He did his best to close the gap, but the other guy was driving a late-model sedan, while Logan was trying to get all he could out of Tooney’s old Bronco. Still, he was able to trim the sedan’s lead to less than a mile by the time the other car disappeared over the lip of the valley.
After that, they entered a stretch of the road that wound through the hills toward the ocean, making it almost impossible for Logan to keep track of the other car. Every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of lights ahead, but that was it.
As the miles passed, night began to finally lose its grip on the land. On most days he would welcome the dawn, but not today. The taillights that had been easy to spot in the darkness were becoming harder and harder to pick out. Then, as the hills on the right fell away to reveal the bay, there were no lights ahead at all. Logan knew the guy still had to be up there somewhere, so he kept going, driving through Morro Bay, then inland to San Luis Obispo.
But not once did he see the Lexus again.
A block from the entrance to the freeway, he reluctantly pulled to the side of the road. There were just too many directions the man could have gone from there.
Logan had lost him.
For several minutes, he sat motionless, feeling the weight of his failure in his chest. He’d done it again. No matter what his intentions had been, he’d failed.
Finally, he put the Bronco back in gear, turned around, and headed for home.
Just as he passed the San Luis Obispo city limits, his cell rang, the display screen simply reading: DAD.
“Where are you?” his father asked.
“SLO, but I’m heading back now.” SLO was local slang for San Luis Obispo.
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“We’re coming there.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Logan noticed the distinct hum of tires coming from the other end of the line.
“Why?”
“Barney talked Tooney into letting us take him to the hospital.” Cambria was too small for its own hospital. The closest was in SLO. “He’s worried Tooney might have some internal bleeding, and he doesn’t want to take a chance. Me, he says I only need a few stitches.”
That last part was such a matter-of-fact add-on that Logan almost missed it, but the second it sunk in, he hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. “What do you mean, stitches?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Over the line, he could hear Barney yell, “He knocked his head against a storage rack when he tried to help Tooney stand up.”
“Dad! What the hell?”
“What the hell what?”
“What the hell were you doing trying to help him up? You’re eighty years old!”
“I’m not eighty for three more months!”
“Dad!”
“What was I supposed to do? He couldn’t get up on his own.”
Logan rubbed a hand across his eyes. “How many stitches?”
“None yet.”
“I mean, how many does Barney think you’ll need?”
“I have no idea.”
Logan knew there was no use arguing with him. “Which hospital?”
CHAPTER THREE
LOGAN WATCHED FROM the window of the Hamilton Memorial emergency room as the others arrived. But it wasn’t just Barney, Tooney and his dad like he expected. The rest of his father’s buddies—Will Jensen, Jerry Kendrew, and Alan Hutto—walked in right behind them. They referred to themselves as the Wise-Ass Old Men, or WAMO. Which, of course, didn’t make sense to Logan at all since the M and the O should have been reversed.
When the nurse at the reception desk saw Tooney enter with Harp under one arm and Barney under the other, she called out to one of her colleagues, who rushed over and took charge. Soon Tooney was sitting in a wheelchair, being rolled toward the back with Logan and the WAMO troupe following right behind.
One of the orderlies asked, “Can someone tell me what happened?”
Logan was about to speak when his father, sporting a large square of gauze taped to the side of his head, blurted out, “He was mugged,” then shot his son a look that was clearly telling him to keep his mouth shut.
“Mugged? Where?” San Luis Obispo County was a far cry from being the crime capital of California.
“Cambria,” Barney said.
“He was on his way to work,” Harp quickly added.
“Cambria?” the orderly said, even more surprised.
“Probably one of those tourists,” Will said.
“Did anyone see it happen?”
Again Logan’s father glanced at him, then shook his head and told the attendant, “I was going in for an early coffee and found him in front of his café. Barney here’s a retired doctor. He was close, so I called him.”
“I thought it best if we brought him in right away,” Barney explained.
The automatic door to the examination area slid open as the group neared, but the orderly held up his hands, stopping everyone except his two colleagues and Tooney. “I might have some more questions later, but you’re all going to have to wait out here.”
“Hold on,” Logan said. “What about my father?”
“Your father?”
Logan grabbed Harp by the shoulders, and turned him so that the gauze on the side of his head was clearly visible. The orderly stepped over and pulled the bandage back.
“What happened to you?”
“He fell trying to help our friend get up,” Barney told him.
The orderly frowned, then waved for Logan’s dad to follow him. “Let’s clean that out and stitch you up.”
The rest of them stood there until the orderly and Harp disappeared inside, and the door closed again.
Turning to Barney, Logan said, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Harp should tell you,” Barney said.
“But he’s not here.”
“I’m sure he won’t be long.”
Before Logan could ask anything else, Barney and the others headed to the front corner of the waiting room and sat down. Instead of joining them, Logan took a seat right next to the examining area door, and waited.
