“A week, maybe ten days. I don’t want to be in the way. Plus I want to travel a bit. It could be a long time before I come back to the States again.”
“Any specific plans, or are you just going to make it up as you go?”
“The latter, I think.”
“Are you OK for money? Because you said you were flying coach . . .”
“I’ve got plenty of money, thanks. I fly coach all the time. An extra thousand dollars for a slightly more comfortable seat doesn’t sit well with me. Though I could have done without the screaming kids who spent the flight running up and down the aisles.”
“You ought to get yourself a jetpack.” He laughed. “You remember that day?”
“Remember it? You still owe me a bike.”
They both laughed, then Lance said, “If it wasn’t for you, Sol . . .”
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me, kid. There’s a time and a place for that, and that time is three o’clock in the morning, staggering home from a bar, so drunk you’re not entirely sure where your house is or if you even have a house.”
“Well, I don’t drink, so that’s not going to happen. I just want to thank you.”
“For?”
“Everything. You’ve always been there for me. For all of us.”
Cord kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You don’t have to say it, Lance.”
“Yeah, you’ve never been the overly emotional type, have you?”
“If you say it, then I’ll have to say it. Or I won’t say it and you’ll be hurt. Either way, it’ll be weird and we won’t be able to talk about anything at all. We’re guys. We’re supposed to talk about football and action movies and women and cars. Not feelings.”
Lance grinned. “I know that. But . . .”
“Shut up!”
“It’s just important to me that you know I—”
Cord shouted, “I’m not listening! La la la la la! For cryin’ out loud, Lance. I can’t stick my fingers in my ears and drive at the same time!”
Lance was laughing so hard now that tears were running down his cheeks.
The laughter was good. It helped erase the years he’d spent alone, and went a small way toward easing the horror he’d felt when he read the contents of Max’s file.
WHEN HE REACHED MIDWAY, Lance parked the motorbike he’d borrowed from Cord outside a diner, and stood looking at the building for a few moments. Then he removed his helmet and pushed open the door.
Aside from one corner booth occupied by two African-American boys in their late teens, the diner was free of customers. A slightly overweight man was wiping down the counter with a damp cloth, and he greeted Lance with a nod. “Sit anywhere you like, buddy. What can I get you?” The man’s shirt had a name badge that read Dave.
Lance sat at the counter. “Just a coffee, thanks. Black. No sugar.”
Dave smiled. “Ah, real coffee. Not much call for that these days. All the kids want their caffeine in designer form. It’s on the house.”
“Appreciate that. Didn’t this place used to be called Leftover’s?”
“That’s right, but that was years ago. I was the manager back then. But the place got trashed one night, and after that, the owner pulled out. We were closed for a couple of years, but I scraped the money together to reopen. So you’re from around here?” He slid a cup of coffee toward Lance.
“No, but I’ve been here a few times. Some friends used to live in Midway. In fact, I think one of them worked here for a while. Maybe you remember her? Abigail de Luyando.”
Dave glanced toward the corner booth, then leaned closer to Lance and nodded. “Abby? Sure. You, uh, you heard what happened to her?”
“I heard she died.”
“Car crash. Three years back. It was bad.” Dave leaned closer still. “The guys in the corner? Two of her brothers. Did you know them?”
“No. She talked about them a lot, though.”
“They’re good kids. In college, too, but permanently broke. They can make a shake and fries last all day.”
“What about the other two? There were four, right? Two sets of twins?”
“Yeah, but I can never tell which is which.” He inclined his head toward the booth. “You should go say hello.”
“No, I . . . Why not?” Lance picked up his coffee and his motorcycle helmet and walked toward the teenagers.
They turned as Lance approached. “’Sup?” one of them asked. “We know you?”
“No. But I know your sister Vienna, and I used to know Abby.”
The other boy muttered, “Oh man . . .” Then, louder, he added, “What, were you in school with her or something?”
“Not school, no. She used to talk about you all the time. So, let’s see if I remember. . . . There’s James, Elvis, Stefan, and Tyler. Which ones are you?”
The nearest boy pointed to himself. “Stefan,” he said, then pointed to his brother. “James.”
Lance caught a slight smile passing between them, and couldn’t help smiling back. “Well, that makes it a little easier, because I know you’re not Stefan and you’re not James. I could try to work it out, but I’d never get it right. Abby told me you used to drive the neighbors crazy when you were kids. One of you would do something he shouldn’t and you’d all say you did it, so you could never be punished.”
The boy who’d called himself Stefan laughed. “Oh yeah. That was great!”
“Your mother would make sure you dressed differently so that people would always be able to tell you apart, but you’d swap clothes the minute you were out the door.”
Both of the brothers laughed at that, and the other one—the one that Lance was sure wasn’t James—said, “Sit down, man. It’s good to hear someone say something nice about Abby. Most people around here just thought she was weird.”
Lance dragged over a chair from the nearest table and sat down next to the booth. “Well, she was weird. But those of us who knew her well, we loved her for that.”
“You obviously weren’t her boyfriend, so how did you know her?”
“Long story,” Lance said. “But I knew her when we were both fourteen. How old are you guys now?”
