Jas smiles grimly. “You’re just somebody who knows—or you aren’t.”
“Surfers,” I say.
“Not just surfers.”
I nod, unclicking my seat belt.
“You ready for this?” Jas asks.
I nod again, trying not to look nervous.
“You could stay in the car if you want to,” Jas offers, but I shake my head. “That’s what I thought,” he says.
I take a deep breath. We’ve come this far, halfway across the state. What’s a few steps farther?
I’m shaking as I follow him across the parking lot, and it takes me a second to realize that it’s not fear, but excitement. For all I know, John and Michael are inside the Jolly Roger right now, just a few yards away, on the other side of a crappy door that I notice, when Jas opens it, is halfway off its hinges. They could be in there just killing time before Witch Tree breaks in the morning. Jas might walk right up to them and tell them to follow him out to the parking lot. They wouldn’t hesitate. They’d assume that Jas was about to hook them up. Imagine their surprise when they see me standing beside him.
It’s sad how relieved I am that they’d follow a drug dealer wherever he led them, like Jas is some kind of pied piper. They’ll be so disappointed when Jas doesn’t actually have anything to sell them, more disappointed still when we get home and it’s them going off to rehab. Because they’re the ones who need help, not me.
Inside, it’s so dimly lit that my eyes have to adjust to the darkness, even though it wasn’t exactly bright outside either. Sitting at the bar are about a half dozen men and teenage boys, nursing beers or cocktails, one or two looking so skinny that, despite their muscles and their tans, they seem sick. A few splintered tables dot the room, most of them empty.
“Wendy,” Jas whispers, tugging my arm; I look down, surprised to see that he’s holding my hand, not exactly sure when that happened. “I’m going to go into the back room.”
“What’s in there?”
Jas shakes his head. “Just wait for me out here.”
A woman staggers across the room and practically falls into a chair beside a table and promptly passes out. Other than her, I’m the only female here.
“Okay,” I say, reaching into my purse for my phone and scrolling through the photos. “Here’s their picture. There’s, like, twelve of them on there, but this one is the most recent. Their names are John and Michael and they’re twins, but not identical. And they’re about five feet eight, or that’s what they were the last time I saw them. Michael is maybe a half an inch taller and he never lets John forget it, even though technically John is older. He was born ninety seconds ahead of Michael. And—”
“Wendy,” Jas says gently, “I know them, remember?”
I nod. He squeezes my hand once more before he leaves. “Be careful,” he says.
“You, too.”
He slips me the car keys before he leaves. “You can go back to the car if you need to,” he says.
By the time Jas has disappeared behind an unmarked swinging door, I’m wondering if I should run back to the car right away. Pete would have wanted me to stay in the car to begin with.
I shake my head and remind myself that I’m supposed to be the one searching for my brothers. Even with Jas in the back room, I can be asking around. At the very least, it will keep me too busy to be scared.
I walk straight to the bar and order myself a beer. I get the feeling this isn’t the kind of place where they’re going to ask me for ID.
Someone lights a cigarette beside me. I turn and come face-to-face with the scariest-looking man I’ve ever seen. He’s not as tall as Jas, but muscles bulge from beneath his wife-beater, like he spends his days lifting weights on the beach. He’s grinning at me; one of his bottom teeth is missing.
I consider mentioning that it’s illegal to smoke in a bar in California, but instead I ask if I can bum one of his cigarettes. When he leans in to light it for me, I wonder if he can tell that I’ve never actually smoked a cigarette before.
“Thanks,” I say, swallowing a cough.
“No problem,” he replies, and winks.
“So,” I say, taking a drag on the cigarette, “come here often?” I exhale, watching the smoke rise in plumes around his face.
“Aw, come on, beautiful, you’re not going to use that line, are you?”
He leans in so close that when he speaks I can taste his breath: cigarettes and liquor, yesterday’s lunch and last night’s vomit. I resist the urge to back away.
“You’re a little honey, ain’tcha? So pretty and clean.”
I shake my head. There are no clues to be found with him. I slide down from my seat, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other.
“Nice meeting you,” I say awkwardly as I turn to walk away, looking around for someone else to ask, hopefully someone slightly less terrifying.
But he gets up and follows me across the room. “We didn’t exactly meet, did we? And I’d sure like the chance to get to know you better.”
I grimace, tossing my cigarette onto the sawdust-covered floor.
“I came here with someone,” I say carefully.
“Just ’cause you came here with someone doesn’t mean you’re leaving with him,” he says, grinning again and displaying his missing tooth. I wonder how he lost it.
The woman who passed out a few minutes ago is moaning as she lifts her head off the table. I consider sitting down and offering her my beer as a pretext for asking her some questions. But the man beside me is licking his lips; his breath sounds like he’s practically panting. So I head for the door, gripping Jas’s keys so tightly it hurts. I may want to ask more questions, but I need to get away from this creep even more.
Soon I’m sprinting across the lot, dropping my beer on the ground, and climbing into the driver’s seat of Jas’s truck, checking to make sure that the doors are locked, the windows rolled up.
Finally safe, I exhale, the taste of cigarette smoke heavy in my mouth.
A knock on the passenger side window startles me and I jump. I don’t know why I didn’t think he’d follow me into the parking lot.
“Open up,” he says softly. “I won’t bite.” I shake my head. He knocks again, so hard this time that the entire truck rattles. I’m pretty sure he could tear the door off with his bare hands.
I reach into my purse. But then I remember that I can’t call anyone for help. Jas has my cell phone. My hands are shaking so hard that I can’t even fit the keys into the ignition.
Shit. Shit. I press the horn, just tapping it. The sound is enough to make the guy drop his hand. He grins and steps away, crouching down. When he stands up, he’s holding a rock, lifting his arm behind him like a pitcher winding up for the throw. A heartbeat after he releases the rock, the side view mirror on the passenger side shatters into a thousand pieces.
Now I lean on the horn like my life depends on it. Maybe it does.
Jas comes running out of the bar, charging right at the guy. They fall to the ground; I can’t see them from where I’m sitting. Instead, I just see dirt flying up from the ground below.
Suddenly, Jas springs up and runs around to the driver’s side. I unlock his door.
“Move, Wendy!” he shouts. “Move!”
I nod, scrambling into the passenger seat and handing Jas the keys. He shoves them into the ignition and we speed off so fast that I don’t even get a chance to look back, to see in what condition Jas left the other man lying on the ground.
“Are you okay?” Jas asks. I open my mouth to say yes, but I can’t get the words out. I lift my hands to my face, surprised to find that there are tears running down my cheeks. I brush them away and take a deep breath, but I can’t take a deep breath because I can’t stop shaking.