“You own a camera, right?” said Tracy.
“Still and video alike,” said Strange.
“Get some shots for us,” said Bagley, “or a tape. We’ll run the plates and contact this gentleman ourselves. Trust me, we can be pretty convincing. This guy’s probably got a wife. Even better, he has kids. We’ll make sure he never hassles this girl again.”
“Damn,” said Strange with a low chuckle, “you ladies are
The waitress came to the table and set Strange’s burger down before him. He thanked her, cut into it, and inspected the center. He took a large bite and closed his eyes as he chewed.
“They cooked it the way I asked,” said Strange, after he had swallowed. “I’ll say that for them.”
“The burgers here are tight,” said Bagley, smiling just a little for the first time.
Strange wiped some juice off his lips. “I get thirty-five an hour, by the way.”
Tracy dragged on her smoke, this time blowing the exhale away from Strange. “According to our attorney friend, he remembers paying you thirty.”
“He remembers, huh?” said Strange. “Well, I can remember when movies were fifty cents, too.”
“You can?” said Tracy.
“I’m old,” said Strange with a shrug.
“Not too old,” said Bagley.
“Thank you,” said Strange.
“You’ll do it, then,” said Tracy.
“I assume she works nights.”
“Every night this week,” said Tracy.
“I coach a kids’ football team early in the evenings.”
“She’ll be out there, like, ten to twelve,” said Tracy. “Black, mid-twenties, with a face on the worn side. She’ll be wearing a red leather skirt tonight.”
“She say what kind of car this guy drives?”
“Black sedan,” said Bagley. “Late-model Chevy.”
“Caprice, somethin’ like that?”
“Late-model Chevy is what she said.” Tracy stubbed out her cigarette. “Here’s something else for you to look at.” She reached into the leather case on the floor at her feet and pulled out a yellow-gold sheet of paper. She pushed it across the table to Strange.
The headline across the top of the flyer read, IN PERIL. Below the head was a photo of a young white girl, unclear from generations of copying. The girl’s arms were skinny and her hands were folded in front of her, a yearbook-style photo. She was smiling, showing braces on her teeth. He read her name and her statistics, printed below the photograph, noticing from the DOB that she was fourteen years old.
“We’ll talk about that some other time,” said Bagley, “you want to. Just wanted you to get an idea of what we do.”
Strange nodded, folded the flyer neatly, and put it in the back pocket of his jeans. Then he focused on finishing his lunch. Bagley and Tracy drank their beers and let him do it.
When he was done, he signaled the waitress. “I see on the specials board you got a steak today.”
“You’re still hungry?”
“Uh-uh, baby, I’m satisfied. But I was wondering, you guys got any bones back there in the kitchen?”
“I suppose we do.”
“Wrap up a few for me, will you?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The waitress drifted. Strange said to the women, “I got a dog at home, a boxer, goes by the name of Greco. Got to take care of him, too.”
Later, Bagley and Tracy watched Strange exit the dining room, his paper bag of steak bones in hand. Bagley studied his squared-up walk, the way his muscled shoulders filled out the back of his shirt, the gray salted nicely into his close-cropped hair.
“How old you figure he is?” said Bagley.
“Early fifties,” said Tracy. “I liked him.”
“I liked him, too.”
“I noticed,” said Tracy.
“Like to see a man who enjoys his food, is all it is,” said Bagley. “Think we should’ve told him more?”
“He knew there was more. He wanted to find out what it was for himself.”
“The curious type.”
“Exactly,” said Tracy, draining her beer and placing the mug flat on the table. “I got a feeling he’s gonna work
