Green Desert - Chapter 7.2.5 - Fírí

“I think that’s the police.” I handed the beers to the flannel guys and walked to the door. They looked nervous. I was nervous. The cops would find the boxes. They’d arrest me for being an idiot.

I finished my juice with a long swig, set it on the cheap entry table, and opened the door. The mustached detective stood politely waiting. He frowned at seeing me, glanced at my glace of juice. “Is Vata Kılímí home?”

“I don’t think so. She disappeared the same time you left. You have a warrant now, right? You don’t need a homeowner if you have a warrant.”

He glanced over my shoulder and cleared his throat. “Speaking of homeownership, what are you doing here, drinking the Kılímos’ orange juice?”

“Um. . . Your deputy ditched me here, ran off to the gully. Do you want to come in?” I stepped out of his way.

“Might as well. Now where’s this chapel you were talking about?” He entered the house but stopped after two steps, staring at the flannel guys. “You invited guests over?”

I closed the door and it slammed shut. “No. I don’t even know their names. They’re trying to find their friends.” With beers in their hands, sitting in comfy armchairs. “The chapel is this way.”

“What are your names?” The old man stood still, glaring at the two flannel guys.

“Sévo Soípo,” said the darker-haired one.

“Zhíno Raíngozé,” said the lighter-haired one.