“We’re nineteen, the other two are nearly twenty. What’s your name, man?”
“Lance McKendrick.”
Not-Stefan nodded slowly. “Lance. Yeah, she talked about you. Said you got married, is that right?”
“Yeah,” Lance lied. “It didn’t take. Do you see much of Vienna these days? I know she’s got twins too.”
“Her and Sol come up a couple a times a year. Sol’s her husband. He’s pretty cool. He’s good to her.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lance said. “If he wasn’t, I’d feel obliged to track him down and let him beat the crap out of me. So you guys are in college, right? What’s your major?”
The brother on the left said, “English lit.”
“Both of you?”
“All four of us.”
“Wow. That’s pretty impressive.”
“Hey, Lance, you don’t know of any jobs going, do you? James is working weekends tutoring kids, and Stefan gets a few days a month in the meatpacking place, but there’s not a lot else around here.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there.” Lance drained the last of his coffee. “Guys, I’ve got to hit the road again. But it’s been a pleasure. Abby would have been proud of you.”
He stood up, put the chair back, and turned to them again. “Where do you go to college?”
“Rosengrant University.”
“All right. Yeah, why not?” Lance pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and keyed in a number. “Cam, it’s me. . . . I don’t care what time it is over there. Just write this down, OK? James, Stefan, Elvis, and Tyler de Luyando. . . . Yes, all the same last names. They’re brothers. Got that? Rosengrant Univ
ersity, Midway. Contact the dean of admissions or whoever’s in charge of the finances, and break out the credit card. We’re paying their tuition.”
In unison, Abby’s brothers said, “What!?”
Lance said, “Guys? Do you mind? I’m on the phone here. What was that, Cam? Yeah, everything. For as long as it takes. And throw in some spending money. I don’t know, hold on.” He covered the phone with his hand. “Five thousand a semester? Is that enough?”
The boys looked at each other, then nodded at Lance.
Into the phone, Lance said, “Yeah, five grand each, per semester. Break it up into weekly payments so they’re not tempted to go nuts and spend it all in one go. All right. No, not as soon as you can, Cam. Do it now.” He ended the call.
Both of Abby’s brothers were standing now. “Is this for real?”
“Sure is, Tyler,” Lance said. To the other, he added, “Elvis.”
Tyler took a step back and clasped his hands behind his head. “No way, man, this is too much!”
Elvis said, “We’ll pay you back. It’ll take a while, but—”
“No, you won’t. It’s not a loan. And I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Abby. If you want to pay anyone back, then pay her by working hard and getting your degrees. That’s the deal here, guys. We do this for her. Because . . . because she’s gone now and there’s not a lot else we can do for her.”
Elvis grabbed Lance’s hand and shook it vigorously. “You . . . Man, you’re the best!”
“I’m not. But thanks.” Lance’s phone buzzed twice, and he flipped it open and glanced at the screen. “Text message from Cam. It’s done.”
Tyler said, “We . . . I . . . Seriously, why? You don’t even know us!”
He picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “A long time ago someone gave me a break when he didn’t have to. I’m just paying it forward.” He nodded once more to the twins. “Have a good life, guys.”
As he walked back toward the counter, he heard Elvis ask, “Wait, how did he figure out which of us is which? No one ever gets it right.”
Tyler replied, “Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
Lance smiled to himself and handed his coffee cup back to Dave. “Good coffee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lance slid a fifty-dollar bill across the counter. “The boys are going to want to celebrate. Cook them their favorite.” A second fifty-dollar bill joined the first. “And keep the change.”
• • •
As he rode through northern Texas, heading west out of the city of Canyon, Lance saw what he’d been looking for. He followed the signs and an hour later was climbing down from his bike outside a dry, fallow field.
He vaulted the gate and walked toward a balding man who had stopped to stare at him.
“Hard to be sure with the hair and beard . . . but, yeah, it is you, isn’t it? Never thought I’d see you again, Hunter,” the man said. He extended his hand for Lance to shake, then changed his mind and briefly hugged him instead. “It’s been, what, eight or nine years? What brings you back here?”
“Just a visit, Jerry. How’ve you been?”
“No complaints, son. What about you?” He stepped back and looked Lance up and down. “Not as skinny as you used to be. Looks like life has been good to you.”
“I’m doing OK.” Lance looked around. “So, who’s still here that I used to know? Is Morty around?”
“Sorry to hafta be the one to tell you, but Morty’s dead, Hunter. Four years back. Massive heart attack.” Jerry sighed. “I used to warn him about his diet, but he never listened.”
“Oh man. I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good guy.”
“Yeah. Left the place to me in his will, but I always figured that if you’d stuck around, he would have left it to you. Mary-May passed on too, in her sleep. Not long after you went. She liked you, though. I think she left something for you. I’ll see if I can dig it out later. So where did you go, that time?”
Lance shrugged. “Everywhere. I’ve been keeping busy. This is the first chance I’ve had to come back.”
Jerry nodded toward one of the smaller tents. “We walk and talk, Hunter. Work doesn’t stop just because the prodigal son returns. You know, people come and go, but the show goes on. We’re still keeping the place up and running on spit and string, always just the right side of falling apart.” He pulled aside the tent flap and shouted in, “Hey, fellas! We got a visitor!”
