by Domino Finn
Disconnected.
That led to the final picture Maxim placed between them. Lachlan Munro. Red. The old man's photo was stoic and business-like. It was the latest on file from the Texas DMV. Red's was a face that didn't reveal much except for its physical characteristics. The man in the picture was younger, a snapshot from eight years earlier. He was skinnier. His hair shorter and styled, but it looked odd. When Maxim had met Red in person, his hair was a bright red sheen that reflected the sunlight. In this photograph, a dull burnt-orange barely stood out from the gray.
So the man dyed his hair. It was a small concession to vanity. But considering the character it came from, a hermit who ejected himself from society, it was a strange detail.
Maxim stared at the three frozen faces, searching for any connection. The ties were barely circumstantial but the triangle of photographs felt right together.
Like family.
Olivia Hayes lived a comfortable life now, although that hadn't always been the case. There was a time she resided with her truck-driving husband in Bellemont. It was a good bet that family had never been happy. The pair had often fought. So when Olivia ran into money, the split was inevitable.
It was hard to say whether Annabelle was better off before or afterward.
Julia Cunningham was also a single mother, but her family had been struck by a different tragedy. She'd married her high school sweetheart due to an early pregnancy. Her husband died two years later serving in Afghanistan. Julia, while devastated, was accustomed to going it alone, and although their family had a sadder story, so far Hazel was reported to have been doing great.
The family of Lachlan Munro was a mystery. He claimed to be an immigrant from Scotland, for which Maxim had failed to dig up proof. Red's lifestyle hadn't left much of a paper trail. There were no records at all of his early life, and no signs of family.
Red was a sixty-eight-year-old man. If his story of having a son who was killed was true, Maxim could find no record of it. But that would have been many years ago in another country. Those files likely weren't digitized yet, but maybe they could be tracked down. That was assuming, of course, that Red's identity wasn't fictional.
Maxim went back to the computer. Sometimes people got lost in the system, but it was exceedingly difficult for vehicles to do so. Red's old RV was purchased from a used lot in Texas twelve years ago. As Dan Briggs had mentioned, the Texas registration was one of convenience. A popular RV club based in Livingston handled all the legal backend he needed. The state had no income tax and no personal property tax. The RV club was listed as Red's permanent address on record, and they offered mail forwarding to all their members. Currently he was receiving in a Williams post office box, which was how Diego had tracked him down.
Two years after buying the motor home, and a decade ago, Red was in Arizona. A Grand Canyon National Park ranger had written an overstay citation for the old man. He'd broken the rules and stayed in one park longer than fourteen days, a far cry from his diligent routine today. That probably meant he'd been new at the life. Since then he'd barely relocated, not fifty miles south, and lived in relative obscurity.
But there were traces of Red on the move. Texas required an annual vehicle inspection. Every October the old man returned to his home state to have the RV checked. On top of that, he'd received a parking citation in Galveston and a traffic citation in Wichita, Kansas. The tickets came years apart but both were in November, forcing Maxim to conclude that Red's annual trip to Texas afforded some additional sightseeing.
None of this, of course, was any cause for suspicion, and Maxim began to fear the worst. Not just that he was wasting his own time, but that he was wasting what little Hazel had left.
Chapter 30
When his senses returned, everything was at peace.
Diego was cold and wet. He scanned the darkness and knew it was blacker than before. It was already past sunset.
The biker jerked to a sitting position. He turned—panicked for the slightest of moments—but he was alone. The serenity was not an illusion.
The woods looked different now. It wasn't just a play of the low light; he was in a different physical location than he last remembered. Not that he could recall much. He'd been alone. Searching the forest. He was following... someone.
Hunger pangs tore at his side and commanded his attention. His stomach wasn't just reminding him to eat, it was scolding him. His survival instincts took over.
Diego checked himself over. He wasn't wounded. There was no clear reason he'd passed out. It had to still be the same day.
This was one of those occasions when he wished he carried his phone with him. Checking the date would have gone a long way towards settling his nerves, but he liked the transient feel of life without the clock. Without being tied down. Frankly, the best use for his phone right now would have been as a flashlight.
Instead, Diego searched his pockets. The wet leather pulled at his skin. Strangely, the copper wind chime tube was missing. It wasn't in his jacket or pants, meaning he must have dropped it. Diego wiggled on the floor and pulled the plastic lighter from his pocket. Good thing he'd started smoking again.
The flame illuminated enough to get a better look. Diego was wet from head to toe, but the dirt next to him was dry. He pulled off his steel-toe boots and wrung his socks out. It didn't help warm him up much.
He stood up. Spikes of pain surged through his legs. They were sore from walking already. That was too soon, he thought. A gym workout would take a day for the large muscles in the leg to burn. Maybe he had been sleeping longer than he thought.
He clicked the lighter on again. A few yards away, the shine of silver caught his notice. A knife was stabbed into the dirt. Diego felt at the sheath on his wrist and was amazed to find the blade missing. That was his knife in the ground.
