Free Set You Free by Jeff Ross

enough . But I got too close and accidentally cut him. He also moved in to me, if we’re being honest.”
    “Oh, of course, and if we’re being honest, what about the other guy?”
    “He was an easy mark. But again, I only meant to get close. I know it might be hard to believe, but I’ve never done anything like that before.”
    “That’s what they all say.”
    “Seriously,” Grady goes on. He holds his hand out, and it is shaking almost as bad as mine. “See, that totally freaked me out.”
    I hold my hand up beside his. “We match,” I say.
    I try to slow my breathing and in doing so detect an inexplicable odor. I look at the floor, then into the backseat. A laptop lies half out of an open backpack, alongside four cell phones in a Tupperware container. I sniff loudly.
    “Yeah, about that smell,” Grady says. “This isn’t my car.”
    “Oh, whose is it?” I clasp one hand with the other, but the shaking continues. My throat feels as if it has needles in it. Grady seems calm. Which worries me even more.
    “My uncle owns an auto-wrecking place.” Grady glances at me. “People bring cars in they don’t think work but really only need an adjustment or a couple of replacement parts. That happens because, basically, people are lazy. I mean, it’s a car, right? Who decides their car is ready for the wrecker without first getting it seriously checked out? Anyway, my uncle keeps some extra license plates around, so if I can fix a car, I can take it out.”
    “Oh.” I sniff again for effect. “Any idea what that is?”
    “It’s rancid, isn’t it? I didn’t notice it until I turned the air-conditioning on.”
    The windows are down, and a hard wind pushes through the car. It’s the beginning of June, and the weather has already turned from spring to summer. Resurrection Falls is far enough north, right up near the Canadian border, that we get really distinct seasons.
    “Let’s leave that off then,” I say.
    Grady laughs. He’s tall enough that his head almost brushes the ceiling.
    “Where do you think he is?” I ask, trying to change the topic.
    “It’s just a guess, but we sometimes jam in this old warehouse by the lake.”
    “Jam?” I say. “As in play music?”
    “Yeah, I have a portable studio. We bring a guitar and a few drums and set up in there. The sound is amazing.”
    “What does Tom play?” We stop at an intersection. Cars flash past. Music pours from the speakers outside a McDonald’s. It’s after midnight, and most of the city is asleep.
    “You don’t know?” Grady says.
    “No, I didn’t know he could play any instrument.”
    “He sings.”
    “Is he good?”
    “He’s great.” The light changes and Grady pulls through the intersection. “He’s never told you? Or, like, you’ve never heard him singing at home? He’s crazy talented. It’s really annoying.”
    “We kind of move in our own circles.”
    Grady says, “He did mention that.”
    “How do you know him?”
    “I used to work at the record shop downtown before it closed. You know that one on Percy Street? Radicals?”
    “No,” I say. “I didn’t know record shops still existed.” We are out of the city limits now, heading for the warehouse district.
    “That was the last one. Your brother would come in and listen to soul albums.”
    “Really?” I say, trying not to sound too surprised.
    “Yeah, he loves that old soul stuff. Some blues as well.” Grady glances at me. “He has that old-school voice. I guess you don’t know that.”
    “I’ve never heard him hum, never mind sing.”
    “I found out he could sing by accident. One day I had to run down the street to grab something, and I left him in the store by himself. But I’d forgotten my wallet and had to go right back. When I came in, I thought it was an old Smokey Robinson or Sam Cooke a capella thing playing. But it was your brother, wearing headphones and singing along. After that I became the most aggravating person alive, trying to get