No Show by Simon Wood Page A

daughter burst back out of the building at the commotion. The mother saw Oscar’s damaged hand, blanched, and turned away. The daughter just stared.
    “Jesus,” Terry said. “Are you okay?”
    “It’s nothing,” Oscar said, wincing. “It’s dislocated, that’s all. Happens all the time.”
    Without any fuss, Oscar snapped his thumb back into place with a wet click. Terry’s stomach churned at the sound, and for a second he thought the mother was going to vomit.
    “See, all fixed now. Nothing for anyone to worry about.”
    “I feel so responsible,” the mother said. Although Oscar had demonstrated his hand was back to normal, her color wasn’t returning.
    “Don’t be. It was my own stupid fault. My cuff got caught on the door handle.”
    Seeing there was nothing more to be done, the mother took Oscar’s explanation as reason enough to leave. She apologized to him again and scurried back into the building dragging her daughter with her.
    “Are you really okay?” Terry asked.
    “Yeah, really. It tingles a bit, but honestly, it’s okay.”
    “Can you drive?”
    Oscar flexed his hand and winced. “It might be a better idea if you do.”
    Oscar fished out his keys and gave them to Terry. They got into the 4Runner and Terry started the engine.
    “Do you want to see a doctor?”
    “No, it’s an old injury. There’s nothing they can do.” Oscar smiled. “C’mon, stop fussing and let’s get something to eat.”
    Oscar directed Terry to drive to a small strip mall half a mile away. Terry pulled up in front of a sandwich shop. They got two made-to-order sandwiches, and Terry paid while Oscar found seats. As Terry brought their food over to the table and sat down, Oscar was still flexing his hand.
    “Better?” Terry asked.
    “Oh, yeah. Good as new.”
    “You said that was an old injury.” Terry nodded at Oscar’s hand. “What happened?”
    “I used to be a welder, and a ten-inch pipe rolled off my bench onto my hand. The thumb joint was damaged, so it dislocates easily. But it does go back just as easily.”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “No, not really. After the initial shock, it tingles like pins and needles.”
    “Well, it’s an impressive party trick.”
    “Oh, yeah, a real icebreaker.”
    They unwrapped their bulging sandwiches and attacked them. Oscar mumbled through a mouthful of food that the sandwiches were good, and Terry grunted in the affirmative. Terry washed down his mouthful of food with his lemonade and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
    “So if you were a welder, how come you own the Gold Rush?”
    “I used to own a welding and fabrication company. I was doing really well, and I decided I wanted to retire early, so I sold the business. But I found retirement really boring, so when I saw the place up for sale, I bought it.”
    Oscar was holding something back. Terry could feel it. He didn’t think Oscar was lying to him, but he was definitely leaving something out.
    “So what is this job you’re starting next week, Terry?” Oscar asked, diverting attention away from himself.
    “I’m a scientist.”
    “Very cool. A real-life brainiac,” Oscar said, perking up.
    Terry shook his head. “Not really. I’m no Nobel Prize–winning, changing-life-as-we-know-it kind of scientist. Scientist is a very common term. I don’t come up with the technology. I just prove whether it works or not. I’m no different than a car mechanic. It sounds fancy, that’s all.”
    “Sounds very fancy compared to a guy who hands people rubber-headed golf clubs for a living.”
    They finished up their lunch, and Oscar drove back to Edenville. Their next stop was the bank. The Wells Fargo bank was an old stucco-clad building with a brick facade.
    “I didn’t know Wells Fargo was a real company. I thought it was a name made up for the movies.”
    Oscar laughed. “Oh, no, they’re real enough.”
    They went inside and Oscar asked a bank teller for the manager.
    “And can I say who’s calling?” the woman