchy vibe, but without the leathery skin and years of drug abuse adding bags under his eyes. I wondered whatever happened to Zeke. I no longer had his phone number.
    “Sup?” Noah said.
    “Hi, Noah. I’m Candle.”
    Noah slipped the phone into his pocket and sauntered across the room. The kid’s jeans were so tight, I wondered how he was able to walk like that. The whole skinny jeans thing missed me completely; give me baggy or give me nothing.
    He smelled like smoke. Cigarettes, at least, and likely other kinds as well.
    “Let me go grab my wallet,” Noah said, then disappeared into a back bedroom.
    Rodrick stared at me for a few seconds, and his face was pulled into a frown. He opened his mouth a couple times, then shut it just as quickly. Pained look on his face.
    “What’s up?” I said. “You okay?”
    “I, uh, I need to talk to you. I’m not sure if now is the right time, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
    Noah came back out into the living room. I held up a finger to Rodrick. Whatever he had to tell me could wait.
    “We’re gonna take a ride. Are you ready to go?” Noah said.
    I shot a glance at Rodrick and he nodded.
    “Okay,” I said. “I guess so.”
     
    ***
     
    Noah and I drove into Denver, me driving and him playing music from his phone through the car’s speakers. He kept changing the song every few seconds, unable to settle on anything he liked. The kid fidgeted a lot, constantly shifting his position in the seat.
    “You into White Widow?” I said.
    He scoffed. “I can’t even. That hippie jam band crap gets on my nerves.”
    “Yeah, me too. So, your dad’s really okay with this? With getting a fake ID?”
    Noah smirked. “Dad’s cool. He knows I’ve had one for, like, forever. He doesn’t sweat me too much about stuff like this.”
    “I see.” My dad hadn’t been around to be cool or not cool about fake IDs when I was Noah’s age. Mom’s boyfriends never did much to parent me.
    The anniversary of Mom’s death was tomorrow. Ten years ago today, I’d been in the hospital, holding her limp hand and begging her to wake up.
    We passed a bank and I caught the time on the billboard display out of the corner of my eye. “Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”
    “Winter break, dude.”
    “Right. I don’t have much of a concept of time lately.”
    “Time is a tricky thing,” Noah said. “Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes it’s slow. I just try to ride the wave, know what I mean? I’m just cruising along, being cool with not driving the ship.”
    Noah, the poet/philosopher, navigated us into downtown Denver, and we found a spot to park on Colfax Avenue, under the blinking lights of a liquor store. Parts of Colfax are sketchy, not the kinds of places you’d want to go at night. Or in the daytime, usually.
    Noah had led me right to one of those places.
    We got out of the car as a biting wind picked up, and I held my jacket closed to save some of my body heat. Today had taken a nasty turn into frigid temps.
    A homeless man with an illegible cardboard sign turned to face me, and I shook my head at him. Felt a little guilty for it, but he nodded and mumbled something