A dingy sports bar on the outskirts of town provided us not only with a phone from which to call Gran—really I have never seen a place with more payphones in this day in age than this town—but also an assortment of big screen TVs on which to watch the news when that call was met by an endless series of rings.
Watching the news had been my idea. If I weren’t so desperate to learn of Gran’s fate, I would have led the way back to the motorcycle. Creatively titled Johnny’s Bar, this wasn’t the type of place I would have ventured into alone. The dark lighting may have been an open invitation for criminal activity but, for Nathan and me, it was a perk.
We sat at the bar, me with my hair tucked up under the stupid hat. Nathan ordered a beer for himself and a soda for me. The bartender barely looked at us. He didn’t seem the type to pay much attention to his customers, let alone missing person’s reports.
Two middle aged men who looked like they had just stepped off the golf course sat on the other side of the bar, engrossed in whatever sport they were watching on the screen in front of them. A couple sat at a table in the corner, heavily making out. No one paid us any attention and, after a few minutes, we both relaxed.
Until the news program started. Every muscle in my body went rigid with anticipation as we watched a string of weather, sports, and local breaking news. Thirty boring minutes dragged by with no mention of either me or Gran.
I couldn’t believe it. Nothing.
Nathan glanced at me with a shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
“I can’t believe there wasn’t anything,” I muttered. What if I really were missing, lying in a ditch somewhere, dead or dying? No one would even know to look for me.
Nathan finished his beer. “They probably covered it up.”
“Who? The Skotadi?” I hadn’t considered that they could do that.
Nathan flagged down the bartender, ordered a six pack to go, and then turned to me. “They have connections that can keep things from going public.”
I thought about Callie, who I couldn’t imagine keeping quiet under any circumstance. What would they do to someone like her, who wouldn’t buy whatever cover story they came up with?
“Nathan…” I stopped when the bartender returned with the beer, and waited as Nathan handed over the cash. Once we were alone again, I asked, “How far would they go to keep someone quiet?”
He studied me for a moment before he answered, “I don’t know.” He was lying.
“I need to check on Callie.”
He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Just let me call. I won’t talk to her,” I pleaded. All I needed was to hear her voice.
He actually looked sorry for me. Unyielding, but sorry.
“Would they hurt her?” I asked.
He thought about his answer and, when he finally gave it to me, I knew he was giving it to me straight. “I doubt it. Covering up you and Gran would have been difficult enough for them. They wouldn’t want to make things too messy for themselves. Secondly, they’re probably watching her, waiting for you to contact her.” He studied me as I registered his words, and then softly added, “I’m sure they figured out something for everyone, including her, to believe.”
I stared back at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t sugar-coating anything for me. I only hoped he was right.
And I hoped, just this once, that Callie had managed to swallow bullshit.