inside.
'Aaron?' he yelled, banging on the door. 'Aaron, are you in there?'
There was no answer.
He stepped back a couple steps and lunged at the door, throwing his entire weight into it. The lock held, but the center panel had loosened and Michael was able to get his hand through and release the bolt. He swung the door open, but the room was empty. He looked out through the open window across the roof. It too was deserted.
He lingered for a moment, breathing in the cold air, thinking about Aaron. Then he left the bedroom and started back down the stairs.
As he descended he heard a sound, as if someone had dropped something in the kitchen — a plastic cup perhaps. He stopped and listened, then trotted the rest of the way down to investigate.
– He entered the kitchen and noticed that the pantry door, which had been closed, was slightly ajar, now. He slowly opened it and clicked on the light.
Crouching in the shadows behind a stack of newspapers was what appeared to be a boy in a hooded sweatshirt. The boy's head was down, and Michael couldn't see his face.
'Aaron?' Michael said, but there was no reply.
He stepped over and moved some of the junk aside and was surprised to see that it wasn't Aaron at all, just a chubby little black kid wearing thick glasses.
'Come on out of there,' Michael said.
Willy looked up at him, terrified. 'I–I was just looking for my friend,' he said, close to tears.
'It's okay,' Michael said. 'I'm a friend, also.' He'd only known Aaron a short time, but he considered him his friend — the first friend he'd made in a long time. He offered Willy a hand up and they stepped out of the pantry.
'So, you know Aaron?' Michael said.
'I'm his best friend,' Willy replied stubbornly, chin down, and with all his heart he wanted to believe it was still true. Maybe if he acted as if it were true, it would be true.
Michael pulled out a chair for Willy at the kitchen table and took a seat across from him.
'I haven't heard from him since yesterday,' Michael said. 'I think he's in trouble.'
'To put it mildly,' Willy said.
'Why? What do you know about last night?'
'I know a lot,' Willy said. ' I saw the whole blasted thing.'
The two compared stories about Aaron's run-in with Souther and the narrow escape. Willy described their cannery hide-out and agreed to take Michael there in the morning.
Willy mentioned that he'd gone to visit Aaron's mother the evening before, and that she hadn't seen Aaron since dinner and was worried. And now she was missing, too.
'The door was unlocked when I got here,' he said. 'She would never do that, and I doubt Tom would either — not in our neighborhood. It doesn't make any sense. We have to find them.'
Michael stood up from the table. 'Come with me. I'm going to check around back.' They left the kitchen, stepping outside through the side door, and headed around to the rear of the building.
A makeshift plywood-patchwork had been nailed up over what used to be Aaron's garage door. Michael and Willy entered the garage through the same small door Ashley had used.
Michael noticed a fresh pair of tire burnouts running the full length of the garage and out into the alley. He looked at Willy then knelt and slowly ran his fingers over one of the charred-rubber streaks.
– They left the garage and started back up the side alley toward the street.
Michael extended his hand. 'By the way, my name's Michael,' he said.
Willy gave Michael's hand a vigorous shake. 'I'm Willy,' he said. 'Bloody good to — ' He stopped in his tracks. 'Hey, wait a second. You're Michael? The pool table Michael? The guy with the loft? Aaron called me from your place last night.'
'That was you?'
Willy nodded his head sadly. 'Yes… that was me.' Then he turned and walked on up the alley.
– When they reached the street in front of Aaron's apartment, Michael glanced at his watch. 7:45 p.m. 'So, can I offer you a ride home? If you don't hate me, that is…'
Willy laughed; he had hated the mystery Michael, but now that he had met him he could see that he really was a nice guy — and maybe he'd misjudged Aaron a little as well.
'Thanks… but I have my bike,' he said, and Michael waited while he ran inside the apartment and returned with his beach cruiser.
'So, I'll pick you up here tomorrow morning at nine?' Michael said.
'Sounds good,' Willy said.
They shook hands again, and with a quick wave goodbye Willy took off toward home.
Chapter 32
A Dagwood Sandwich
Aaron poked his head through the door to the cannery break room and saw Needles sitting alone at the long wooden table with the entire contents of the refrigerator spread out in front of him. Normally the fridge was pretty bare, but that day had been a good payday, so there was plenty to eat.
Aaron started to knock on the door frame, then considered calling the whole thing off. But it was important to him — and he was probably making too much out of it anyway. A simple question requiring a simple answer, he told himself. So he knocked.
Needles had nearly completed the construction of a Dagwood sandwich. He turned toward the sound and smiled, bracing the wobbly stack of lunch meat with both hands.
'Aaron,' he said, 'come in. Are you hungry? You want some iced tea?'
'That'd be great,' Aaron said. 'Thank you.'
Needles held the sandwich with one hand and poured Aaron a glass of tea from a surprisingly elegant crystal pitcher. He passed the box of sugar and a long spoon, and then he balanced the final slice of bread on top of his towering creation. Aaron added two spoonfuls of sugar to his tea and watched the white crystals swirl around as he stirred the amber liquid.
Needles studied his sandwich, trying to figure out the best way to eat it. 'Isn't it a little late for you to be up? It must be close to midnight.'
'Yeah, but I was just — '
'Do you want half of this?' Needles said, interrupting him. 'I think I got a little carried away.'
'Oh, sure,' Aaron replied.
Needles carefully sliced the sandwich in two, then laid half on a paper plate and handed it to Aaron. 'You were saying?'
Aaron paused, holding the plate in his hands; then at last he asked, 'Why do you rob banks?'
Needles had already committed to a large bite and he was forced to mumble. 'Because I'm an idiot,' he replied, crumbs flying.
Needles's casual reaction surprised Aaron and he relaxed a bit, but he wasn't going to let him off that easy. He set his plate on the table and wiped his hands on his jeans. 'No, really, why do you? I mean, it's wrong to steal… right?'
'It's not by choice,' Needles said, dodging the question intentionally this time; he was in too good of a mood to dredge up a bunch of sludge. Besides, he wasn't sure if Aaron could handle the truth.
'What do you mean?' Aaron asked.
Needles paused for a moment then decided to be up front with Aaron. 'I used to be a surgeon,' he said.
'Wow, really? Why'd you quit?'
'I wish I had,' Needles said. 'The truth is I lost everything in a lawsuit: my license, my practice, my future… all gone in the blink of an eye.'
