J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide by J.D. Trafford

nodded. “He’s a guy friend.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning we can go years without talking, and we don’t take it personally. It’s just life.” Michael shrugged. “We’re friends and we help each other out when we need to.”
    “Okay.” Andie repositioned her tiny backpacking pillow, then rolled over onto her side. “In Cheeto I trust.” She was nervous about the next day. There was certainly going to be an encounter with a park ranger or an immigration agent.
    “In Cheeto we trust. ” Michael leaned over and pecked Andie on the cheek. “Now let’s get some sleep.”
     

 
     
    CHAPTER NINETEEN
     
    “You gonna let me go?” Kermit leaned back in his chair, grinning at Agent Armstrong. “It’s getting late, and I’ve been sitting in here for hours, going coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, you know?”
    “No, I don’t know.” Armstrong leaned across the table, and then he lowered his voice. “I need you to answer all my questions.” A smirk.
    “I think I have a right to freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom to love, freedom to hate, and the freedom to shut my trap from time to time.” Kermit sighed and looked up at the fluorescent lights. “Seriously, dude, are we accomplishing any of the great tasks of mankind right now?”
    “Why don’t you just tell me where Michael Collins and Andie Larone are?”
    “Mentally or physically? Because that’s a pretty vague question. Even the physical location is difficult to identify given the chaotic dance of internal energy and the subatomic bopping of our little neutrinos and leptons. Have I ever mentioned my groundbreaking work involving quantum chromodynamics?”
    Armstrong’s eyes started to bug out, and he tried to control his temper.
    “I think you have already shared with me your theories.” He looked at his watch. “I think we spent about an hour on the subject, which is about an hour too long.”
    Kermit shook his head.
    “You’re just scared.” Kermit looked away. “Not unusual for a simple man like you to be afraid of the unknown, afraid that what he sees with the naked eye is not an accurate depiction of the environment in which he resides.”
    “I need you to answer my questions,” Armstrong said.
    Kermit ignored him. “We must recognize that we only see representations of life, but not life itself,” Kermit said. “We see and speak in generalities rather than specifics, approximations rather than measurements. Did you know that a cup of flour is never actually a cup of flour? Just a best-guess estimate using an imperfect tool in the midst of a myriad of factors like the fineness of the wheat’s grind, the altitude, or the moisture in the air.”
    Agent Armstrong pushed back his chair and stood. Kermit’s constant babbling, his odor, and the confined space had gotten to him.
    “Physically,” Armstrong put his hands on his hips. “Where approximately did they go when they left the airport, physically? And I’ll accept an estimation.”
    “I don’t know, it’d be less than an estimation. It’d be total speculation because I was cruising with the birds at the time. I saw nothing with my own peep-peeps.”
    “Why don’t you speculate, then?”
    “I don’t like to speculate,” Kermit looked up at the ceiling. “I dream.” He smiled, and then added, “Do you know who also likes to dream?” Kermit didn’t wait for an answer. “Lawyers. Lawyers dream a lot. Speaking of lawyers, I think it’s about time for an attorney.”
    Armstrong didn’t like that idea. He knew that an attorney would shut down all questioning, and so Armstrong held out his hands and softened his tone.
    “What about this trip? What are you doing here?”
    “You probably know about Father Stiles. I plan on going to his funeral. I’m also here to do a little business.”
    “Business?”
    “I got a book idea that I’d like to pitch.” Kermit cracked his knuckles. “It’s like a children’s book for adults, sort of a naughty