“Oh, no way,” I said to myself. “This can’t be it.” Yet as I moved closer I saw that it had been here for a long, long time and, while empty at the moment, had been used by a thousand drug addicts and vagrants and probably a few animals.
A low rumbling had been building all the while I was up there. Now as it broke through to my consciousness, I knew exactly what it was. I stood there next to the shed and watched the freight approaching on the northernmost tracks. It didn’t seem to be going that fast, but as it came upon me I felt the push of the air around me and the earthquake under my feet from the ten thousand tons of iron. It was close enough that I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to. I could imagine grabbing a handle as it passed by, letting it lift me off my feet with a great jerk. The moment of sheer terror as I trusted all of my weight to the strength of one hand, with failure meaning that I’d surely fall under the wheels and feel my legs sliced cleanly from my body.
You might come here, I thought, if you were a fourteen-year-old boy with nowhere else to go. No friends to hang out with. If you loved trains and dreamed about hitching a ride on them someday, you might come here to this little shed in the right-of-way between the railroad tracks, behind the bakery.
You might even call it the breadbox.
I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to come back here at midnight, but I knew that was exactly what I had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the night came, I rolled into the lot by the auto parts store. There was a service center built into the store, with a dozen cars all parked outside waiting for new brakes, a muffler, or whatever else. I lined my truck up between two of those cars and turned off my ignition and lights.
I had gone to a hardware store and bought a strong flashlight, the kind with a long, heavy handle that could double as a club if it had to. That was the only preparation I had done.
Now that I was finally here, sitting in my truck and waiting for midnight to come, I had a couple of hard questions to ask myself. Questions that I had been doing a good job of avoiding. I was there to find Darryl King. That’s the only thing I knew for sure, but once I found him, then what?
Try to talk to him. Find out what he knew about his brother. Find out what he planned on doing with his brother, once he found him.
So you’re looking for a man, I told myself, who is himself looking for another man. So what happens if you find them both tonight?
Then maybe I find out if my gut feeling about Tremont is right after all, and maybe I finally learn that I should think these things through a little better, before I start wandering down dark streets at midnight all by myself.
There were a few cars going by. I watched them stop at the intersection, waiting for their green light. Midnight was coming fast. I got out of the truck and headed down the street. I had my light jacket on, with the flashlight tucked inside. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be feeling better with a gun tucked in there as well. Or if I’d be feeling better with Leon there to cover my back.
I took a quick look down the side street. I didn’t want to just walk right down to the railroad tracks. Not yet. I turned at the corner, made a loop, and came back onto the main street. Cars kept going by, but I didn’t see anybody stopping. Nobody turned down the side street.
Then I saw the car.
A powder blue Pontiac Bonneville with a big dent in the front right quarter panel. This had to be Mrs. King’s sister’s car. This had to be Darryl King behind the wheel.
I didn’t panic. I didn’t try to hide. He had no reason to suspect I’d be there, and apparently he wouldn’t even recognize me anyway. So I acted like a man who has transacted whatever business has brought him to this lonely corner of the city, and now he’s walking back to his truck. The car turned down the side street, toward the tracks. I waited a few beats. Then I made my move.
I walked down the side street to where the railroad bridges would pass over it. I walked quickly, a man with purpose. I had my hand on the flashlight, ready to swing it if I had to, but as I passed by the parking lot behind the wholesale distributor, I saw the car parked there on the far side of a big Dumpster. It was the perfect hiding place. No cop would ever think to come down this dark road to nowhere and look in this one lonely, half-hidden spot.
I kept walking, past the lot, under the first bridge. I went past the trail in the sumac and under the second bridge. Then I took a quick look behind me. There was nobody there. I ducked behind the far side of the bridge’s abutment.
I took a few deep breaths. I willed my heart to slow its beating. I listened.
A few minutes passed. Then I heard the sound of a car door closing softly. Footsteps on gravel, then on pavement, then on dirt. I peeked around the embankment and made out a figure disappearing into the brush. I gave him another few beats. Then I was back on the move again.
There was nothing on this earth that would have gotten me to follow him up that trail. He’d hear me coming and then he’d have every advantage. So I went over to his car and found the best spot to surprise him on his way back. The surprise was for one simple reason. If he had a gun, I wanted to take it away from him. Then once I knew I wasn’t going to be shot, I would start trying to talk to him.
You’ve always been good at talking to people, I told myself. Now we’re going to find out just how good you are.
I settled down on the other side of the Dumpster. The one streetlight back here was burned out. That worked in my favor. There was a half-moon that kept hiding behind the clouds and reappearing again. My eyes were fully adjusted to the dark now. I was ready to finally meet Darryl King.
The minutes ticked by. At twelve fifteen, I heard the footsteps again. He had given up for the night. He wasn’t going to see his brother. I couldn’t help wondering, how long was he going to keep doing this before he gave up hope? A week? A month? That can be one of my first questions, I thought, because it’s just about showtime.
I waited for his feet to hit the gravel of the parking lot again.
Step. Step. Crunch.
That’s when I came around the Dumpster, turned on my flashlight, and pointed it in his face. He was a bigger man than I had been counting on. In the photo he looked soft, but now that he was here I could see he must have spent the last year or so getting himself into shape.
“Stop right there,” I said. “If you have a gun, drop it. Right now.”
He stepped back in surprise. Then he held up his hands to shield his eyes from the glare of the flashlight. I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me yet. For all he could tell, I had a bazooka slung over my shoulder, pointed right at his head.
“Right now,” I said. “You got a gun?”
“No! I don’t have no gun.”
Some handcuffs, I thought. That would have been a beautiful idea, about two hours ago when I was out shopping for the flashlight. Now I’ll just have to rely on my natural charm.
“My name is Alex McKnight,” I said. “I talked to you on the phone.”
He stood there, still shielding his eyes from the light.
“I’m working for your mother,” I said. “All I want to do is talk to you. Are we cool?”
“We’re cool. Please get that light out of my face.”
I pointed the beam at the ground.
“How did you know I’d be here?” he said.
“Brilliant detective work. Or maybe just a lot of luck and a little help from your mother.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s at home. Where else would she be?”
“I thought I told you to stay away from her.”