He didn’t have kids but if he ever did have kids and one of them was found curled round a shit-stained toilet, dead of a heroin overdose, he imagined this was how he’d feel about the dealer who’d sold the kid the fatal hit. A low, thrumming anger that chilled the Oklahoma heat and sucked a little light out of the world.
He squinted in his mirror at Lenny Munro, who stood, hands on hips, surrounded by people who wanted answers from him. Too distracted, busy and pressured even to put sunblock on his already-peeling nose.
The site was tough. Clues would be hard to come by. Solutions even harder … ‘Give it to Munro,’ he said quietly.
There was a short, disbelieving silence. ‘You sure?’
Tom knew what Pete was asking. The bolt was his – only his. His lucky break, his hunch … his ticket back, maybe. They both knew it.
‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ he said, and hung up before he could think about what he’d be losing.
He hated Lenny Munro. But right now Munro – and Lucia – needed that bolt even more than he did.
*
Ness called him the next morning while he was straddling the Sunoco pipeline like a long, shiny mustang as it jumped Everard Goby’s water-course and galloped off across the plains. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Hi, Ness. You okay?’ he sidestepped. Neatly, he thought.
‘I’m fine. Where are you?’
Or not so neatly.
‘Working.’
‘Where?’
Shit. She was like a dog with a bone.
‘Does it matter?’
There was a long silence during which – despite his general lack of insight into the female psyche – Tom could tell she was deciding whether or not to hang up on him.
She didn’t. He was almost disappointed.
‘They want you to play,’ she said tightly. ‘Can you get back by tonight?’
Tom stared about him at the bloated cows. Two hundred yards away, Goby was scooping up a former ribbon-winner in the bucket of his tractor, like so much garbage.
He did a quick calculation and found he could get back by tonight, but still felt aggrieved enough about it to demand, ‘Do I have to?’
Her silence told him he did.
*
Tom was in Departures when he saw Lucia. She walked past with an older woman and a young man and their eyes met. Then she looked quickly away, clearly hoping his gaze had been casual, unfocused and unrecognizing.
If he hadn’t screwed up helping her, he would have felt fine about pretending he hadn’t seen her. As it was, he felt he owed her an explanation. He was on his feet and going after her before he had any idea what he was going to say.
He saw the trio take seats at the gate for a flight to Savannah. He stopped twenty yards away and reconsidered. Telling Lucia what had really happened to prevent him calling her back suddenly sounded like ‘the dog ate my homework’ on steroids. Like he was not only unreliable, but a hopeless fantasist to boot.
But while he was hesitating, Lucia saw him again and this time she didn’t look away. This time her expression was hostile. It told him quite clearly to fuck off.
Walking away now would be a capitulation. So he went over to her and said, ‘Hi.’
The older woman, whom Tom presumed was her mother, looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, her blank expression speaking of sedation. Tom noticed she wore white summer gloves, like someone in an old movie. The young man between her and Lucia looked tired but suspicious.
‘Hello.’ Lucia’s tone was neutral but he could see the barely suppressed panic in her eyes.
Tom nodded politely at her mother and … What? Her brother? Boyfriend? He knew the next thing he should be saying was ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ but those words had never sounded right in his mouth and he felt victims’ relatives could tell that, so he’d long since given up on them.
‘Did they find the bodies?’
The expressions on three faces informed him that his preferred choice of words was hardly a humanitarian alternative.
‘They didn’t find anything. Not yet. They told us to go home and wait. So …’ Lucia glared at him like it was his fault. Everything in her voice and body told Tom to go but, for some reason, he stayed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said instead. He hoped she knew he meant about the phone call as well as about her dead sister.
‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’ The young man had read Lucia’s tone too, and his own was abrasive as he got to his feet.
‘It’s okay, Louis,’ said Lucia, but Louis continued to bristle quietly, so Tom stuck out his hand.
‘Tom Patrick. I’m a friend of Lucia’s from LA.’
‘College friend?’
‘Yeah,’ he lied. Keep it simple. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ The words fell unexpectedly from his lips, and sounded as insincere as they always did to his ears but for some reason they seemed to mollify Louis, who dropped his hard-eyed stare.
