I knew if I sat around my apartment I’d brood, so I decided to stick to my schedule. And most Monday nights you could find me studying at Janelle Johnson’s house.
In her mid-thirties, Janelle had smooth, dark brown skin, an enormous, gravity-defying rack, and long, thin braids that skimmed her ample butt. We bonded over fetal pigs in biology class last semester. She had gone back to school after her husband cheated with a woman he picked up at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Janelle came home early from her afternoon shift at the Quickie Mart and found them eating fried chicken — and each other — in Janelle’s bed.
We lounged at her dining room table, studying for an ethics test. And by studying, I mean gossiping and eating.
I’d told Janelle about Axton, the club, the backpack, and the strange man.
“That Axton’s always been a little squirrelly.”
“No, he’s a sweetie. But something was up with him today. And the guy with the suit? Creepy.”
“Ask him about it.” She handed me a bag of pretzels.
“Oh, believe me, I will.” If I ever got a hold of him.
“So, Asshat has the kids tonight,” Janelle said.
I nodded, making an effort to get my mind off of Axton and the strange man and focus on her story. But I kept peeking at my phone, willing it to ring.
“Chicken Licker told my daughter,” she poked herself in the chest with a long, blue acrylic nail, “my daughter, she could get her ears pierced this weekend. Oh hell no. Over my dead sexy body.” Asshat was of course her ex-husband and Chicken Licker his Kentucky Fried girlfriend.
“What did Asshat have to say about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “What does he ever say? Nothin’. I told Chicken Licker if she got her bony ass anywhere near my child’s ears, I would make my foot a permanent part of her anatomy.”
I munched on a pretzel. “I wouldn’t want her bony ass near my ears either.” Just then my phone rang. I recognized the number and quickly answered.
“Rose, it’s the Axman.”
“Thank God, I’ve tried calling you a million times. There was a strange man looking for you.”
“Listen—”
“I can barely hear you.” I put a finger over my left ear and held the phone closer to my right.
“Can you come and get me?”
“Ax, what is going—”
“I need a ride, man. Can you come or what?” Something about his tone sent chills up my spine. “Aw, shit. Rose…” I heard clattering, like something hit the phone.
I sat up straight. “Axton? Where are you? What’s—”
His phone cut out before I finished the question.
I looked at Janelle. “Something’s not right.”
“See? Squirrelly.” She sipped her Coke. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Can I use your phone to call him back? My battery’s almost out.”
Janelle waved vaguely at the phone on the counter. I dialed Axton’s number, but my call went straight to voice mail. Dread swept over me. “He’s not answering.”
I walked back to the table, closed my books, and shoved them in my backpack. “I need to look for him.”
“You want me to go with you?”
I zipped my bag. “No. I’ll drive around, see if I can find him. He’s probably fine.” I tried to reassure myself, but even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.
Axton Graystone was in trouble.
Chapter 3
I drove toward Axton’s house, way south of Apple Tree Boulevard. The Boulevard — mysteriously named as it was devoid of apple trees — was the dividing line in Huntingford. To the north, subdivisions with names like Stony Gates, The Cottages, and Crabapple Estates surrounded manicured golf courses or large man-made lakes. South of Apple Tree contained the historic district of Huntingford. Or as most people called it, the crappy side of town.
Axton lived in a tiny, white clapboard two-bedroom, one-bath home with his stoner roommate Joe Fletcher. Joe worked sporadically. Mostly, I think he sponged off Axton.
I pulled into the driveway behind Axton’s blue Honda. A huge sense of relief washed over me at the sight of his car. That phone call really freaked me out. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I wasn’t leaving until he told me everything.
I bounded up the front steps and knocked on the door. After about a minute, Joe answered.
Joe was a little taller than Axton but just as thin. His brown hair was shaggy and greasy and he always wore a purple tuque with strings that fell on either side of his head. Even in the summer.
