Looking at her phone, texting Henry, Henry still standing down in front of Mrs. Mason’s, texting Tiffany, the teens were practically twins. Looking at the phone, Tiff asked Sipe where he thought Connie and Millie would go.
“They didn’t go anywhere. They’re both standing behind you.”
After a second she looked up at him.
“You’re testing me, aren’t you? I can do two things at once. Well. Maybe not the head-pat, tummy-rub thing, but I can do other things. Seriously though. Where would they go?”
Sipe shrugged. Tiffany screwed up her face, like she was thinking it through, could see Connie and Millie driving past snow flanked mountains, igloos, throwing snowballs in spur of the moment play battle with tiny Eskimo children. Then she went back to looking at her phone. The Old Man would’ve walked over, slapped her phone out of her hand, slapped her. Putting punctuation on the level of rudeness she was exhibiting.
Sipe brought Zeke’s cell number up into the burner phone queue. He dialed. Ignoring the little boy voice pleading in the back of his head not to tell. Looking up, turning, he faced the railcar with ‘HOPE’ spray painted in squat letters across the weathered planks.
“This is Z,” answered Zeke.
“Sipe.”
“Thought so. You alive? Connie alive?”
“Yeah.”
Zeke laughed. If he were standing next to Sipe, the kind of laugh come accompanied with a shoulder pat.
“We still on for breakfast? You think those people at The Outpost, they’d make some hash browns fresh if I was persistent enough? Hash browns make or break a breakfast. Otherwise, it might just be that frozen shit, right out of a bag. Mickey D’s only place that serves you that and it’s edible.”
“Maybe.”
“Then let’s meet. Unless it’s all shot up. You wreck it last night?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“’No’. Mr. Low Key. Sipe, my man.” Zeke laughed. He was in a good mood. “It all went all right last night?”
“Pretty much.”
“Hicks didn’t know who they were dealing with. Thought so. Good for Connie. Dip his balls in it. Get a little adrenaline rush like that. I think he wanted me to be there, too, but I knew you had it in hand. Connie up yet?”
“He’s gone.”
“Come again?”
“Connie’s gone. Him and Millie.”
“Millie. Millie the-the-the Olympics bitch?”
“Yeah.”
A long pause. Zeke made a noise Sipe himself had produced at least once, like a physical therapist had hit on some buried hurt, eliciting a sensation one-quarter pleasurable with a definite vocalization component.
“Damn.”
“She got hold of him,” said Sipe. “He got her and they took off.”
“You weren’t watching him?”
“We didn’t bunk together.”
“You didn’t have to lay down and wrap him up in your motherfucking arms, man. But you’re supposed to have him on a leash.”
Sipe didn’t argue. He wasn’t hearing anything with which he didn’t disagree.
“Cops?” asked Zeke. “What about all the cops?”
“Took off. They thought Millie made it over to some other little town around here. Dale.”
“Ok. No cops. There’s that. I guess. But fu-uck, man. Where they going?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“The fuck you’re not going to tell me.”
“No. They don’t know. They didn’t tell me. So. I don’t know.”
“Which way are they going? Driving? Walking? Hitchhiking? You know that much?”
“East. Probably drove past your motel a couple minutes ago.”
A sigh.
“Sipe. Sipe. Man.”
“I’m supposed to shoot him? That’s about all that would stop him. You tell me what you would do, those were the options.”
“Shoot him or let him go? Fuck. Might as well just shoot yourself,” said Zeke. “Or her.”
“I got out here just before they took off.”
“Where’s ‘here’ at?”
“Railcars. You’re coming into town from the motel, turn at Auntie’s, head left.”
Sipe listened. Waited. He didn’t hear anything. Zeke not caring to end the conversation or so pissed off he was trying to figure out something to do with the phone other than smash it.