toward the window.
“I guess. I don’t pay them much attention. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“All right.” She tore off his check and put it on the table.
“These windows must rattle when they go by,” he said. They took up most of the front end of the restaurant.
“Don’t hear them much during the day.” Her gaze skated over him, and she added, “You don’t look like much of a biker,” before she walked off.
In another life, he might have liked to have owned a motorcycle. Ride through the desert with hot wind in his hair. Not give a shit about anything except school, bills, falling in love maybe. If it had just been his parents that were gone, he might have been able to do that—knowing Soph was safe, knowing she was graduating high school, maybe heading off to college, his aunt and uncle taking good care of her. Things would have been okay, even then. They’d just started getting over the car wreck that had killed their parents, as “past it” as you got, at least.
When he paid the check, the day was pushing toward noon, the sun high and bright in the sky. Shops were open, doing a steady business. A little ways past the diner, he spotted a pay phone. He stopped at his car to dig out a rattling can, scooped a handful of coins from it into his pocket.
He punched in the apartment’s phone number, one eye on the bar.
“Where are you?” Tim asked, his voice sludgy like he’d just woken up.
“Two blocks from the bar.”
After the kind of grunt that accompanied a lazy stretch, Tim said, “Was it everything you’d hoped for?”
Carl turned his back to the bar, as if the place could read his lips, and pushed closer to the phone, his fingers bumping over the segmented cord that connected the receiver to the box. “I saw him this morning.”
A yawn stretched across the line.
“He went into the bar and hasn’t come out. Is that normal, to hang out in a bar right through morning?”
“I’d have thought they’d close at two or something.”
Leaving out the part about creeping around the building with a gun, he said, “It’s locked.”
“Well that’s strange, I guess.” It came across the line flat.
“They’ll come out sometime,” Carl said, “or unlock the door for business this afternoon.”
“I still don’t know what good you think you’re going to do.” Tim didn’t know about the gun. Carl had almost told him, but he wanted to keep Tim out of trouble when this all went down. He wanted Tim to be able to say, I had no idea .
Tim said, “He’s going to say, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never even been to New Mexico. You’ve got me confused with someone else.’”
“I don’t have him confused.”
“And then he’s going to call the cops and have you dragged off to the loony bin.”
“I don’t have him confused.”
A sigh, and then, “When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to figure out how to get him alone.”
The silence was more than just a vacancy in the conversation. It was crowded with things said a thousand times, not worth saying again.
Before Soph had gone, Tim had been at the edges of his life: the other side of a social studies class, bagging groceries at the Furr’s Carl would buy his cigarettes from, sitting at the counter at the burger joint everyone went to. He’d stepped in from the edges when Soph had happened, just an accident really—he’d been walking by while Carl had sat on the gym steps the afternoon after, Carl too numb for any of it to feel real yet. The only pain getting through at that point was the pain of him fucking up, letting it happen.
Tim had come up to sit beside him, tell him he was sorry.
He’d wanted Tim to go the fuck away, but he’d mumbled “Thanks.”
After a few minutes, Tim said he’d seen her that night, when he’d dropped Jonesy off for the game. I can’t believe… she was just… she was just right here. Tim had gripped the edge of the
“I guess. I don’t pay them much attention. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“All right.” She tore off his check and put it on the table.
“These windows must rattle when they go by,” he said. They took up most of the front end of the restaurant.
“Don’t hear them much during the day.” Her gaze skated over him, and she added, “You don’t look like much of a biker,” before she walked off.
In another life, he might have liked to have owned a motorcycle. Ride through the desert with hot wind in his hair. Not give a shit about anything except school, bills, falling in love maybe. If it had just been his parents that were gone, he might have been able to do that—knowing Soph was safe, knowing she was graduating high school, maybe heading off to college, his aunt and uncle taking good care of her. Things would have been okay, even then. They’d just started getting over the car wreck that had killed their parents, as “past it” as you got, at least.
When he paid the check, the day was pushing toward noon, the sun high and bright in the sky. Shops were open, doing a steady business. A little ways past the diner, he spotted a pay phone. He stopped at his car to dig out a rattling can, scooped a handful of coins from it into his pocket.
He punched in the apartment’s phone number, one eye on the bar.
“Where are you?” Tim asked, his voice sludgy like he’d just woken up.
“Two blocks from the bar.”
After the kind of grunt that accompanied a lazy stretch, Tim said, “Was it everything you’d hoped for?”
Carl turned his back to the bar, as if the place could read his lips, and pushed closer to the phone, his fingers bumping over the segmented cord that connected the receiver to the box. “I saw him this morning.”
A yawn stretched across the line.
“He went into the bar and hasn’t come out. Is that normal, to hang out in a bar right through morning?”
“I’d have thought they’d close at two or something.”
Leaving out the part about creeping around the building with a gun, he said, “It’s locked.”
“Well that’s strange, I guess.” It came across the line flat.
“They’ll come out sometime,” Carl said, “or unlock the door for business this afternoon.”
“I still don’t know what good you think you’re going to do.” Tim didn’t know about the gun. Carl had almost told him, but he wanted to keep Tim out of trouble when this all went down. He wanted Tim to be able to say, I had no idea .
Tim said, “He’s going to say, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never even been to New Mexico. You’ve got me confused with someone else.’”
“I don’t have him confused.”
“And then he’s going to call the cops and have you dragged off to the loony bin.”
“I don’t have him confused.”
A sigh, and then, “When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to figure out how to get him alone.”
The silence was more than just a vacancy in the conversation. It was crowded with things said a thousand times, not worth saying again.
Before Soph had gone, Tim had been at the edges of his life: the other side of a social studies class, bagging groceries at the Furr’s Carl would buy his cigarettes from, sitting at the counter at the burger joint everyone went to. He’d stepped in from the edges when Soph had happened, just an accident really—he’d been walking by while Carl had sat on the gym steps the afternoon after, Carl too numb for any of it to feel real yet. The only pain getting through at that point was the pain of him fucking up, letting it happen.
Tim had come up to sit beside him, tell him he was sorry.
He’d wanted Tim to go the fuck away, but he’d mumbled “Thanks.”
After a few minutes, Tim said he’d seen her that night, when he’d dropped Jonesy off for the game. I can’t believe… she was just… she was just right here. Tim had gripped the edge of the
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