“Then where are we going?”
Silas looked at the lighter.
“To meet your mother.”
Outside, the Bakersfield heat pressed against Toby like an oven door opening.
Silas led him through the rear exit rather than through the main bar.
Bones and Nicky followed.
A black Chevrolet Silverado sat behind the building.
Silas opened the passenger door.
Toby stared at the truck.
“Get in.”
Toby did not move.
Silas realized how frightening the scene looked through a ten-year-old’s eyes.
Three enormous bikers.
Locked bar.
Black truck.
No explanation.
Silas softened his voice.
“You can sit near the door. I’m not taking you anywhere except your house.”
Toby still hesitated.
Silas handed him the silver lighter.
“Hold onto that.”
Toby looked at it.
Silas said, “If I wanted to steal it, I would’ve kept it.”
That logic apparently made enough sense.
Toby climbed into the truck.
Silas told Bones and Nicky to follow on their motorcycles.
When he slid behind the wheel, Toby sat pressed against the passenger door.
Silas started the engine.
“Seat belt.”
Toby buckled it.
The silver lighter rested between them.
Silas pulled onto the road.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Cold air blew from the vents.
Outside, sun-bleached fields, industrial buildings, and highway signs passed in wavering heat.
Silas kept both hands on the wheel.
Finally he asked:
“Tell me about Richard.”
Toby rubbed his thumb across the lighter.
“My mom says he fixed cars.”
Silas swallowed.
“What kind?”
“Everything.”
A muscle moved in Silas’s jaw.
“He had a shop?”
“I think.”
“Did she ever say what he was like?”
Toby thought.
“She said he could tell what was wrong with an engine by listening.”
Silas almost smiled.
Elias once diagnosed a bad valve on Silas’s motorcycle from across a parking lot.
“What else?”
“He liked coffee.”
“Black?”
Toby looked surprised.
“Yeah.”
Silas stared ahead.
“Anything else?”
“She said he was brave.”
Silas gripped the wheel.
For years, he had alternated between two explanations for Elias’s disappearance.
Death.
Or betrayal.
He preferred death.
Death hurt.
Betrayal poisoned the past.
If Elias had simply walked away, then every memory Silas preserved became harder to understand.
Why no message?
Why no warning?
Why allow his brother to believe he had been murdered?
Why let men search for years?
Silas glanced at Toby.
Because perhaps Elias had not been running from them.
Perhaps he had been running toward something.
A child.
A life.
A chance to stop being Elias Cole.
They turned into Toby’s neighborhood.
The houses became smaller.
Lawns browner.
Paint older.
Toby pointed.
“That one.”
Silas’s chest tightened.
The bungalow looked barely held together.
A sagging porch.
Chain-link fence.
Roof shingles curling beneath the heat.
Bones and Nicky parked behind the truck.
Neighbors began watching immediately.
Silas got out.