A large, heavily muscled, tattooed man emerged from the darkness and squinted at Lance. “Hold on a second . . .” He pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of his open shirt and put them on. “I remember you. Hunter Washington, right? The forty-miler. You’ve got a lotta nerve showing your face after all this time. What, things didn’t work out and now you’ve come crawlin’ back for a job? Well, take a hike, greenie. We didn’t need you then and we don’t need you now.”
“Hey, come on,” Lance said, though he could tell that Nigel was just winding him up.
Nigel grinned—Lance winced when he noticed that the man’s metal teeth had been filed into points—and suddenly hugged him. “I’m just messin’ with you, man!” With one arm around Lance’s shoulder, he dragged him away from the tent. “You gotta come see the guys. They talk about you sometimes, wonder what happened to you. Some of them thought you’d ended up in prison. A few of the others were sure you’d found God and run off to join a cult. Hey, I got married, you know that?”
“To Tina?”
“Her? No way. She’s long gone, man. Left about five or six years back. No, I met a girl in Tennessee and we just clicked. She had a thing for guys with tattoos. We have a little girl too. You wanna meet them?”
“Of course.”
Lance spent the afternoon with the carnival, trying to catch up with everyone without getting in the way. He was disappointed to learn that Josie had left the carnival shortly after he had. She hadn’t been in touch with any of them since.
The knife thrower, Masatoshi, greeted Lance in the boneyard by rushing at him from behind, wrapping his arms around his chest and lifting him into the air, and screaming, “Hunter!”
Masatoshi hadn’t changed at all. “What’s your secret?” Lance asked. “You discovered the fountain of youth?”
“Youth? Hah. I’m thirty-five now, Hunter. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. No, wait . . .” He laughed. “Yeah, I’m twenty-seven. I forgot that I’d added two years to my age when I was here.”
“When you left I figured you’d signed up with Parker Lethridge, but last time I spoke to him—a few years ago—he said he’d never seen you again.” He thumped Lance playfully in the arm. “Hey, you remember that last night? The going-away bash? Man, we got completely wasted that night!”
“You did, I remember that. I didn’t drink, remember? Still don’t. So how have you been all this time?”
“We’ve had good years and bad years, but on the whole it’s been good, yeah. Amazingly we’re still not rich. We—” Masatoshi stopped, and called out over Lance’s shoulder, “Hey, Kevin! Look who’s come back!”
Lance turned to see Kevin, the cat-wrangler, approaching with a kitten asleep on each shoulder and another one in his arms. Kevin seemed to have aged a little, but not as much as some of the others.
“It’s Hunter!” Masatoshi said. “You remember him, right?”
Kevin tilted his head to one side as he peered at Lance, and Lance couldn’t help thinking that was a trait Kevin had picked up from his cats.
“Wait a second . . . ,” Kevin said. “Yeah. Yeah, you were the kid who . . .” He smiled and nodded. “I remember. We had a talk that one time. That was just before you left, wasn’t it?” To Masatoshi, he said, “I was going through some stuff, and Hunter helped me get my head straight.”
Lance said, “O
ne of the clowns just greeted me like a long-lost brother and I’d swear I’ve never seen him before. But I definitely remember you, Kevin. And your cats.” He reached out one finger toward the kitten on Kevin’s left shoulder and gently stroked its forehead. “If I ever settle down, I’m getting a cat. More than one, probably.”
“Yeah, they’re great companions. Drive you crazy half the time, but the rest of the time they’re so much fun you put up with all the ripped clothes and shredded furniture.”
Masatoshi clapped Lance on the arm. “I gotta get back to practice. Four hours a day, every day, same as always. You sticking around for the show tonight?”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m going to get back on the road shortly.”
“Then come on over to the trailer. We can talk while I throw. Hey, you could stand in at the target. Remember that?” To Kevin, he said, “Of all the people I ever used for target practice, Hunter’s the only one who never flinched. Not once. Nerves of steel, this guy.”
“That was a long time ago, Masatoshi. I’m pretty sure most of those nerves have rusted since then.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a lot better than I used to be. What do you say? Let me throw knives at you for old times’ sake?”
The kitten in Kevin’s arms started to meow, and he said, “Feeding time for these little guys. Again. Nice to see you, Hunter. We should—”
From a caravan on the other side of the boneyard, one of the clowns shouted, “Guys! Hey, everyone! You gotta see this! There’s, like, every super-fella in the world beatin’ the heck outta each other! It’s insane!”
As they ran toward the clown’s caravan, Lance’s cell phone rang. He whipped it out. “Cam. Talk to me.”
Cameron Sharkey’s voice said, “It’s Armageddon or something, Hunter! Outside of Pittsburgh. Ragnarök’s on the move, and he’s built something big. It’s a tank, got to be a hundred meters long. I’ve never seen firepower like it! Max has called everyone in to try and stop it!”
So it’s begun, Lance said to himself. He slowed to a stop, watching Masatoshi and the others crowd around the small caravan.
Hunter (9780698158504) Page 26