Growing up, he had always been close with his dad. Working at Dunn Right, camping on the beach, watching football all day on Sundays—these they did together right up until Logan left home. It was Logan who actually caused them to drift apart. As he became more and more involved in his new life, he lost touch with his old one. His relationship with his parents became a monthly call at best, and then, after his mother died, that call became holidays only.
When he moved back home, he expected Harp to be less than excited to see him. But that wasn’t the case at all. His father treated him like he’d never been gone. It was exactly what Logan needed, and it had made him feel all the more ashamed. All those wasted years when he had forgotten what a good man his father was. Better than himself, for sure. He knew he could never—would never—let something like that happen again.
That’s why his father’s actions that morning were so confusing. What were his dad and his WAMO buddies up to? It just didn’t make sense.
It was about twenty minutes before the doors opened again, and Harp reappeared. A nice square portion of his head had been shaved, and in place of the missing hair was a new bandage. He took a couple of steps out, stopped to adjust his shirt, then started up again, walking right past Logan without noticing him.
“Dad?”
Harp turned, surprised. “Did everyone else leave?”
Logan shook his head, and pointed to where the others were sitting, then said, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“The stitches?”
“Don’t play dumb, Dad. You know what I’m talking about.”
Harp sighed, then nodded toward his friends. “Let’s sit over there.”
“I think maybe you and I should talk alone, don’t you?”
But his dad was already heading across the room, so he rel
uctantly followed.
Once they joined the others, Logan said, “You lied to that attendant, Dad. What’s going to happen when he tells the police what you told him, and it doesn’t match the truth?”
“Who’s saying it’s not the truth?”
Logan stared at him for a moment. “Me. I’m saying that. I was the one who was there, not you. Remember?”
His father looked uncomfortable. “If we all tell the same story, it is the truth.”
“If we what?”
“Tooney doesn’t want to make a big deal of this.”
“I don’t care what Tooney wants. It is a big deal. That guy was not trying to mug him.”
Harp took a breath. “He’d just rather not have the police involved, that’s all. I would think you, of all people, would be sensitive to that.”
“Excuse me?”
Trying very hard not to look at his son, Harp said, “It’s just…it’s over. He wants to move on.”
There were nods all around, the wise men suddenly existing in some kind of alternate universe from the one Logan inhabited.
“You told that guy Tooney was mugged. Mugging’s a crime, too, Dad. The hospital’s probably already called the cops.”
“We had to tell him something,” Barney said. “He looks like he was in a fight.”
“That’s because he was!” Logan told him, surprised once again. “For God’s sake, you’re a doctor.”
“Retired,” his dad threw in.
“I don’t care if he’s retired,” Logan said to him, then turned back to Barney. “Aren’t you morally obligated to do the right thing?”
Barney glanced at him for a second, then looked away. “In this case, I believe that we are doing the right thing.”
Logan sat back, and took in the lot of them. “Have you all gone senile?”
“Hey, that’s not funny,” his father said.
Logan didn’t care if it was funny or not. At the moment, he almost meant it. “You know what? You and your buddies can do whatever you’d like, Dad, but I know what the guy looks like, and I got the license number of his car. I’ll tell the police myself.”
He started to get up, but his father put a hand on his shoulder. “Logan, you can’t.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Because that’s not what Tooney wants.”
“We’re going in circles here, Dad.” This time he did stand. “I’ll check in later to see how he’s—”
“At least do me this much. Wait and talk to Tooney first. I’m asking you as a favor.”
Logan closed his eyes for half a second. His father almost never asked for favors. He stood for a moment longer, thinking about it before he gave Harp a single, terse nod, then sat back down.
Harp patted his knee. “Thanks, Logan. Thanks.”
The others looked relieved, too.
They waited for thirty minutes before the man who’d asked them the questions earlier finally returned. Turned out his name was Mayer, and he wasn’t an orderly. He was one of the doctors on duty.
“Mr. Myat wanted me to give you an update,” he said. “The good news is that there doesn’t appear to be any internal bleeding. What he does have is a minor concussion, a cracked rib, and some cuts and bruises. We’d like to keep him overnight, but he’s insisting on going home.” The doctor paused. “He told me he lives alone. I would feel more comfortable releasing him if there were someone he could stay with for a few days.”
“I got plenty of room,” Harp said right away. “He can stay with me.”
The doctor looked skeptically at Logan’s father, his eyes glancing briefly at the new bandage on the side of Harp’s head.
“What?” Harp asked. “It’s just a cut. You saw it yourself.” He tapped the bandage with his hand. “See? Doesn’t even hurt.”
“Harp’s fine,” Barney said to Dr. Mayer. “But I’ll check in on both of them a few times a day, too.”
“Okay,” the doctor said, looking only semi-reassured. “I’ll have him released. He should be out in just a bit. But…”
“But what?” Harp asked.
The doctor paused, then said in a tone even more serious than before, “It’s procedure for us to report crimes of violence.”
Logan shot his dad a quick told-you-so look.