“Rose, hey man. Like, mi casa es su casa.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
I hadn’t been inside Axton’s house very often and frankly it was not an experience I wished to repeat. It was dusty and smelled like old bong water. I stepped in and glanced around. A guy with a long ponytail and chin stubble sat on their old corduroy couch. He was completely engrossed in a video game that involved shooting people. Nazis, by the look of it.
“Where’s Axton?”
“In his room.” He waved toward the hall, his attention fixed on Ponytail and the video game. “Dude, you totally shot the shit out of that dude.”
Ponytail nodded. “Hell yeah I did.”
I walked down the short hall, knocked on Axton’s door and waited. Nothing. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I jiggled the knob. “Ax, you in there?”
No answer.
“Hey Joe,” I yelled.
Joe shuffled down the hall to stand next to me.
“Axton’s door is locked and he’s not answering.”
Joe shrugged. “Don’t know, dude.”
“Do you have a key?”
He scratched the top of his head. “Um…I don’t think so.”
I pounded on the door and shouted Axton’s name, but still no response.
“Are you going to kick the door in?” Joe asked.
“Not unless I have to.”
“Cuz that would be awesome. But, like, better if you had on a tight leather jumpsuit and boots that came up to your cootchie. All superhero style, you know?”
I walked back down the hall and out the front door. I made my way toward the side of the house until I stood outside of Axton’s room. His light was off but the window stood open, the curtains fluttering inward from the light wind.
Joe followed. “Hey, maybe the Axman escaped.”
I wrapped my hands over the window ledge, and bracing my feet against the house, hoisted myself up. Throwing one leg over the sill, I ducked my head and toppled into Axton’s bedroom, then quickly scrambled to my feet.
With my hands stretched out in front of me, I stumbled around in the dark and stubbed my toe as I searched for the light switch. When I finally found it, I flipped it on and took a good look around. There was an unbelievable amount of crap scattered everywhere, but no Axton.
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Where the hell was Ax and why hadn’t he taken his car?
I tromped back to the living room and asked Joe a few simple questions, like ‘When did Axton come home? Was he acting strange? Did he say if he was going out tonight?’ All I got back was, “Dude, I don’t know.” Not terribly helpful, Joe.
I gave Joe and Ponytail specific instructions to call me if Axton called or came home. They nodded as they munched on cold pizza and watched me with glazed eyes. With a sigh, I left the house and got back in my car.
I drove around for hours, stopping at all of Axton’s favorite hangouts: The Burger Barn, The Slaughter House (a local watering hole), Howard’s Hot Dog Stand, The Carp (a bar that featured live music), and even The Sizzler, Axton’s favorite restaurant. He was nowhere to be found and no one had seen him all night. I kept calling him, but he never answered.
I got home close to eleven o’clock. Worry clawed at me as I climbed the two flights of stairs to my studio apartment. Something was wrong with Ax, I felt it in my gut.
I dropped my stuff on the small bistro table in the corner then curled u
p on my orange futon, but I was too edgy to sit still, so I stood and paced the room. Axton gave me his backpack for safekeeping. Why? He was obviously hiding something, but there was nothing unusual inside of it. Did it have something to do with his computer? And what about the strange man? Did Axton have something that belonged to him? And why did Ax sneak out of his window and not take his car?
My head ached from asking myself the same questions over and over. Should I call the police? Should I wait to see if he showed up tomorrow? I didn’t know what to do.
Axton and I didn’t have much in common on the surface. I vaguely remembered him as a goofy kid from school. We hadn’t been friends, but our parents moved in the same social circles. But five years ago, when we ran into each other at the city college, it was like I saw him, really saw him, for the first time.
I had been feeling so hopeless and isolated after moving out of my parents’ home. All my old friends had gone back to their expensive schools, my sister had newborn Scotty to take care of, and I went to work at Ma’s Diner. I’d gone from country club tennis courts and a Lexus convertible to shopping for food at the dollar store and using a bus pass. I’d never even made my own bed and suddenly I had to figure out how to pay rent on a dump of an apartment. I was completely lost.
