That evening, after the episode with shank, i returned home to a house in darkness. Nothing new there. It's been like that since Diane and I divorced.
The auction car wasn't registered to me, so I was happy to leave it in place. A cab took me to the lock-up garage I used, so it was my other car, an Audi A6, I parked on the tree-lined street. My two dogs, Hector and Paris, were inside the house, and I could just make out their forms as they pressed their noses to the glass doors leading to the patio. I must have made an indistinct shadow against the deeper night. Hector, largest of my German shepherds, huffed once, then I watched as the two dogs became animated.
I was conscious of disturbing my neighbors, but it was pointless trying to be quiet; Hector and Paris were making enough racket to wake the neighborhood. I pushed open the patio door. Instantly I was assaulted by twin black-and-tan whirlwinds. We went through a round of play?ghting before the dogs would obey my command to sit.
As always, the TV cabinet became a receptacle for my car keys and wallet. It was a habit my ex-wife used to frown upon. It was only one of the many things that annoyed her before our split. Probably the very least of them.
Sometimes I wished Diane were still there to keep me right, but she wasn't. As soon as I tendered my resignation from the army, the death knell for our marriage was rung. Probably she understood me in a way that I never could. Physically I'd resigned, but mentally?
"Married men can't just rush off, placing themselves in life-threatening situations all the time," Diane told me the night she left.
"So you want me to sit at home and die of boredom?" I demanded.
"No, Joe." She'd shaken her head sadly. "I just don't want to be the one who has to bury you."
Diane wanted someone she could grow old with. Understandable, but it wasn't something I could promise her. I'm way too impulsive for that. My promise to Jenny was nagging at me to get going. I wanted to make a start with some phone calls.
The clock on the wall had to be telling lies. Not too late, though, I decided. Hector and Paris ran out into the backyard. I followed them, pulling out my cell phone. Four years on, I still had Diane's number on speed dial.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Simon," I said, concealing any trace of jealousy. "Can I speak to Diane?"
Diane's very safe, of?ce-bound husband grunted, muttered something unintelligible, but handed over the phone.
"What do you want, Joe?"
"I'm going away," I told her.
There was a momentary hitch in her voice. "So why are you telling me?"
"Thought you might want to wave me off at the airport."
I heard her sigh. "I already did that. Too many times."
It was my turn to sigh.
"Can you take the dogs for me for a few days?"
"Simon has allergies," she said.
"Shit," I said. "Isn't it a good job we never had kids?"
Her silence said everything.
"I'm sorry, Diane. I shouldn't have said that."
"No, Joe. You shouldn't have." In the background, Simon was whispering something. "Simon said we can take them, but they'll have to stay in the shed." My dogs were gamboling around the yard, play?ghting among the rhododendrons. Full of life.
"So long as they're exercised they'll be?ne," I said.
"Okay, then."
"I'll drop them off in the morning," I said.
"No," Diane said, way too quickly for my liking. "I'll come there with Simon." Then she hung up. With the dogs sorted, I returned indoors, settled into an armchair, and dialed a number in Tampa, Florida.
"Hey, Hunter, what's up?"
Jared Rington's voice is a rich southern drawl that always reminds me of that guitar-playing wedding suitor in the John Wayne movie The Searchers. He has the honky-tonk twang of a country-and-western singer, which always surprises people; it's a strange anomaly coming from a mixed parentage of Japanese mother and Scottish father.
"You busy with anything, Rink?"
"Got my heel planted on a weasel as we speak," Rink said.
"I take it you're speaking metaphorically?"
"Uh-huh," Rink said. "I just gotta?nish up a little one-on-one business with my client, then I'm all yours." "So what's the deal? Anything exciting?" "Nothing startling. Guy paid me to do a little eyeball on his wife.
He grew suspicious when she started doing too much overtime at work.
Thought she could be playin' away from home."
"Maybe she was just after more money," I offered.
"Yeah, you might say she was after a raise." Rink chuckled. "I got the goods on her last night. Filmed her giving head to her boss in the back of his limousine."
"So you just have to hand over the evidence and that's you?nished?" I asked.
"More or less, yeah. Anyways, what's up?" Rink asked. "You haven't rung for the sake of idle chitchat. That's not the Joe Hunter I know and love."
"I've got a job for you… if you're interested?"
"Uh-huh." It could've been agreement, but more likely he was waiting for more.
