Inside Outt

I’m invisible. If you don’t know the difference, you’re a goddamned amateur.”
    Her lips were pressed tightly together and she was breathing so hard her nostrils were flaring. Ben realized he needed to back off. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true, but true didn’t mean it was helpful.
    “Look, you’re smart in a lot of ways, I can see that. And you’ve got good instincts, you know how to play a role. But you need to use your head, too. Why can’t you be smart enough to see this isn’t your ordinary investigation? That right now you’re operating outside the world you’re accustomed to? Did you not hear Taibbi when he was talking about what happened to his men? When was the last time you were investigating someone who could ghost up behind you, sever your carotid, and walk away from the arterial spray before your body even hits the floor? I’ll tell you when the last time was. Never. Otherwise you’d be dead. And Larison is only half of it. We don’t even know who else is after him, or whether they might take an interest in us, too. Do you get it? You’re smart and you’re good at what you do, but right now you are out of your league, and if you want to stay alive, you need to listen to me when I talk to you.”
    “You are so condescending, it makes me want to wipe the smugness right off your face.”
    “Is that how you break the cycle of violence?”
    She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “I hate that I’ve let you make me this angry. You’re not worth it.”
    He knew he shouldn’t respond, but he couldn’t help it. “If I’m not worth it, why are you angry?”
    She opened her eyes. “Exactly. I’m going to take a bath. Do you need the bathroom first?”
    “Yeah, actually, I do.”
    “Fine. And when you’re out? I do expect you to sleep on the floor.”
    “With pleasure,” he said, walking past her.
    He closed the door, took a leak, and furiously brushed his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste the hotel had provided. If she had a problem using the same toothbrush, she could just go without, he didn’t give a shit.
    She’d been stupid in the lobby. But…
    What was the point of unloading on her like that? He could have just pointed out her error. She wasn’t thick, she would have gotten it.
    Was he trying to get back at her for some of the things she’d said in the van on the way from Jacó? That crap about how he took things personally, that the job alone couldn’t justify the way he piled on… it had stung. Which, of course, meant there was probably something to it.
    And wasn’t the thing she’d criticized him for exactly what he’d just done to her? If his goal was to explain operational behavior, he could have just explained it. What did insulting her have to do with that?
    And if explaining hadn’t been the point, what was?
    You wanted to hurt her. Because she hurt you. She challenged you, so you had to put her in her place.
    Was that really it? Because, when he put it like that, it sounded so pathetic.
    He spat and rinsed his mouth, then looked at himself in the mirror. He wondered if anyone ever looked in the mirror and saw an angry, thin-skinned, petty reflection staring back.
    Probably not.
    Well, maybe this was part of what Hort had been telling him. Gaining greater self-control. Because how could you have greater self-control if you didn’t have greater self-awareness?
    All right, fine. But what if you wound up not liking the self you were becoming aware of?
    He didn’t want to think about that.
    He washed his hands, soaked a washcloth, and wiped his face and eyes. That sense of unseen forces, and now all this thinking about his own behavior and what might lie beneath it… he didn’t like it. He thought maybe it was better before, when he just did what he was told and acted the way he wanted and fuck anyone who had a problem with it. It had all been working out pretty well, hadn’t it?
    Sure. And your daughter thinks you’re dead.
    “Come on,” he said, out loud. “It was supposed to be a rhetorical question.”
    He chuckled, but without much mirth. Now he was talking to himself. He’d think a question, and a voice in his head was actually answering. And then he’d responded to the voice. What was he going to do, start having conversations with himself?
    He needed a vacation. He needed something. That shit with Obsidian, and then the Manila city jail… he was just stressed out, that was all. Who wouldn’t be?
    You wouldn’t