He went to recover it and noticed it had been used to scratch a symbol into the earth. A circle, two feet in diameter, with two intersecting lines traced through it. The knife was plunged directly into the center of the cross.
The biker hesitantly plucked up the blade. It was his prized silver hunting knife, undamaged. He wiped it off and returned it to his wrist. Someone had known about it—or found it—and drawn this symbol in the dirt. It could only have been Red.
The implications of the situation dawned on him. Diego had been searched while unconscious. The knife had been procured to deliver a message, but much worse could have been done with the weapon. Diego's life could have been taken.
Whoever it was—Red or someone else—they had decided to spare him.
Chapter 31
It took Diego more than an hour to find his Scrambler. Luckily, he stumbled onto the tracks and followed them back to Red's place. He walked the bike in the quiet of the night until he was far enough away to rev it up and get out of there.
His little apartment in Sanctuary was a welcome sight. Diego's legs almost gave out as he dismounted. He shuffled to his door, thankful he didn't live on the second floor. At this point, the concrete steps would've made a more inviting bed than obstacle.
Because of his weakened state, Diego didn't notice the person inside the parked car he passed, or that the driver exited and followed him. It could've been a costly mistake in different circumstances.
"Diego?" The biker spun around and almost tripped backwards. Julia's voice was hesitant. "I've been calling you all day. Where've you been?"
The biker backed up and relaxed against his apartment door. "I didn't see you. Why are you here?" He tensed. "Do you have any news?"
An expression of sorrow overtook the mother's face. She almost broke out into a cry. "No. I was hoping you did."
Diego released a heavy breath from the depths of his soul. He wasn't sure what to say. He'd promised this woman his best yet couldn't even account for the majority of his day. He knew he was on to something with Jason and Red, but he couldn't make sense of it. Not yet. Nor could he wrap his head around why he'd passed out in the forest.
&
nbsp; And after all that, Diego now needed to face Julia and tell her he'd failed to find her daughter. Of his many problems, that was the worst.
Diego put his arms around her. He supported her weight just as she supported his. It was comfortable there, in the silence, and he thought that at least there were some good things in this world.
"Come on inside," he said, turning the key in the door. He tried removing his jacket but it was too difficult to stretch his arms back. He gave up.
"Why are you all wet?" Julia asked.
He groaned. It was the best response he could come up with.
"Look at you," said Julia. "You're exhausted. You need to rest. When was the last time you ate anything?"
Diego shrugged. His mind was clouded, half from the elements and half from noticing just how beautiful Julia was. He didn't have any brainpower left to remember when he'd eaten.
Julia escorted him to the couch. She pulled his jacket off and sat him down. As she removed his boots, he noticed his cell phone on the cushion beside him. The notification light blinked. He'd probably gotten several messages from her today. The poor woman had been desperate for any word from him.
"Just rest there. Let me see if you have anything in the kitchen."
Diego inhaled deeply. He was so relaxed that he didn't bother telling Julia she'd find an empty refrigerator.
"What do you eat?" she asked.
"Anything but squirrel."
"What?"
Diego shook his head at the bad joke. "There's some stuff in the cabinet."
He heard a few doors open and close, then she entered the living room holding a can of food. "You can't be serious. SpaghettiOs?"
"Ooh, yeah, that," he answered. He ignored her glower, and something about his pained face must have caused her to give in.
"Oh, all right. Be right up in two and a half minutes." Julia found a bowl and the can opener and put the food in the microwave. "You know, you live like a kid." As she waited, she whistled a singsong melody. It was unfamiliar but catchy.
Diego smiled and shut his eyes. If he'd known Julia was going to cook for him, he would've bought a porterhouse or something. But it was nice enough to be able to kick his feet up on the table and wait. In the meantime, he listened as Julia whistled. It was a sad tune that sounded old, like a long lost nursery rhyme. He imagined being a kid, lying on a blanket in the grass, basking in the sun. It wasn't a memory, but a vision. Just a sense instilled in him by the melody. It made him think of family.
Julia surprised him when she put the bowl down and sat beside him. His eyes flicked open.
"Okay, eat up now."
The man leaned forward and did as he was told. "What was that?" he asked after a few bites.
"What?"
"That song."
"Oh. I didn't even realize I—" Julia suddenly quieted. The peace abandoned her face and she took a moment before answering. "It's just something I sing to Hazel when I cook for her. She likes to help out..."
Her words trailed as their destination became meaningless. Julia fought off a tear. Diego put his arm around her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mention..."
"It's okay. It's not like I can forget her. But sometimes, like when I first wake up, or when I'm not paying attention, I almost forget, just for a second, that she's missing. And then, when I realize, it's like my entire body wants to seize up."
Diego tightened his grip. "It's nice to remember," he said. "The song. It's lovely. I promise you that you'll be whistling it to her again."
Her glassy eyes bobbed between different points on his face. Her lips jerked but froze. Almost a smile, he thought. When her gaze avoided his, Diego put his hand to her chin and lifted her head. Their faces were inches away.
