Page 96 of Johnny
I’m pretty sure Johnny Boston’s existential crisis is a bad thing. Nothing good ever comes from
second-guessing yourself.
I tell him that. But he just answers with, “One man’s second-guessing is another man’s Plan B.”
Yeah. Can’t compete with that writ of wisdom.
But then, after the tiny wannabe is gone, he settles. Calms down. Or maybe that third bottle of wine
has something to do with it? Could go either way.
His phone rings when we’re just finishing up our main course. He got steak and lobster and I got a
cheeseburger.
They don’t really serve cheeseburgers here, but I batted my baby blue-greens and what do you
know? They conjured one up for me.
I hardly ever had cheeseburgers on the island. It was mostly seafood because we bought it fresh
from local fishermen. If I had it my way I’d never eat lobster again, that’s how often that dish has been
served to me since my teens.
“Yeah,” Johnny says into his phone. Small pause as whoever is on the line identifies himself. Then
Johnny sighs and leans back in his seat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him relax since we got here.
“Good,” he says. “That’s fucking great. I owe you, Logan. I will pay you back.” Another pause. Then a small chuckle. Logan must be throwing out some wit. “Perfect. See you in the AM.”
He ends the call and sets his phone down on the table. “We’re set for tomorrow.”
“Got your guns?” I ask through a mouthful of cheeseburger.
“That, and more.”
“Are you happy now?” I ask, still chewing.
“I guess.”
I swallow and take a sip of wine. Then say, “Good. Because tomorrow on that island I need you to
be at peak levels, Johnny Boston.”
“You expecting a lot of retaliation?”
I frown at him. “No. They’re not soldiers. They’re scientists.”
“Right,” he says. And then he’s nervous again.
I put the rest of my cheeseburger down, dab my lips with the cloth napkin, and then put it on my
plate. “I’m done.”
“You only ate half of it.”
“It’s all I need.” I smile at him because I think he needs a smile right about now. “Besides, I want
