“Oh, talked to him a few days ago,” she said.

“How’s he doing? He get back up this way much?”

“Sometimes, yeah, the little fucker. He does a lot of important business, of course. He was in Chicago not long ago, he was telling me.”

“Love Chicago,” I said.

“So what you say your name was?” Mrs. Merker asked, squinting in my general direction.

“Zack,” I said. “He probably never mentioned me.”

She was thinking. “I think he mighta. You used to hang out at the Kickstart?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That was probably me.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“What’s he up to?”

“Like I say, he’s a businessman. Doesn’t run that hotel anymore, doesn’t hang out with those motorcycle friends of his, ’cept for Leo, that dumb, pitiful son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, Leo,” I said. “Edgars.”

“I guess Gary missed having a little brother, so he adopted Leo. When they was handing out brains, that boy was out getting a sandwich.”

“Does he keep in touch with the old gang, the customers?”

Mrs. Merker reached into the box for another cracker, shrugged. “Not too much. One called here the other day, though, wanting to pass on a message.”

“Oh yeah? Who was that?”

Mrs. Merker was swallowing some cracker and winced. She coughed, tried to clear her throat. “Fucking dry cracker,” she muttered, and turned to go back into the kitchen. I listened to the familiar pish! of a beer can opening. A moment later she was back in the doorway, tipping back a Bud.

“What?” she asked.

“You say someone called a few days ago for Gary?”

She nodded, took another sip. “Did you want anything?”

I thought she meant a beer, and shook my head no, I was good.

“No, I mean, why’d you come here?”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’d heard, one of the guys was saying, that there was this girl from the Kickstart, that Gary was always wondering what happened to her, and if we ever heard anything, we should give him a shout, or get in touch with you, and you could pass it on.”

“This about that cunt?” Mrs. Merker said. “Candy?”

I tried to keep the surprise off my face. “Actually, yeah, I think so,” I said.

“That’s what that other boy called about,” she said. “He called about that cunt too.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Said to tell Gary he thought he knew where she was.”

“No kidding?” I said. “Where was that?”

“Shit,” said Mrs. Merker. “I wrote it down somewhere.” She looked about the room. “I think I wrote it on a piece of newspaper.”

Terrific.

Of course, I had a pretty good hunch what this caller had said. But if the answer was, indeed, Oakwood, it would mean that things were starting to fall together.

Mrs. Merker put beer and crackers on top of a newspaper pile and began wandering the living room, peering at the white edges of various newspaper stacks. “I scribbled it down someplace, so I could tell Gary when he called. He calls me every couple of days. He don’t get home much, but he cares about his mother. I hope you call your mother regular.”

I smiled sadly to myself. “I would if I could,” I said. “But I’m in touch with my dad more these days.”

Mrs. Merker scoffed at that. “Gary’s fucking father, I hope the son of a bitch is dead someplace and has been for a long time. He was a no-good cocksucking bast-Hang on, here it is, I think.” She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. “Yeah, this friend phoned and said to tell Gary that cunt was in Oakwood.”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“I guess he lives down that way, saw her picture in the paper, remembered Gary was looking for her.”

“Well, that’s great,” I said. “Guess I made this trip here for nothing. I was going to pass on the same information.”

“No harm done,” she said, taking a seat on the small clear spot on the couch. She pointed to the television. “That crickets they’re eating?”

I looked. “Maybe.” She cackled. I asked, “So what’s Gary been looking for Candace for, anyway? He kind of got a thing for her?”

She let out a laugh. “Ha! I don’t think he’ll be dipping his dick in that pussy!”

“Then why does he want to find her?”

“Well, if some bitch stole something from you, wouldn’t you want it back?” She looked at me like I was some sort of an idiot.

“So that’s why he wants to find her?” I said. “Because she stole something? Not because, I don’t know, for revenge?”

“Revenge?” The old woman cocked her head at an odd angle. “I suppose. If you stole something from me, I guess I’d want revenge. That what you gettin’ at?”

“I was just thinking back to that time. When Gary’s three friends got shot.”

“Oh, that,” she said, and waved dismissively. “He got over that. Only real friend Gary’s ever had is that retard Leo.” She turned her attention to the TV, where contestants were working up the nerve to swallow tiny wiggling things. “For fifty thousand dollars, I’d put anything in my mouth,” she said, and laughed.

She barely noticed as I slipped out the front door and walked down the sidewalk to Cherry’s truck. I felt, in some small measure, slightly relieved about what I’d learned.

“Well?” Cherry said as I pulled the door shut.

“Someone, some old friend of Merker’s, called his mom, told her to tell her son that this woman he’d been looking for, that her picture had turned up in the newspaper in Oakwood. So he knew where she was, where to look for her. And, I’m just guessing here, he ran into Martin Benson by mistake, and ended up killing him, maybe trying to get some info out of him about Trixie, or Candace, or whoever the hell she really is.”

Cherry waved his hand impatiently. “I don’t mean that shit,” he said. “Is the hole still in the wall?”

I paused. “Yes,” I said.

Cherry banged his fist on the steering wheel and let out a whoop. “Fucking awesome,” he said.

I GOT MYSELF A CHEAP ROOM at a Holiday Inn clone, dumped my bag in the room, and wandered down the hall to the vending machine. I bought a Coke, a bag of Doritos, and a Milky Way. In any given week, I might succumb and treat myself to one trashy snack, but splurging on all three at once seemed to be evidence that I was feeling sorry for myself.

I watched the news without taking in what any of the stories were about, then Letterman without laughing at any of the jokes, then turned off the light and tried to get to sleep. I tossed and turned and punched the pillow. I don’t sleep well when there’s not someone in the bed next to me, and at two in the morning I felt overwhelmed with the notion that there might be a lot of nights like this in my future.

I had too much time to think, and worry, about a great many things.

First, Sarah. I could only hope that by finding out the truth behind this mess I’d been dragged into, and by trying to take control of the situation instead of letting it control me, I might somehow redeem myself.

Then there was Trixie. My quest to find out just what kind of trouble she was in, and what had led her to this point, was motivated by more than a desire to help out a friend. I needed to know, for myself, what the hell I’d been dragged into. And if uncovering that truth brought some aggravation and inconvenience to Trixie, well, if it happened, it happened.

And then there was me. Well, I guess it was already about me. About me and Sarah, about me and the kids, about me and Trixie, about me and my job. As I lay there in the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, turning to the side and watching the luminous numbers of the digital clock work their way to 3:00 a.m., I hoped that maybe these events, and perhaps the story that city health inspector Brian Sandler detailed for me, would help me win my way back into the newsroom, and liberate Sarah from Home!

I couldn’t have known then I’d be happy just to come out of all this with my life.