"Could be a long story," I told him.
"Fire away, it's your dime."
It was so still I could have been in a mausoleum. But habit caused a quick over-the-shoulder glance to make sure I was alone.
"I'm going to be coming out there," I told him.
"Out here? As in Florida?"
"Well, yeah, I was thinking of stopping over a day or so, but then I have to get myself to Little Rock, Arkansas."
"My old stomping ground?"
"It's why you're the man for the job."
"You think I'm a tour guide all of a sudden? Get yourself a map." Good-natured sarcasm was rich in his drawl. How anyone could dislike Rink is a mystery. What's not to like about a sarcastic curmudgeon?
"Local knowledge is half the battle," I told him.
"I ain't been home in eight years, Hunter. Don't know how up to date my local knowledge'll be."
"How much can Arkansas have changed in eight years?" I asked. "It's not like it's the center of American culture."
"Yeah, but it's not like it's simply rednecks in pickup trucks, either," Rink said, sounding exactly like a redneck in a pickup truck. "They're as cultured as anyplace else, Hunter. They know the difference between Paris, France, and Paris Hilton."
"It'll do you good to get yourself back there, then."
Rink chuckled. "So what's the deal?"
"Missing person," I said.
"That all? I thought it was going to be something exciting."
"There's more. The missing person is my brother."
"You mean John?"
"Yeah. He's?nally surfaced, only to drop off the face of the earth again." I gripped the phone tight. "I'm worried, Rink."
"You know what guys are like. He's probably gotten himself drunk, picked up a coupla hookers, an' is holed up in a motel someplace," Rink said. "Give him a day or two an' he'll be home with his tail between his legs."
"Maybe," I agreed. "And with John it wouldn't be the?rst time."
"You guys had a big falling out. Why you lookin' for him now?"
"He's in trouble," I said.
"Always was."
"I'm not doing this for him," I lied. "My sister-in-law asked me to?nd him. I promised her I would."
"Figures." Seems like Diane wasn't the only one who could read me from a thousand paces. Rink asked, "So is he skipping out on the alimony?"
"He has for years," I said. "But that's not what this is about. Yeah, there're kids involved, but it all goes a lot deeper than that."
"Pray tell," Rink said. It sounded like a car engine burst into life, the sound only slightly muf?ed by the intervening thousands of miles.
"You driving, Rink?"
"Just setting off. But you can keep on talking; I got a twenty- minute drive. Just ignore me if my language gets foul, but the I-75's a bitch even at this hour."
Rink maneuvered his Porsche through the Florida traf?c. My run-in with Shank and his goons was just another war story to us. The creative use of a seat belt as a noose won me kudos. So did the fact that two major assholes would be walking with crutches for a while.
I got around to the note from John's current girlfriend and the plea made by Jennifer. My promise to help.
"You always were a soft touch, Hunter," Rink said. "Never could turn down a damsel in distress."
"She's also my sister-in-law," I reminded him.
"Sister nothing. If you'd never met her before, you'd still be coming out here."
"Now you're starting to sound like Diane," I said.
"Your lady was right in a lot of respects," he pointed out.
"Even Diane would understand this time. It is my brother we're talking about."
"No argument from me, Hunter."
Even if I didn't crave the kind of action that keeps me alive, I couldn't turn my back on my brother. For all that the last time we spoke, I threatened to punch his face.
"You've missed him, huh?"
"Like a hole in the head."
It was a good place to lighten the conversation. "So how's the Sunshine State?"
"A contradiction in terms, my man. Rain's coming down in torrents. Third day in a row. They sure don't show that on no 'Come to sunny Florida' TV ads, do they?"
"I'll pack for the weather, Rink. But can you set me up with the necessaries?" Mentioning a key word-particularly gun-over the telephone is never a good idea. Especially since 9/11. Conspiracy theories aside, all kinds of enigmatic government establishments known for their acronyms are tapping phones for just such words. I know. I've been there. Last thing I wanted was to land in Florida, then get a one-way trip to Guantanamo Bay.
Rink said, "Leave it to me. You want I get you a couple of day passes to Universal Studios?"
"Best you do. Hopefully I'll have a little time for sightseeing; I don't want to be wasting time queuing." More code. Universal was a cipher. It meant the entire package: passport, Social Security number, driving documents, credit cards, the business.
"Sounds like we could be in for some fun, Hunter."
"Fun isn't the half of it," I said.