Until I met up with Ax.
With his sweet smile and love of Godzilla movie marathons, he kept me going. One day at a time. He held my hand through it all, offered to lend me money — which I could never bring myself to take — and brought me pizza. Lots and lots of pizza.
For a while, he was my only friend. And I would have lost my way without him.
He was an affable, tech-loving doofus who liked to spark up a bit too frequently and I was a rebellious smartass who could barely pay my bills. We were both misfits, not to mention bitter disappointments to our respective parents. I loved him like a brother. And if he was in trouble, I had to help him.
But I couldn’t do anything about it tonight. With a sigh, I took my hair out of its ponytail and massaged my scalp. In my Post-it sized bathroom, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled on a t-shirt my ex-boyfriend, Kevin, left behind. It was puke green and bore the name of his band, TurkeyJerk.
Boyfriends like Kevin might drift in and out of my life, but Ax was my constant, the one man I could count on. And now he was missing.
I blew out a breath. Well, I was just going to have to find him. Whatever trouble he was in, I would help. Maybe it was my turn to save him.
Chapter 4
The next morning I awoke to my phone ringing instead of my alarm. “Axton?” I asked, after fumbling with the receiver.
“It’s Ray. You’re late. You sick?” My boss’s gruff voice got me up in a hurry.
I looked around the room, my gaze finally landing on the clock. Six-fifteen. “Damn.” I hauled ass out of bed. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He grunted in reply and hung up.
After throwing on a pair of semi-clean jeans, a bra and a wrinkled, long sleeved t-shirt, I brushed my teeth and pulled my hair into a sloppy ponytail. Then I grabbed my bag and made it to work in ten minutes.
“Sorry I’m late,” I yelled through the kitchen door. The smell of fried eggs and cinnamon French toast made my stomach growl. Tying a blue and white gingham apron around my waist, I got to work. I wanted to make sure Axton’s backpack was still safely hidden away in the syrup box, but there wasn’t time. The early crowd was in full swing.
Ma’s Diner was a hole in wall. A little brick building with no sign, a place you’d drive past and never notice. Ma’s served breakfast. Period. If you wanted a sandwich, it better be an egg sandwich or you were out of luck. We were open seven days a week, excluding Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, from six to one. And if you came in at twelve fifty-five, you took it to go.
Ma’s hadn’t changed much since it opened in 1956—I’d seen the pictures to prove it. Wallpaper patterned with big baskets of fruit was now yellowed and dingy. Ten rectangular tables topped with pink Formica speckled with little pieces of gold glitter were scattered throughout the room, and none of the chairs matched.
Ma came in five times a week. At almost eighty, she still waited tables like a pro. Her real name was Marty, but I’d never heard anyone call her that. She was a favorite with the customers, especially older ones who liked to sit back and shoot the shit. Ma would talk to them about the good old days when her husband, Frank, was alive. But what she loved to do most was drink black coffee and complain to her son, Ray, that he never did anything right.
Lucky for me, Ma had come in that morning, as evidenced by Neil Diamond’s greatest hits playing over the speakers.
When we hit a lull around ten o’clock, I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned my elbows on the counter in front of Ma. Sitting on one of the four counter stools, a food service order form in front of her, she sported a red sweatshirt with a yellow rhinestone cat on the front. Spikes of white hair stood out at odd angles on her head and large-framed trifocals were perched on the bridge of her nose. She tilted her head up with her eyes cast down to the paper in front of her.
“So, why were you late, toots?” she asked.
“Sorry about that. Forgot to set my alarm.”
“Late night studying?” She put down her pen and took a sip of coffee.
“I should have been, but I was out looking for Ax. He’s in trouble, Ma.” I updated her on all things Axton. “I’m really worried about him.”
Roxy poured herself a cup of coffee and stood next to me. “What’s the big deal? This is Ax we’re talking about. I mean, where would he run off to?”
