They followed him through Pontiac, around Wide Track Boulevard and out Huron to Uncle Ben’s Pancake House, the second time tonight.
“Man’s ape shit about pancakes,” Tunafish said.
Virgil didn’t say anything. He watched Ryan wait in front of the place, by the door, until two women and a man walked up to him. They went inside. Some more people came and went in about the same time, everybody all of a sudden hungry for pancakes. Ryan had planned to meet some of them here, Virgil was sure of that. But who were they? When had Ryan talked to them? Uncle Ben’s, another place to check on, though it didn’t look as good as the hospital.
“What you’re doing,” Virgil said to Tunafish, “you’re learning how to do it. How to sit and wait for the man. The other thing is to write down every place the man goes, and what time.”
“I don’t have no car,” Tunafish said.
“We talk to Lavera, she let you use the car,” Virgil said. “If we have to rent it from her.”
“I follow him around, huh? Wait for him while he eats?”
“I’m going to the hospital tomorrow, see if Bobby’s woman’s staying there. If she is, you don’t have to do nothing else. If she ain’t, you follow the man where he goes.”
Tunafish wanted to ask Virgil what Virgil would be doing, but he didn’t. He worked down into his leather coat to keep warm and sat there most of a half hour.
Virgil watched Ryan come out with one of the women. Skinny little thing, blond hair-he couldn’t see much else. Ryan helped her on with her raincoat and they stood talking, facing each other, neither of them moving. It looked to Virgil like the man had something going. But the other woman came out and the two of them walked off together. Ryan remained where he was, watching them. He watched them drive off and still he didn’t move right away.
“Something’s going on,” Virgil said, spacing the words. “I’m looking at it. But I don’t know what it is.”
15
RYAN GOT UP to answer the phone Monday morning. It wasn’t quite seven.
He had been lying in bed thinking. He should have called Mr. Perez Friday or Saturday. Sunday had been all right to let go by. But he had to tell Mr. Perez something today. Either say it was hopeless and he was quitting, or give Mr. Perez Denise’s address and stop worrying about her. Those were his options. He had to make a decision and quit thinking.
But when Mr. Perez said, “How you this morning?” Ryan started thinking again, trying to talk and sound pleasant.
“I didn’t get back to you last week.”
“Yes, I know you didn’t.” Mr. Perez sounded patient, as though he didn’t mind.
“I wanted to,” Ryan said. “I was pretty much on the go all day.”
There was a silence.
“What I think I hear,” Mr. Perez said, “are words. What’re you trying to tell me?”
“I’m saying there’s only one way to find out if she’s around, and that’s to keep at it.” Ryan managed a good straightforward sound.
There was a silence again. Ryan waited.
“I hope,” Mr. Perez said, “you’re not making plans of your own.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Feel you don’t need me, can handle this yourself.”
“Well, I don’t see how I could do that.”
“I don’t either,” Mr. Perez said, “but you still might be considering it, thinking maybe she knows about the stock, heard the name of it one time.”
“She hasn’t even claimed his body.”
“I mean, if you were to bring it up, poke at her memory a little bit. If you’ve got something like that in mind,” Mr. Perez said, “I’d suggest you forget it. After all the work and effort I go to compiling a list, it wouldn’t be fair of you to steal one of my names, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Ryan said. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility before.
“It not only wouldn’t be fair, it would be poor judgment on your part. If you understand me.”
“I’m working for you,” Ryan said. “I’m not interested in your business. I don’t know anything about stock, I wouldn’t know how to go about anything like this.”
“It is tricky,” Mr. Perez said. “You’d be much happier in what you’re doing.”
“No, I’m not for getting into anything over my head,” Ryan said. But why hadn’t he at least thought of it? “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not going to,” Mr. Perez said. “I’m not going to worry one bit.”
“You want to give me a few more days, then? See if I can find her?”
“Yeah, you may as well. I’ve dug up the names of a couple more lost souls that might live in the area, so you keep at what you’re doing,” Mr. Perez said. “I’ll be here waiting.”
And watching. He didn’t say it, but that’s what Ryan felt. Mr. Perez on one side. Virgil Royal somewhere on the other. While he stood in the middle with Denise Leary, playing games.
Monday evening Ryan drove to Rochester to pick up Denise. She was living in a colonial complex of red-brick apartment buildings. He didn’t go in. She came out when he buzzed, and they went to a meeting at Saint Andrew’s Episcopal in Drayton Plains.
At the table Denise told about a new experience she’d discovered and was enjoying. Eating breakfast in the morning. Cereal, eggs, toast, the whole thing. Unbelievable. Instead of throwing up and having a few glasses of wine and trying to remember what had happened the night before. She told them today was her first day on a new job, checkout girl at a supermarket. She was amazed how friendly and willing to talk most people were. She said she had a strange feeling, as though four or five years had been taken out of her life and she was starting over. Each day was new and interesting, whether anything interesting happened or not. She said, “God, I sound like Little Mary Sunshine, don’t I? But I can’t help it, it’s how I feel. I hope I don’t get used to it or find out it’s a phase you go through.” She looked at Ryan across the table from her. “I like feeling good. I like being excited again about little things and wondering what’s going to happen next, without being afraid.”
Outside, after the meeting, Ryan said, “Aren’t you a little tired of Uncle Ben’s? It’s so bright in there.”
“I’m tired of drinking coffee more than anything,” Denise said. “Is that all right to say?”
“What we should do, go to a nice dim lounge with a cocktail piano. Order Shirley Temples on the rocks.”
“Or go back to my house,” Denise said. “If you like red pop or tea.”
“I’d even drink coffee at your place,” Ryan said.
Tunafish wished he knew what the fuck the man was doing. One night he goes to the hospital. Look at this, Virgil. Next two nights he goes to church, different churches. Saturday night, nothing. He doesn’t even go out. Then on Sunday he doesn’t go to church, he goes to a building says local 614. Monday night he goes to church again.
Tunafish wrote it down in the notebook he’d show to Virgil. Time to move. He gave the man a good lead and followed his taillights east toward Rochester.
There were killer whales in Puget Sound and a sperm chasing a school of salmon in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
Ryan could make out the shapes, dark shadows in the misty blue. The specks of silver and yellow must be the salmon.
“They’re both oils,” Denise said, “from memory. Not very good, either. I mean the technique or the memory. I’ve got to loosen up more, I’m stiff.”
“You like whales, huh?”
“I love whales.”
Ryan hadn’t thought much about whales, but he said, “I can see where they’d be good to paint.”
“During one summer I trailed a herd of gray whales from Vancouver Island down the coast to Ensenada, in Baja. I must’ve made a hundred and fifty sketches.”
“You still have them?”
“No. Some are at home, if my mother kept them. The rest were lost, thrown away.” She was staring at the two unframed canvases propped against the wall. “These are the first things I’ve done in about three years.”