We drove for several blocks, well behind my Nova but with it in view. My mind raced, trying to understand the theft of my car and how this man was involved. The more I thought about it, the less it made sense that he was the one who stole it. He clearly had it, but that didn’t mean he’d taken it. And if he hadn’t, then who had? My suspicions grew about what had really happened. I needed to confront Wyatt about it. I had no choice but to ask. Apparently, Wyatt was going through the same debate because we spoke at the same time.
“I need to ask you something—”
“I have a confession to make—”
We exchanged glances, and I said, “I’m thinking the tattooed man didn’t steal my car.”
C.J. mumbled from the back seat, “Tattooed man. I like that. Very secret agent.”
Wyatt ignored him and shook his head. “A friend of Noah’s did.”
My throat tightened, and I clenched my fist. “You mean Noah did.”
The car was silent for a few seconds. “Noah was with him, so… yeah.”
I rubbed my jaw. “If he… they… took it, how does this guy have it?”
“I’m guessing this is the dude Noah owed.”
“And how do you know that?”
Wyatt looked out the window and chewed on the inside of his cheek. His answer came quietly. “Noah came to Millerton and asked me for money.”
I studied my fingernails, and I counted to ten before answering, “So, you have seen him?”
The reply was barely above a whisper. “Just this once.”
C.J. leaned forward, clasped a hand on each of our shoulders and squeezed. He spoke in a steady, calm tone. “Wyatt, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell us what you know?”
Wyatt’s face reddened as he gritted his teeth. He looked up into the rearview mirror at C.J. and hesitated. I nodded to him to let him know it was okay. We needed to stop with the secrets. With a loud sigh, he explained, “To understand, you have to know he was the only true friend I had back then. He was a runaway from some little farming town in Arkansas. He had a drunk old man who knocked him around and a mother who didn’t stop it. He told me they probably never bothered to look for him when he left. He lived on the streets, earned his money doing whatever he had to do—and you really don’t want to know those details.”
I heard C.J. gulp. No one liked hearing these things. I asked quietly, more because I really wanted to know than to ferret out another lie. “So, he really wasn’t a school friend?”
“I caught him rooting through the dumpsters behind the school, but I think that was as close as he ever got.” A sly grin crossed Wyatt’s face but then faded away. “He was scrounging for food. He was starving, and I felt sorry for him, so I split my sandwich with him. I got free lunches at school, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, you know?”
Honestly, it sounded like a big deal to me, but I wasn’t going to interrupt again.
Wyatt continued, “We were squatting in some vacant house at the time, so I let Noah tag along and crash there. Mom didn’t always come home—sometimes for days—and she didn’t mind that I had someone I could trust with us.”
He licked his lips and looked away from us. “One day, we had broken into a house, and a cop car pulled up. I guess they had one of those silent alarms or something, but we hadn’t noticed. Or maybe a neighbor called. Whatever, the cops were there, and we scrambled out a window and split up. The cop had to choose which of us to chase and picked Noah. I figured he would narc me out when he got busted. Anyone else would have. I mean, honestly, I probably would have ratted him out if I had been the one caught and it would get me off the hook. But he didn’t. He never said a word. From then on, we were tight. If we stumbled on food, we split it. If one of us got money, the other got half. And, yeah, when we scored drugs, we shared them.”
He looked over at me and said quietly, “I know you don’t like hearing all the things I used to do, but you don’t know what it was like. Both of us starving but sharing a piece of moldy bread. Craving drugs so bad you think your body is going to rip itself apart, but you split it with someone else. Being able to go to sleep and wake up and your stuff isn’t stolen, and you aren’t stabbed because your friend was watching over you. Yeah. He was my friend.”
I caught Wyatt’s eyes and tilted my head back toward C.J. “I won’t pretend to understand everything, but I do respect friendship.”
Wyatt nodded, his eyes filling with tears. His voice was unsteady when he resumed. “The last day I saw him was the day we came home and found her. It was obvious the second I saw her she was dead. I can’t chase the image out of my head. Her lips were blue. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Vomit dribbled out of her mouth.”
He sniffled. “I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t think straight. I shook her. Shouted at her. And when that didn’t work, I held her head in my lap and begged her to wake up.” He ran the back of his hand across his nose and sniffled. “Noah heard the cops coming. He tried to get me moving. I couldn’t. Or maybe I could, but I didn’t care. He jumped out a window and ran.”
