“Excuse me?”
“Squeegee. Was he wearing boots?”
“Of course. Timberlands.”
“Unh-hunh. Find anything interesting in here?”
Ceepak stands up and walks to a dark corner.
“Ice chest.”
He squeaks off the styrofoam lid.
“Filled with Milky Ways, water bottles, a turkey-and-brie sandwich….”
“Squeegee treated her pretty good.”
“Danny, your friend Joey T.? The guy who sweeps the beach. Do you know where we might find him?”
“Tonight?”
“Is that doable?”
“He's probably sleeping. His shift starts at like five or six in the morning.”
“I see. Did he work today?”
“No. They usually get Sundays off.”
“Come again?”
“They usually get Sundays off.”
“They don't rake the sand on Sundays?”
How many times are we both going to say the same damn thing?
“They used to. Then there were these budget cuts. Joey does a major sweep on Saturday, gets Sundays off, hits the beach again first thing Monday morning….”
“Awesome! Do you know when he empties the hopper?”
“The what?”
“The bin where the surf-rake stows its trash. When does he typically empty it? Pre-sweep or post- shift?”
“How the hell would I know that?”
“Right. I just thought….”
“Do you want to go wake up Joey T.? Ask him when he dumps his load?”
“No. I'll catch him at 0500. Does he park his gear at the municipal garage?”
“Yeah.”
“Terrific. You up for some O.T., Danny? I'd like to check in with your friend before first light … before he sweeps the beach again.”
“I'm feeling kind of bummed, you know what I mean?”
“Sure.”
“I've never actually been that close to an actual execution. Never been in the building when a man was gunned down by the firing squad. So tonight? I think I need to get shit-faced. I think I need to stay up drinking ’til three or four in the morning and get drunker than I've ever been before. Who knows? Maybe I'll even go home and slap some snot-nosed brats around in the basement or something.”
I hope it sounds as nasty as I mean it to.
Ceepak's eyes show that hurt again.
Good.
“We'll touch base tomorrow,” he says.
“Whatever. You want me to drop you at the house?”
“That'd be great. Thanks, Danny.”
We leave the baggage room, walk back across the ancient railbed, and climb into the Explorer.
“Seat belts,” Ceepak says.
I refuse to put mine on. I just start up the car.
“Chief talk to you yet?” Ceepak asks.
“He sure as shit did.”
“Good. You tell him what happened?”
“I confirmed what he already knew. How the ends justify the means. The greater good. That kind of shit….”
“Good.”
Ceepak keeps nodding, like everything is hunky-dory and peachy-keen.
If he says “It's all good,” like he says about five hundred times every day, I might have to shoot him-even if I don't have a gun. I'll borrow one of his.
“We'll regroup tomorrow. 0730? Pancake Palace?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
He turns to look at me but I won't look at him.
“It's going to be okay, Danny,” Ceepak whispers.
“What?”
“I give you my word.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
You ever polish off a six-pack in under an hour? Me neither.
Until last night.
This morning, I'm still wearing the same clothes I had on when I fell asleep in my lumpy TV chair.
Must be why no one wants to sit near me at The Pancake Palace.
The waitress brings me a mug of coffee and a plastic carafe so I can continue to pour my own and self- medicate. I rip open a little plastic packet of Tylenol I picked up at the 7-Eleven. It's my second pack of the morning and I chew the tablets like they're Flintstones vitamins. Sure the stuff is bitter, but hell-so am I.
It's 7:40. My partner's late. Highly un-Ceepakesque behavior. There are no syrup-stained rugrats stealing tips this morning. In fact, The Palace is even emptier than it was on Saturday. I guess things will pick up tomorrow-when the world celebrates the safe return of Ashley Hart with a mad dash back to the beach. I'll bet you the Tilt-A-Whirl, the train depot, the burnt-down hotel-they'll all become brand-new tourist traps. “This is where they shot him! This is where they found her!”
I'm thinking I could come up with a catchy, kidnap-themed T-shirt or sell “write-your-own-ransom-note” refrigerator magnets, make a million bucks and retire.
I need more coffee.
I pour another cup and try to read the newspaper. The headlines are all kind of blurry, but I think it's my eyes that are fuzzy, not the ink. Pictures of Ashley and her mother cover the front page. The chief, too. Everybody looks all huggy and happy. I find my name buried in the continuation of the front-page story on the sixth page.Officer John Ceepak and his partner Daniel Boyle were the first to find the kidnapped little girl inside the abandoned railroad terminus.
What's a terminus? Sounds like the train had a bad disease.
Anyhow, I'm an official hero. The newspaper has declared it so.
Here comes Ceepak.
He takes off his cap and smiles at the ancient cashier who's smiling at him, her hero. His eyes sweep the restaurant to make sure I'm in the window seat where we always sit. He smiles again when he sees I'm where I'm supposed to be.
“Morning, Danny.”
I grunt.
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“I'm famished.” He waves to the waitress.
“Good morning,” she says, probably hoping for another huge tip like the one he came back to give her on
