Page 59 of It Takes a Thief

I was truly flabbergasted. “What?”

“Yeah. The Disciples of Doom. What an asinine name. I was just the treasurer while going to school. The final straw came when they wanted me to smoke this guy. As a med student, I couldn’t take anyone to the ground. I was let go.”

“Out bad?”

“Out good. I promised to treat anyone who came to me and not inform the cops like we’re supposed to do.”

I smiled. “I can see you in an MC. I was always wondering about your ink.”

My phone chimed. It was June, so I apologized to Ellis for taking it. “Must have something to do with my kids.” I wandered to his big plate glass window that looked out onto miles and miles of desert. The hospital was on the other side of the house. “June, what’s up?”

A male voice said, “This isn’t June. I’m just using her phone to tell you she was taken to the hospital a few minutes ago. They’re not sure why. Something to do with her heart. She just collapsed.”

My jaw hung low. “What? What the fuck?” I was a genius at times of sudden stress. “Who is this?”

“I work at Leaves of Grass. I noticed she left her phone behind. I know you’re her sister.”

“Where’d they take her? Who’s with her?”

There was some mumbling in the background as he consulted with someone. “Pure and Easy hospital. She’s with her husband, Lytton.”

I thought that was a strange way to put it. “Her husband, Lytton.” “Well can you call Lytton and tell him I’m on my way? It’ll take me almost four hours, let them know.”

“Sure thing. Are you taking your own car?”

I overlooked the strange question in the heat of the moment. “Yes, of course. Bye.”

I gave Ellis the lowdown, and he wanted to come back to my apartment with me while I packed. As we walked out to my car parked behind his truck in his driveway, he asked me all sorts of questions about June’s condition, none of which I could answer. All I could say was “something to do with her heart.”

“Does she have a heart condition?”

“No.”

“She’s your younger sister? That sounds highly rare, unless she was doing drugs.”

I scoffed. “The only thing she does is cannabis. That can only hurt you if it falls on you.”

“Then how did this guy know it was her heart? Fainting or chest pains can be hundreds of different things.”

“I know,” I said, standing by my car door. I hadn’t locked it, so I opened it. I realized I was reluctant. Being with Ellis made me feel safe, secure. Even when we just held hands, I felt wrapped in the luxury of sanctuary. Unlike the reckless, perilous life Ford led, Ellis had his private life all worked out. He hiked, taught kids martial arts, studied geology and ancient tribes. His sparse house was dotted with Kachina dolls, pottery, and mineral specimens. Not weapons, knives, and skulls to stand for The Bare Bones MC. Well, okay. Ford’s home office had a framed Henry Miller quote on the wall. And he had many books on his shelf, a lot of dusty classics in embossed leather. But like I said, he didn’t delve into his heritage. His office wall had one of those furry blankets depicting the Arizona Cardinals—a football team, I think. “The whole thing’s very strange.”

“Well, don’t use your phone while driving.” Ellis, of course, was always very safety-minded.

He did kiss me on the lips, but it was a chaste goodbye. We touched noses with an abundance of affection, and I thought about his big cock in the sweat lodge. Long. Thick. Balls full of jizz. I had held out against him, but I didn’t know for how long.

When I got behind the wheel, my car wouldn’t start. What the fuck? “It started perfectly at my apartment,” I told Ellis.

Neither one of us knew much about cars, so finally Ellis said he’d call me an Uber. We were wasting too much time. He knew a couple of the local drivers who would go as far as P&E. He didn’t know the guy who showed up in an old Camry, a young guy who looked part Yazzie with a long ponytail. But he had no choice but to put me in the back seat. It was strange that there was a thick plastic barrier between the back seat and the driver, like in old taxicabs. Ellis handed me a pamphlet that looked to have been run off on one of those old copy machines with the purple ink.

“This might take your mind off your sister while you drive,” he said kindly.

“Oh. Okay.” The cover had a sepia photo of a noble red man wearing a head scarf, standing in profile in front of a hogan.

“Go faster, can you?” I asked the driver when we hit the interstate. The speed limit was seventy-five and he was only doing seventy.

“Sure thing,” he mumbled, and got up to seventy-five.

Only then did I look at the pamphlet. The author’s name was Kilchii Begay, a Navajo who had written the words in 1984. Someone had highlighted, “When one’s wishes are granted, happiness comes softly. When wishes are dashed to the ground, we float waiting for deliverance, listening to our heart beat.”