I leaned back in the seat. “That was the night they called us and told us about you. So when you threatened to run, you were going to go find him?”
“I knew where he’d be. In that house. He had nowhere else to go. I was worried about him. I really struggled with what to do. I had abandoned my friend.”
“But you stayed in touch?”
“Not exactly. One of the guys in my last rehab had a friend-of-a-friend kind of thing. I was able to pass my cell phone number over. He would call when he could, which wasn’t often. Last week was one of those times. He said he was getting his life back on track. Had gotten clean. Worked some real jobs. Then he told me another friend who had gotten out of the life had called him and said there was a job in Raleigh if he wanted it. Even would let him crash in his apartment until he got enough money saved up to get his own place. Noah said he was leaving everything behind—not that it was much—and driving from Knoxville to Raleigh, just passing through Millerton, and wanted to see me.”
I asked, “You believed him?”
Wyatt shook his head firmly. “First rule of drugs—an addict will lie about anything. I hoped it was true, but no, I didn’t just believe him. I agreed to meet but not at the house. I said we’d get a cup of coffee out at the truck stop by the interstate. For the first time since Mom died, I saw him.”
“Did the job not work out or something?”
He sighed and tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “The second I saw him, I knew everything he said was made up. First, he had some guy riding with him. Claimed it was his friend in Raleigh, but that made no sense if he was driving there to meet him. I didn’t even have to ask because one look at them told me neither one of them was clean. Their eyes were wild, clothes were filthy, and they both stank as if they hadn’t had a bath in weeks.” He grunted in disgust. “I can’t believe I used to be like that.”
“What did he want if he wasn’t going to Raleigh for a job?”
“What every addict wants—money. He told me he owed some guy big. Claimed the guy would kill him if he didn’t come up with the green.”
“They thought you would just give them money?”
Wyatt laughed. “I think their real plan was to rob me. At least that was his friend’s plan. Maybe Noah thought of it. Maybe he was just along for the ride. I don’t know, but I was glad I had picked the truck stop with lots of people around.”
I had witnessed how hard Wyatt had struggled to get off drugs, but I still couldn’t fully grasp how much of a grip they had on people. “You said claimed. You don’t believe someone was going to kill him?”
He shook his head. “The street dealer, the guy who actually sells to junkies, is just some guy trying to make a few bucks, probably pay for his own habit. He isn’t going to kill a customer over a few hundred dollars. He’ll beat the crap out of them, make an example out of them, but he doesn’t want to go to jail for life. They just say that to make the junkie desperate enough to steal something or break into a house or whatever they need to do to cover what they owe.”
C.J. harrumphed. “Man, the movies lie.”
Wyatt turned to him. “People do get killed, but it’s over insults, or because someone gets high and does something stupid, or because they steal from the wrong person. The big guys, they’ll kill you without a thought, but those guys don’t deal with a junkie like Noah. So, unless he crossed someone, I don’t see him owing money to anyone but another addict or his dealer.”
I asked, “What did you do?”
“I paid for their coffees and told them I was going home. Said if he was ever really ready to get clean, I would help him go to NA meetings, but I was never going to give him money. And I left. I saw them in my rearview mirror yelling at each other as I drove away. Vowed to never see him again until he got clean.”
A warmth spread through me. A few years ago, Wyatt had been just as addicted and had had to claw his way to get clean. He had come so far in those years that he could even sit with a junkie and not be tempted. I realized, a little to my shock, that I was proud of him. “Good for you.”
“I should’ve been more suspicious. When your car was stolen, it didn’t take me long to think of them. Noah told me they followed me home from the truck stop. I guess I was too into my music or something and didn’t even notice them. They were going to steal my 4Runner, but they got scared and took yours instead because it was farther from the house. He gave it to his dealer to pay off the debt.”
I pointed at the guy driving my car in front of us. “So that’s his dealer?”
Wyatt studied it for a long time before shaking his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just some guy who bought it from the dealer, or maybe the dealer owed him money and paid him with the car. Who knows?”
“What will happen to Noah if the cops arrest the tattooed man with my stolen car?”
Wyatt shuddered. “If he suspects Noah turned him in to the cops, a beating for sure. Maybe more. It could be bad.”
I thought for a minute. “So another reason not to involve the police. I’ve got to try to steal it back. We have to keep your friend’s name out of any police report.”