I pushed him forward and a dollop of shaving cream flew off his chin and smacked the floor. Grabbing his upper arm, I led him out of the barbershop and down the street with the barrel of my gun pressed into his lower back. We turned down the first alley and stopped at the rear of an old car. Boomer opened the truck, and as the lid rose, I motioned for him to get in.
Emmanuel stared blankly into the empty space. “I gave you what you wanted. Please.”
“If I have to help you get in there, I promise it’s going to hurt.”
He sighed anxiously, sat on the rear bumper, and ducked his head as he leaned over and wiggled his broad shoulders into the small space. Pulling up his knees, he brought his feet inside and shuffled around as he tried to find a comfortable position. After he settled, he looked up at me with concern writ large across his features.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I snapped off an answer just before slamming down the trunk lid. “Two very pissed off Americans.”
Chapter Twelve
The sandwich sat untouched in front of her, water sweating off the full glass of Coke onto the square napkin beneath it.
Zoe Cross sat on a stool at the end of the bar. The lunch crowd at The Wayward Reef had cleared out a couple of hours earlier. The place was empty except for a man sitting alone in a corner booth and a couple on the back deck. Zoe’s elbow was resting on the bar, her cheek resting in her hand as she stared at the lettuce poking out from the bun. Behind her, the jukebox was playing The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.”
The kitchen door swung open behind the bar, and Roscoe emerged with a large cardboard box in his arms. He set the box on the counter and peeked inside. His white beard had gone untrimmed for the last few weeks, and Zoe thought he looked more like Santa now than ever. “Way too many straws,” he said. “I ordered 3,000. They sent me 10,000.”
Zoe offered a polite but absent smile.
“You haven’t touched your lunch,” he said, eyeing her plate. “I hate to be the one to say it, but you need to eat something. You’re already thin as a string bean. I’m not the only one around here who’s worried about you blowing away in a gale one of these days.” His attempt at a little humor went unnoticed. He frowned and set his palms on the counter, leaned in. “Zoe, she’s going to be okay.”
“Kathleen wouldn’t just drop off like that. She would have said something first.”
Roscoe’s wide chest expanded just before he released a heavy sigh. “Ryan’s out there. And he’s not the only one looking for her. Whatever happened, they’ll get to the bottom of it—look.” He leaned in a little more. “In a couple of days, Kathleen will be on that stool right next to you, enjoying a cold one while she recounts what happened.”
“I guess.” Zoe slipped off the stool and grabbed her phone. “Thanks for lunch, Roscoe. I think I’ll just head on home.”
The kitchen door swung open again, and Denny stepped through. One look at Zoe and his concerned frown matched Roscoe’s. Denny was half a foot taller than Roscoe but nearly fifty pounds lighter. The Vietnam Vet had been The Reef’s cook for going on six months, and all the locals had just about forgotten what it had been like around here without him. Most of them agreed the food had gotten better, too.
“You don’t like my cooking anymore?” he asked. “That grouper doesn’t eat itself, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I might be hungry.”
Denny came around and set a hand on her shoulder. “You know that Kathleen was a spy in her former life. Some kind of James Bond or something. She can take care of herself.”
Zoe shrugged.
Denny placed a hand under her chin and lifted it until she was forced to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give you false hope, young lady. But I am going to echo what I heard Roscoe tell you. If anyone can figure out what happened to her, it’s Ryan. We’re on your team. If you need anything at all, you let me know. Or Roscoe for that matter.” He pulled her in for a hug and she returned it, not letting go for a long while.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll stop back in tomorrow.”
The men watched her leave through the front door, and then Roscoe turned to Denny. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. It doesn’t make sense, Kathleen just disappearing like that. Not about to tell Zoe that though.”
“Me neither.” Denny shook his head as he stared through the box of straws. “Ryan had better get this one right.”
Zoe stepped into the sunlight and walked across the crushed-shell parking lot to her car. She got into the Nissan Sentra, and as she pulled backward out of the parking space, The Reef’s front door opened and someone walked out. Zoe recognized him as the man who had been eating alone in the corner booth. She waited for him to cross in front of her to a silver Mustang and then pulled out onto the street and accelerated away.
She tapped the power knob to the car’s stereo, and Kurt Cobain continued belting out “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Ryan had given her Nirvana's Nevermind CD just before they went sailing around Key West a couple of weeks ago. He had been dumbfounded when he discovered she didn’t even know who Nirvana was. It took her a couple of listens to get used to Cobain’s raspy tone, but now she found herself memorizing the few lyrics she could actually understand.
There were still days when she would wake up and feel the need to pinch herself. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was a part of