“Since it happened in Cambria, I understand that falls under the sheriff’s jurisdiction,” Dr. Mayer went on. “They’re sending someone over, but I don’t believe they’re here yet. So we’d appreciate it if you could hang around until they can talk with Mr. Myat.”
“Of course,” Harp said. “No problem. But, uh, Tooney doesn’t have to wait in back until they show up, does he?”
The doctor smiled. “Not at all. I’ll send him out as soon as he’s ready.”
“Thanks, Doc. Appreciate it.”
After the doctor left, Harp eyed his son nervously. Logan was content to remain quiet, knowing it wasn’t helping his dad’s state of mind.
Tooney was wheeled out ten minutes later. Everyone smiled and told him he looked great and was going to be fine. The second part was hopefully true, but the first wasn’t even close. With a nasty bruise on his cheek and a couple of cuts—one on his nose and one near his temple—Tooney looked like a man in a lot of pain.
As the reunion ebbed, Logan caught his father’s eye, silently suggesting that now might be a good time for that talk he promised. Harp sighed, then nodded and said, “Tooney, Logan’s having a hard time understanding the…uh…mugging issue. Thinks we probably should tell the truth when the sheriff’s department shows up.”
“Not probably, Dad,” Logan corrected him.
His father frowned, but continued to look at his friend. “I thought it might be better if you explained to him…you know…”
Tooney gingerly turned his head in Logan’s direction. “Logan, thank you so much for helping me this morning.”
“I’m just glad I was there,” Logan said.
“I want you to know, I understand your concerns. But this matter…personal. A…mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“A miscommunication, that’s all.” He hesitated, then added, “Please, Logan, for me, say nothing.”
“Tooney, he was going to kill you.”
“Please,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I beg you. This most important to me. Say nothing.”
A glance at Harp told Logan that his father, and probably the rest of the WAMOs, knew whatever it was Tooney was unwilling to share. Apparently, it was enough to convince these old men to lie to the authorities for their friend.
Behind Logan, the door to the outside opened. Given the way Tooney and his father tensed, it didn’t take a genius to know the sheriff’s deputies had arrived.
Tooney glanced at Logan again, panic now joining the fear on his face.
“I really don’t understand,” Logan said, then hesitated. He was confused by the fact the six men in front of him, men whom he respected, were asking him to do something that didn’t make any apparent sense. But respect was one of the things his father had stressed to him growing up, and it was hard to go against that, especially with this group. “I know I’m going to regret this, but if that’s what you want, fine.”
Without another word, he stood up and left before the sheriff’s deputies could be directed their way. Apparently, he didn’t have anything to say to them anyway, because, according to the others, he wasn’t even there when the incident happened.
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER DROPPING TOONEY’S Bronco off behind his café, Logan headed over to the Dunn Right, getting there just past 9 a.m.
Since he was usually the first one in every morning, he took some ribbing from the other guys for oversleeping, but didn’t correct the misperception. Soon they were all elbows deep on their own projects, and talk was restricted to the occasional joke or comment about something the DJ on the radio said.
At noon, as Logan headed out to grab some lunch, Alejandro, Dunn Right’s head mechanic, pulled him aside
. “Harp not coming in?”
Logan’s dad had yet to show up, which, in Alejandro’s eyes, was unusual. Harp had seldom missed a day in the forty years since he’d bought the place from a guy name Alan Dunn. He’d kept the name because, as he always liked to say, “Dunn Right sounds a hell of a lot better than Harper Right.”
“He had some things he had to take care of,” Logan said.
“He’s feeling okay, though, right?” Alejandro had been at Dunn Right for twenty-one years, and had developed a close relationship with Harp.
“He’s—” Logan stopped himself. Those stitches on the side of his dad’s head were going to be very visible, so just saying he was fine wouldn’t cut it. “Actually, he fell down this morning. It’s nothing serious. Just a cut on the side of his head that needed a few stitches.”
“You weren’t going to tell me about that? What was it? The stairs? I keep telling him that he needs to move someplace that’s only one story.”
“It wasn’t the stairs,” Logan told him. “He was…helping a friend, got pulled off balance and fell. Just an accident. Could have happened to you, too.”
“But he’s going to be okay?”
“He’s already okay.”
“You going to go see him now?”
“There’s no reason to. I’m just going to go get some lunch.”
“Maybe I should go check on him.”
“Alejandro, he’s fine. He might not even be there.”
“Where would he be?”
“I don’t know. Probably out with one of his WAMO buddies.”
That seemed to placate Alejandro enough so that Logan could leave.
The afternoon was split between working on the fuel pump of an old Chevy Blazer, and fending off more questions from Alejandro when it became apparent Harp wasn’t going to show up at all.
At a quarter to five, as Logan was cleaning off a day’s worth of grease and getting ready to go home, his cell phone rang.
“I ordered pizza from Round Up,” his father said. “Can you pick it up and bring it over?”
“Isn’t one of those high school kids around? Have him pick it up for you.” Harp lost his license the year before Logan moved back, and had gotten into the habit of hiring local high school kids to chauffeur him around.
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