“It is a big deal, Rox. Giving me his backpack? A strange man lurking in the woods leaving cryptic messages? Something is off.”
As I spoke, Ray carried two plates out of the kitchen. He set a ham and cheese omelet in front of me and a cinnamon roll in front of Roxy.
“Thanks, Ray,” I said over my shoulder.
“Uhm.”
“You put too much pepper in the gravy this morning, son,” Ma said to his retreating back. “Boy always uses too much damn pepper. Anyway, call Axton’s office and see if he came in this morning.”
“I figured I would. I’ll call his brother, too.”
Roxy polished off the last of her cinnamon roll and stared at her empty plate. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you mean, hon?” Ma asked.
“I want a cigarette. What do you people do after you finish eating? What is there to do besides smoke?”
Ma peered at her. “Your job?”
Scowling, Roxy picked up a rag and began wiping down tables.
I finished eating and went back to work. We had a steady flow of customers until one o’clock when Ma flipped the closed sign.
As soon as my last customer was out the door, I hustled to the pantry. I pulled the syrup box off the shelf and hauled out Ax’s backpack. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I started with the outer pocket and found a disposable lighter and a small package of tissues. I shoved them back and unzipped the main compartment, drawing out each item and inspecting it thoroughly. Nothing had suddenly appeared overnight. It was still just ordinary Axton stuff.
I set the laptop on the floor and booted it up, but without his password, I didn’t get very far. I tried his birthday (January 13th), his favorite movie (Avatar), his favorite comic book series (X-men), characters from his favorite book (Lord of the Rings), and even “George Lucas is a god.” Nothing.
Frustrated, I stuck everything back in the bag, placed the bag back in the syrup box, then put the box back up on the shelf. There must be something on the laptop. But since I couldn’t even log on, that was a bit of a problem.
I walked to the dining room where Ma scrubbed down the counter and Roxy swept the floor. “I just checked Ax’s backpack again.”
Ma raised her penciled brows and Roxy stopped smacking her gum.
“Nothing. And I don’t know the password for his computer.”
“Bummer.” Roxy resumed her chomping.
“Go ahead and call his office, toots.”
Since my phone had limited minutes, I used the wall phone next to the kitchen and called Ax’s cell number first. His voicemail was full, so I tried his office number. It rang six times before someone answered. When I asked for Ax, I got a ‘No, he didn’t bother showing up today’ before the phone slammed down.
I dug under the counter for the phone book to find Packard Graystone’s number. Axton and Packard — okay seriously, what had their parents been thinking with those names? — were estranged. But I still wanted to talk to him in case he’d heard from Ax.
Packard’s home number wasn’t listed in the white pages, but his office was listed in the yellow ones. Pack was a dermatologist and the receptionist wouldn’t let me talk to him unless I made an appointment. I might have raised my voice when I told her Pack’s brother was missing, but she didn’t seem to care. I grrred at the receiver.
I finished helping Ma and Roxy with cleanup, then drove to Axton’s house to check in with Joe. Because he spent most of his life buzzed or better, I thought talking to Joe in person, rather than over the phone, would be the way to go. And maybe I could press him about that exclusive club Axton talked about.
Without bothering to knock, I opened the front door and found Joe sitting on the sofa watching an episode of Bewitched with a bag of potato chips on his chest. A glass bong sat on the scarred coffee table along with an empty pizza box. Crushed beer cans littered the carpet. Joe wore the same clothes from the night before: a t-shirt with a picture of the St. Louis Arch and ripped jeans. And his purple tuque, of course.
“Hey, Rose.” He shifted his eyes from Elizabeth Montgomery to me and back again. “You ever wonder how Samantha does that nose twitch thing? I’ve tried to do it, but I can’t.” He demonstrated his attempt at the nose twitch thing. He looked like a rabbit with a cocaine habit.
“Have you heard from Axton?”
“Um, negative.” He stared at the TV, bringing a chip from the bag to his mouth without sparing me a glance.
Diners, Dives & Dead Ends Page 2