34
The next morning, I woke before the sun came up, unable to shake the feeling I was living on borrowed time, that at any moment I could get a call from Argent, not about Rufus but about the dead body I’d buried. He’d have some questions, but he wouldn’t really want any answers. They would just be foreplay, a way to set up the inevitable charges. Maybe they’d even have Chip Thompkins on board as a witness.
I wished he’d call me back and tell me something, one way or the other. I’d nearly called him several times over the last few days but had resisted because I knew too much pressure might scare him away.
Chip or no Chip, one thing was clear: I had no time to waste. There was nothing else for me to do but try to take down Jeb Walsh and, in the process, figure out what had happened to Rufus. It felt good, in a way, to be light, to feel clean, just a man on a single path. The problem was what the problem had always been: when the path ended, what was left? I couldn’t help but think of Backslide Gap and that long dark fall.
I was about to head out when my phone rang. It was Claire.
“Did you find out anything on the credit card?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure why. I already knew Joe’s identity.
“No, but I did come across something I thought might interest you.”
“What’s that?”
“An article from an old newspaper. Remember how you asked me to look into the Harden School?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I came across this while I was searching. It involves your friend Rufus.”
That got my attention. “When can you meet?”
* * *
Twenty-seven rings and no voice mail. If I’d been calling anyone else in the world besides Ronnie Thrash, I would have given up. But not Ronnie. With Ronnie, you never knew. Besides, I was pretty sure he’d gotten trashed last night.
“Earl?” he said, his voice surprised, as if he would never—not in his wildest dreams—have conceived that he might get a call from me.
“Can you go see if Rufus made it home?”
“Ugh. What am I, his babysitter?”
“Just do it, okay? I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t hang around very long last night. Hell, you missed our best stuff.”
“I’m sorry about that, Ronnie. I had to get out of there or I was going to hurt Jeb Walsh.”
“All the more reason to stay. Hang on.”
There was a loud clatter, as if the phone had been thrown against the wall. I waited for nearly ten minutes, still sipping the last of my coffee, watching the slow spread of the yellow and orange turning the sky from black to purple to clear blue through the kitchen window.
“He ain’t there. Fuck. You know I’m not going back to sleep now.”
“Give it a shot anyway. I want you well rested.”
“Why?”
“So you can go with me to the school early tomorrow morning.”
“School?”
“The Harden School.”
“What are we going to do there?”
“Hopefully get there early enough to get in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. You in or not?”
“Okay. Whatever.”
I was silent, thinking.
“You there?” he asked.
“I’m here.”
“Well, shit. Say something.”
“I think somebody kidnapped Rufus.”
Now it was Ronnie’s turn to be silent. I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. He and Rufus hated each other, or at least made a good show of hating each other.
“So, you think his disappearance has something to do with this school?”
“It’s the only theory I’ve got.”
“Last time I helped you, I went to Hays for eight months.”
“I know.”
“You ain’t even going to try to promise me that won’t happen this time?”
“No. I’d like to, but I can’t.”
Ronnie didn’t speak. The moment felt odd. Bizarre, haunted somehow. Ronnie always had something to say.
“You there?”
“I’m here,” he said. “I just … well, I guess I just respect the hell out of that.”
“Out of what?”
“You being straight with me.”
“Does that mean you’ll help?”
“Of course I’ll help. I was just trying to make you sweat. You think I’d turn down a chance to get the team back together? Now, let me go to sleep so I can be there with bells in the morning.” Somehow I could hear his grin through the phone. Ronnie was the consummate no-regrets kind of guy. Maybe that more than anything was what drew me to him. My whole life was regret, meted out minute to minute, hour to hour, season to season, a cycle of pain that always came back to me, haunted me. Ronnie’s pain could smack him in the mouth over and over again, and he’d never worry about it, at least not until he felt it hit him the next time.
* * *
My plan was simple, but risky. If Ronnie and I could get to the gate early enough to catch Mindy as she started through it, we could plead with her to let us in. Seeing her at the bar the other night had given me some hope she might be persuaded to help me. I had nothing concrete other than my gut to make me think this, but it was just about the only way I could imagine getting inside those gates again.
Once inside, I wanted to talk to Edward Walsh, and possibly some of the other boys. I wanted to get them on tape, telling me stories of abuse, of the cruel methods used inside. Once I had that, I’d have one more bullet in my cartridge that might convince Chip Thompkins to write the story.
Bonus if I could find a way to trace it all back to Jeb Walsh. But that was for tomorrow. Today I had to meet with Claire and hopefully find Rufus.