Mars grinned, tucked in his napkin, and picked up his knife and fork. “Yeah, I get that, man, I really do.” He added wistfully, “Must’ve really been something.”
“You know you would have been one of the best of all time.”
Mars shook his head. “You can’t know that. I was a tailback, man, one injury away from it all being over. And there are lots of examples of dudes like me coming out after wrecking college ball and then you find out you can’t run against the big boys in the NFL. Or you blow out your knee and that split-second difference, that missing burst of speed causes you to lose that little edge on deciding what hole to hit, what cut to make. Then you’re gone, man, done, bring on the next piece of meat.”
“My money would have been on you being more like Barry Sanders or Emmitt Smith over a one-and-done.”
Mars chuckled. “Thanks, Decker, I appreciate the confidence.”
“I’m not blowing smoke. I played in the pros. We didn’t have one running back on our team that could carry your jockstrap.”
Mars stopped cutting up his steak. He was about to say something snarky back until he saw the serious look on Decker’s features.
The men’s gazes latched onto each other.
Mars said, “Thanks, that does... mean a lot to me.”
They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
When they were done Decker ordered them two beers. They clinked glasses.
Decker sipped his beer and then set the glass down. He felt nervous and fidgety, his fingers tapping on the tabletop. He wanted to say something, but the words were not forming clearly in his head.
Mars noted his discomfort and said, “Hey, man, you okay?”
Decker took a calming breath, and when he saw Mars’s concerned expression the right words finally came. He said, “Whatever goes down tonight, I want you to know that it’s been a real privilege getting to know you, Melvin.”
Mars seemed to understand how difficult this had been for Decker to get out. He said, grinning, “Hell, I’m just glad you turned on the radio when you did.”
They drank their beers and Mars said, “How do you see it going down?”
“Roy is going to show up because we played by his rules and it’s just us. But don’t think this is all going to be linear and by the book. He’s going to throw us some curveballs, it’s just how the guy’s wired.”
“What sort of curveballs?”
“Hell if I know. I played football, not baseball.”
Chapter 73
They walked to the address Roy had given them, arriving there a minute before midnight. The streets were empty, the night chilly but the sky clear. Decker had had Mars turn his phone back on in anticipation of receiving Roy’s next communication.
Decker looked behind him. “That’s nice.”
“What?” said Mars, looking too.
“Where the NAACP office was they built a public library. You know people who read are a lot more tolerant and open-minded than those who don’t.”
“Great, so let’s get everybody in the world a library card.”
They waited for about five minutes before Mars’s phone buzzed. It was another text from Roy:
Walk directly west for a half mile. There’ll be a black Ford parked at the curb. Keys under the front seat. Directions on passenger seat. I’ve got eyes on you right now. Anyone follows, goodbye.
“And now it begins,” said Decker ominously.
“You got your gun?”
Decker nodded. “I just hope I don’t have to use it, because that’ll mean someone’s shooting at us.”
They trudged for half a mile due west and arrived at the black Ford parked at the curb. They climbed in. Decker snagged the keys while Mars checked out the directions.
“We drive west on this road and then we’re eventually going to get on Route 82 and take it west. Then there’re directions from there.”
They drove for a while, got on and then off Route 82.
“Looks like we’re heading into the boonies,” said Decker.
“We’re already in the boonies, Decker,” retorted Mars. “Look around, there’s nothing.” He started to look nervous. “You think he’s going to ambush us? Kill us?”
“If he wanted to do that he’s had ample opportunity, Melvin.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Well, I might not be. Like you said, the dude’s a psycho.”
“Thanks for the good thoughts.”
Decker kept checking the rearview mirror. “He said he had eyes on us, but I don’t see anyone back there.”
“Maybe he was bluffing.”
“He didn’t strike me as a bluffer.”
Mars looked back too. “They could be driving with their lights off.”
“Maybe.”
Mars directed him to three more turns, and they finally ended at a tumbledown house set well off the road and that didn’t have a neighbor for about a mile.
“Well, this is about as lonely and creepy as it gets,” noted Mars as they pulled to a stop in front.
Decker said, “I don’t see another car.”
A second later from the side of the house a pair of car lights flashed on and then off.
Decker and Mars climbed out of the car.
The car door on the other vehicle opened and there stood Roy Mars.
As he stepped forward into the moonlight they could see he was dressed in faded dungarees, an overcoat, flannel shirt, and work boots. The gun he held in his right hand was large and pointed at them.
Decker stepped forward and said, “I don’t think there’s a need for that.”
“How about the gun in your waistband, Decker? I can see the bulge from here. Even with your big gut.”
“It’s not as big as it used to be.”
“Congratulations. Pull it out muzzle first.”
Decker did so and handed it across to Roy.
“Inside,” Roy said.
He followed them in.
The room was small and smelled of mildew and rot. Roy stepped past them and turned a knob on a camp lantern that sat on an overturned packing crate. The room was instantly illuminated, the light throwing shadows across the space.
Roy tucked Decker’s gun in his pocket and leaned back against the wall. “So, you got the skirt back.”
“And how did you hear about Davenport?” asked Decker.
“I didn’t. It was a deduction based on the reports of Sheriff Roger McClellan getting blown away at his old man’s farm outside Cain. It said nothing of any dead woman. So, you got her back?”
“Yes.”
“Mac’s dead. So you got what you came for. So why dial me up?”
“There are still two more unaccounted for,” said Decker. “That’s why.”
“You can’t expect to get everything you want in life. Doesn’t work that way. Just ask Mellow here.”
“Then why did you agree to meet with us?” asked Mars.
“Curiosity got the better of me, I guess.”
“I think it’s more than that,” said Decker. “You were once part of the team, maybe the unofficial fourth Musketeer, but then you turned against them.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In answer Decker took out the page he had earlier torn from the yearbook back at Cain High School.
“You’re the fourth from the left, Aaron Callahan.”
“What?” exclaimed Mars, staring at the page.
“Roy Mars is actually Aaron Callahan. You’ve changed, of course, Roy, but it’s easy to see that it’s you and that you went to Cain High with the Three Musketeers.”
“That’s good, Decker. How’d you figure that out?”
“We found two sets of initials on the inside of your bedroom closet back in Texas. AC and RB. I ripped those pages out of the class pictures in the yearbook that had the last names beginning with ‘C’ and ‘B.’ Didn’t recognize anyone with the last name beginning with ‘B’ as you. But I did with ‘C.’ So RB must’ve been the initials for Lucinda’s real name.”