by Paul Hina
It'll be fine. I'll have it fixed on Wayne's dime."
"Sure, the car can be fixed, but how am I going to fix you when they ding you up?"
"I'm not so delicate."
"Clay, I'm serious. What's going on?"
"You ever heard of a guy named Ramsey?"
"I've heard of him. He runs big money card games."
"Right. Looks like he's responsible for killing Brett," Clay says.
"I thought it was an accident."
"So did everyone else."
"God, if that's true, people around here are going to—"
"Well, he's partly responsible. There are a few other moving parts involved, but I'm sure that he's the driving force behind it."
"And he knows that you know, and he's trying to stop you from getting the word out."
"That's just about the gist of it."
"So, what now? If you know he did it, just hand it off to the police."
"I wish it were that easy, but the police could be part of the cover-up."
"No, really?"
"I don't think so, but I can't be sure," Clay says. "And those moving parts I was talking about…"
"Yeah?"
"I've got just one more to get to, and then I'm done."
"What's that?"
"Emma."
"Emma's dead, Clay."
"You would've thought so."
"Emma's alive?"
"I'll find that out with my own eyes tonight or tomorrow morning."
"How?"
"I'm going to ask the prettiest girl I know if I can borrow her car again, and then I'm going to go to Salinas to wrap this whole damn thing up in a nice pretty bow," Clay says, standing up from Maggie's desk, and embracing her around the waist.
"How can I say no to that?"
"I'm trying to make it difficult."
"And you're sure this will all be over tomorrow?"
"It better be. I don't think Ramsey and his goons will let me survive another day."
"How worried should I be about the next twenty-four hours?"
"I'll scrape by. I always do."
"Until the one time you don't."
"That time won't be tonight," Clay says. "Why don't we go out for dinner? We'll go in my car and give the poor sap out there something to do with himself. Then we'll come back and I'll duck out the back again."
"How will I get home tonight?"
"I could drop you off after dinner."
"No. If we do that, I'll have to give you the keys to the building. Besides, it'll be more convincing if we come back together. I'll just sleep on the couch here tonight."
"You sure?"
"It won't be the first time."
"Well, let me call Wayne real quick before we go."
"It's always something with you," Maggie says, moving back to the box office window.
He grabs the phone on her desk. "Get me Parker's Law Office," he says to the operator.
"I'll wait outside," Maggie says.
"You don't have to," Clay says, but she's already out the door.
"Wayne Parker's office."
"Wayne, where's your secretary?"
"I sent her home. It's after five."
"I suppose it is," Clay says, looking up at Maggie's wall clock. "I think I might have some news for you."
"About Emma?"
"Yep."
"You found her?"
"I think so, but I won't know for sure until I know for sure."
"Where do you think she is?"
"You'll know soon enough."
"So, you're asking me to be patient."
"Just sit tight for one more day. Besides, if she's where I think she is, then we've wrapped this thing up a lot sooner than I expected."
"What do you mean 'we'? I didn't have anything to do with it."
"Well, me and your money then."
"So, I can expect your call tomorrow then?"
"Sure thing."
"And I can't get you to tell me where you think she is?"
"Nope, but you'll know what I know by the end of business tomorrow."
Ten
Clay wakes up in the front seat of Maggie's car. The morning sun is hot on his face. He looks at his watch, it's just after seven in the morning. The Salinas bus station is already open, and he's missed the early comings and goings of the place. He didn't mean to sleep this long. Really, he didn't mean to sleep at all. But it's probably for the best that he did. He had suspected that Emma worked the morning shift, but, since she didn't specify the shift she worked in her letter to Kevin, she could've just as easily had worked the night shift. But, as soon as he got here last night and saw that the diner was closed, he knew he was in for a long night. Still, he wanted to be awake to see if she got here early, but, if she did, he slept right through it.