"I promise," he repeated. His voice was confident and smooth, and he meant every word of it. And although he really wanted it, what happened next was not his intention. Diego de la Torre leaned in for a kiss.
"Don't do that!" Julia shot to her feet and threw her fists to her sides. "Don't do that. You can't say that. You can't keep telling me that." She brushed away his reaching arms and left the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her. She ran the faucet but Diego could hear the sobbing anyway.
What an idiot he was. He didn't know why he'd done that. Making moves on the mother while the daughter was missing—it was disgraceful. And his words, they were supposed to be reassuring, but what if they were a lie?
Diego took another bite of canned pasta and his face twisted in disgust. He studied the spoon with the sticky red sauce on it before dumping it into his unfinished bowl. He needed to get his shit together. And not just for himself.
Diego snatched up his phone to call Maxim for an update. The notification light blinked again. He decided to check his voicemail first. He deleted a message from Julia and a hang up, but the third message was from Maxim making good on his promise to call.
"Listen, Diego, it's Maxim. Things... I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's been a slow day."
The biker rolled his eyes.
"I'm only calling because I told you I would, but there's not much to say. The therapist wasn't much help. He said more than he should've but he doesn't know anything. I don't think Annabelle trusts him."
"Big surprise," said Diego to the recording. "What about Red?"
"I'm gonna take another stab at her. I know I can get through. I just need to figure out what it'll take to convince her."
Diego repeated, "What about Red?"
Maxim breathed into the phone. "I saw something in her face today. In the car, when I dropped her off. I think she finally believed me. That I want to help."
Diego snorted loudly as if the voicemail could respond to him. "What about Red?"
Maxim cleared his throat. "As for Munro..."
Diego smiled.
"We still don't have a whole lot on him."
Diego cursed.
"I think we've been derailed here," continued the detective. "We're trying to force pieces together that don't fit, and it's not getting us anywhere. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to restart the investigation from the bottom up. Don't worry. That sounds worse than it is, but it's a common procedural technique when we hit dead ends. It might not feel like it, but we know a lot more than we did two days ago. Looking at all the evidence and clues with a fresh start might trigger..."
Maxim kept talking, but Diego tuned him out. He heard the false assurance in the detective's voice. The man wasn't hopeful anymore, not on the inside. Diego also heard Julia, still crying in the bathroom. She still clung to hope, but it was tearing her apart. And if it turned out that she was only holding onto air, she'd float away with it.
The outlaw tightened his grip on the phone. He'd done what he was supposed to do. He'd turned to his friend. The police. He'd held back. And it hadn't gotten him anywhere.
When the message ended, Diego deleted it without a second thought. He would now need to do this his way. The hard way. Opening up old wounds would be uncomfortable, but Diego couldn't think about himself anymore. When the law no longer worked, it needed to be cast aside.
Diego was about to hang up his phone when another message started. It was Harry Pendle, his boss at the tow yard.
"Hey look, Diego," he started meekly. "I'm sorry about that missing girl and everything. You've got a nice heart, but... you're irresponsible as fuck, man. You're just not a reliable person. I think it would be best if we just parted ways, okay? Just... just don't bother coming back to work. Sorry."
Diego hung up. Maybe Harry was the smart one here.
Chapter 32
Diego swallowed hard as he stared at the woman through the chain-link. Kayda Garnett crouched beside several schoolchildren in the playground. The Yavapai reservation elementary school did not appear well funded, but if they had anything aplenty, it was dreary desert space. Some of the kids climbed the faded jungle gym equipment and others played in the sand, but the other half attended their mentor on the flat swath of conc
rete. Bars of colored chalk scattered the walkway as boys and girls alike drew images.
Kayda was pretty, with a tan that belonged in the sunshine. She was naturally affable and worked well with the children. It was good to see her face again. Diego remembered a time when she was receptive to his charms, but the extent of that relationship was a single flirty conversation.
Diego didn't have regrets. He didn't know if anything had been there, anyway. But he did feel the burden of Kayda's ire. What Diego had done was necessary but unforgivable in her eyes.
Diego's boot scrubbed the sidewalk. He knew he couldn't afford to stall any longer. He hadn't spoken to Kayda in almost a year, a part of his self-imposed exile. He knew he had to break the oath for the sake of Hazel Cunningham.
Finally willing the boot to take a step, the biker moved to the entrance. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't Hotah Shaw leaning against the gate at the opening. More faces from the past. More enemies for the present.
"I had my money on you turning tail after a quick look."
The man flexed his strong arms across his chest. His wild hair covered most of his face, but not enough to miss the glint of hatred in his eyes. Hotah was one of the reservation's top enforcers, and Kayda's personal bodyguard. Diego had dealt with men like him before, but Hotah was dangerous because he was precise. In the outlaw world, he was a survivor, and the only one of the old regime to remain standing. Just the fact he was still alive was a testament to his abilities.
Diego squared his body to the side, keeping his knife arm away from the man. "Believe me," he said, "if it were up to me, I wouldn't even ask for that much."
Diego had agreed with him and been respectful—that didn't leave a lot of room for objection. Still, Hotah found a way.
