Vic clicked her lighter, fired up her cigarette, and blew smoke toward the balcony. “Fuck off,” she muttered. She left the shelter from the wind and stepped around the building between the dunes daily carved away from this most sacred and protected of buildings. She thought of her little brother Conner as she considered how the sand here was eternally dug away just as it was from other wells of nourishment.
At the back of the building, there stood a low wall around a service door where drunks and garbage were dragged out. Vic enjoyed her smoke, the deep inhalations calming nerves jangled from being near the place. Rusted hinges full of sand screamed as her mother stepped out, an unlit cigarette in her mouth, the white robe Vic’s father had brought up from beneath Low-Pub fluttering around her knees.
“Got a light?” her mom asked.
First words exchanged in a year, and Vic was pretty sure they were the same words she had last heard from her mother, standing there in that very place. She cupped her hand tight around her silver lighter, and her mom dipped her cigarette into the flame. It came out aglow and smoking.
“New tattoo?” her mom asked. She pointed the lit cigarette at Vic’s arm.
“Yeah,” Vic said, resisting the urge to look down at her arm and see which one she was talking about. The sun was just breaking over the highest scrapers. She could already tell it was going to be a hot one. “Look, I’d love to chat, but I just need to find Palmer. Have you seen him?”
Her mom inhaled, nodded, turned to the side and blew smoke against the sandblasted door. “Saw your brother last week. Needed money for a pair of visors. Said he would reallypay me back this time.”
“You know where he was heading?”
Her mom shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t care. Don’t you wanna ask if I gave him the money?”
“No, I don’t. Did he say anything about the job he was taking?”
Her mom shrugged. “He said he would stop back by on his way down to pay me back. That’s all. He was supposed to go camping with your brothers last night, but Conner came by yesterday looking for him, so there’s another broken promise.”
“Did Conner say why he was looking for him?”
Her mom’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Because he was supposed to go camping. Why? Is Palmer in trouble?”
“No. I think he’s in the oppositeof trouble. All the commotion around here this morning, it’s because someone found Danvar.”
Her mom exhaled noisily. “Someone’s always finding Danvar. And it always turns out to be some no-name town full of half-rotten debris that was already known about. More people will go broke than make anything, you watch. Good for our business for a few days, and then a ghost town after that.”
“I think this time is different,” Vic said.
“It’s always different. And look, unless you want to come in and talk, I’ve gotta get out of the sand. I can’t afford to take an extra shower today just because you don’t like what I do here.”
“Okay. Whatever. Good to see you.”
“Same.” She flicked the cigarette into the sand. A crow dove down to take a look and peeled away, screaming at being fooled.
“Hey,” Vic said, as her mom opened the door. “Did he get the visor?”
Her mom looked sad for a moment, a frown of wrinkles around her mouth. “I gave him the money, yeah.”
“Who was he buying it from? Graham?”
“Go ask Graham,” her mom said. She stepped back inside, and the wind and sand helped slam the door.
29 • A Soul’s Weight
“Well?” Marco asked. He was waiting for Vic out front.
“Danvar is north of here,” she said. “I think.”
“You think?Did your mom say that? She know where your brother went?”
“Not exactly. But Palmer told her he would stop back by on his way down. Plus, I don’t think he would’ve come this way just to head south or west. They were passing through Springston from Low-Pub, and he stopped to hit her up for money. We need to run to a dive shop real quick. I’ve got one more person to ask.” She grabbed Marco by the shirt and pulled him close for a deep kiss. One of the women on the balcony whistled.
“What the fuck was that for?” Marco asked, smiling.
Vic wiped her lips. “Making sure you didn’t have any lipstick on you. You’re clean.”
“Oh, is that right?” He followed her as she set off toward the dive school. “I’m clean, huh?”
“Yeah, but your breath tastes like panties. That could mean anything, though.”
“That joke’s gonna get real old real fast,” Marco said. He ran to catch up. “So what dive shop are we going to? You’ve got a lead?”
“Yeah. Family friend. A guy my dad used to scavenge with. Name’s Graham—”
“Graham Siler?”
“Yeah, you know him?”
“I know ofhim. If it weighs a Graham, he gives a damn. A hoarder, right? I know a guy who came across one of his buried caches once. Said there was a hundred thousand coin worth of artifacts two hundred meters down out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Bullshit. Those are legend.”
“No, he was for real. But he wouldn’t touch any of it. Said he’d heard Graham booby-traps the caches. I’m not kidding. This guy still goes out there sometimes, dives down, and just looks at it. I’ve tried to get him to take me.”
“He won’t take you because they don’t exist. He’s just a junker like my dad was. Hey, did that sand up there just settle? Like it was moving?”
Marco peered at the dune she was pointing to. There was still a small cascade of sand sliding down the face. “The wind,” Marco said.
“Felt like someone was watching us. C’mon, there’s a back way to his shop through here. We can stay out of the market. It sounds nuts over there.”
“Yeah—” Marco lagged behind, was still studying the dune. Vic turned down a narrow path and into a tight alley where shacks jutted out of the high sand and roofs met overhead to form a dark tunnel. Cracks in the tin allowed thin lines of sift to fall in golden veils. Vic ducked her head as she passed through one. She found Graham’s by looking for the shack with the billiard ball for a door handle. A perfunctory knock, and she pushed her way inside, bells overhead ringing.
“Graham?”
There was no one at the counter. A lantern flickered with the breeze swirling through the door. Marco kicked his boots on the doorjamb and joined her inside, closed the door, which upset the bells again but stilled the shadows. “Look at those bikes,” Marco whispered.
Vic ignored him. She ducked under the handlebars of the suspended bicycles and peered into the back. The workshop was empty. “Graham? You still in bed?” She had gone up two rungs toward his loft to check his mattress when she saw the body behind his workbench. Graham’s stool lay on its side. “Marco!” she called. She scrambled down from the ladder and hurried around the workbench. An electric light on the bench was still on. She swiveled it toward the floor so she could see better.
“You okay?” Marco asked.
“Fuck,” Vic said. She moved the stool, which lay across the body.
“Is that Graham?”
“No. Never seen this guy before.” She reached up and adjusted the light better. “Damn. Look at this.”
There was something wrong with the man’s face. It was stove in, like he’d been hit with something, perhaps a bat, but there was almost no damage to the skin, just rivulets of blood streaking from his nose. “What the hell?”
“Hey, I know that guy.” Marco knelt down beside the man. He lifted his hand and bent his arm around, studied a tattoo and a knot of sandscars on his wrist. “Danger,” he said. He looked up at Vic, saw the confusion on her face. “His name. That’s what he went by, anyway. Used to be in the Low-Pub Legion. Muscle. Blew shit up. Whatever you needed, he did it for a price. Went north when the price got better.”