Either she's here already, or she's not, but, one way or another, Clay needs a cup of coffee. He climbs slowly out of the car, shuts the door, and looks at his reflection in the driver's side window. He looks very much like a guy who spent the night in a car. He feels like it too. His hair is disheveled, and yesterday's five o'clock shadow has grown a few shadows more. And he feels worse than he looks. The right side of his jaw, where he took the big goon's punch yesterday, feels more sore than yesterday. His lower ribs on his right side burn every time he takes a breath, and his leg is as stiff as expected after a night of hard sleeping on the front seat of Maggie's Super Deluxe.
He had parked about fifty yards or so from the bus station entrance. Close enough to see anyone who came in or out, but far enough away not to raise suspicions. As he walks toward the station, he places his hand firmly over his left thigh like he's holding the muscle in place, trying to stifle his limp, but it's not very effective. The limp tells the full story of this morning's pain.
The bus station is bright inside. It's almost completely empty. There is a clerk standing at a ticket window, and he's so busy that he doesn't even bother looking up from his newspaper. As Clay looks around, he sees only three people in the entire bus station. It'll probably be another half hour or so before the place really starts to fill up with the nine to fivers.
He goes to the men's room, and, after spending a long minute at the urinal, he goes to the sink, throws some water over his face, and then runs his wet fingers through his hair. He takes a comb from his back pocket and tames his hair into something that resembles order. He really could use a shave, but there's not much he can do about it in a bus station bathroom.
Clay leaves the bathroom and walks toward the diner. The diner is attached to the far end of the bus station by a pair of clean glass doors, one of which has the word 'Diner' written in white frosted letters on the glass. Clay keeps his distance as he approaches, standing to the side of the right side door, careful not to be spotted by Emma, if she's there. He looks inside. There are two guys—blue collar types—sitting on stools around the counter. The outside walls of the place are lined with booths—about ten of them. From what Clay can see, all the booths are empty.
Behind the counter, talking to one of the two men, there's a waitress, a blond woman in her late thirties. Definitely not Emma.
A few seconds pass, and then another waitress pops out from the swinging metal doors that separate the dining area from the kitchen. This waitress is carrying a steaming carafe of coffee, walks right up to the second guy at the counter and pours him some coffee. He's reading a newspaper and doesn't seem to take any notice of her. She's a younger woman than the first waitress. She has chestnut brown hair and is wearing a pair of heavy horn-rimmed glasses. Emma was a platinum blonde, and Clay never saw her wearing a pair of glasses. Still, this girl's face is a dead ringer for Emma's.
It's her.
Since she decided to escape to a place so close to home, at least she was smart enough to try and disguise herself. Still, it's not a good enough disguise to hope to hide from anyone who actually knew her. It's just her bad luck that Wayne hired a detective that did actually know her.
Clay turns his attent
ion back to the bus station. He looks around for a newsstand. There's one back by the ticket counter. He'd like to have something he can use to cover his face once he gets inside the diner. In these situations, where he's about to reveal himself to someone who's clearly trying to hide, the element of surprise is important. He wants to let her know he's spotted her before she's able to spot him. This would be easier if he still wore his fedora. He could tuck it in such a way that might hide his face a bit. It's especially important for someone like Clay, someone with such a caricatured limp, to find a way to distract attention from himself. Otherwise, he's unlikely to sneak up on anyone.
He starts walking in the direction of the newsstand. But then he spots a neatly folded newspaper on the bench nearest to the diner. For a second, seeing the newspaper seems like enough of a coincidence that, when he looks inside, he half expects to see a message from Jack. But there's no message.
He walks back to the diner's double glass doors, looks in again. The guy at the counter with the newspaper is showing Emma something, and seems to have her attention. Clay walks in and moves past Emma without being spotted.
He grabs a booth by the door on the far side of the diner. He sits with his back to the rest of the place, facing another pair of glass doors that exit to the street. As far as Clay can tell, this is the only exit that goes directly to the street. If she were to try and escape, he'll have to be close to the door to stop her before she gets out. He doesn't want a repeat of yesterday morning's chase with Kevin. His days of chasing people are over. If she decides to go toward the double doors that exit into the bus station, he'll have to go out through the street entrance and circle around to try and catch her. It's not optimal, especially with multiple exits from the station, but it's the best he can