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More than an hour passed.
I’d gotten so bored, I was playing a game on my iPad. Fan had wandered in and out of the Harmony Smoke Shop between smokes, and Dante finished pumping air into the BMWs. He was detailing the bikes with a soft cloth and what I presumed was cleaning solution.
I put my tablet down and lifted my helmet near my mouth, holding the chin guard. “Dante, you hear me?”
I saw him flinch, and he looked at his helmet hanging from the handles of his cycle. He moved over and grabbed it. “Yeah, what’s up? The excitement getting to you?”
“Positively giddy,” I replied. “You’re gonna chip away the chrome if you keep that up.”
Dante’s head tilted down to examine his work.
“I can see myself though. What’s not to like?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, it’s like I can hardly tell the difference between you and Fan.”
“I know, right?”
I huffed as I switched to something serious. “I’m startin’ to think he’s gonna no-show.”
Silence for two heartbeats and then, “No. He’ll show up. Cigs are just short of crack. He special-ordered the fuckin’ things.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just bitch—”
Someone coughed behind me, around the corner alongside my warehouse.
“Hold on. I’ve got company.”
“Roger. Shout if you need me.”
“Will do.” I hung my helmet from the Harley’s bars again.
The stranger hacked, then spit. That loosened me up. I had an inkling of what I was in for.
A tall, grizzled white dude with a green kerchief tied under his chin, a floppy, gray, fisherman’s hat and an overstuffed backpack peaking up over his shoulders, came shambling around the west corner of the warehouse. The hobo straightened up at the sight of me, but his face broke into a smile.
“Oh, hey there, chief! I was just lookin’ for a spot to eat my lunch. Didn’t mean to bother ya.”
I shrugged. “It’s no bother, man. You’re more than welcome to crash here. Not my place.”
The old fella smiled broader. “Well. Well, then. I appreciate that. I do. My feet are killin’ me.”
“Have a seat. Plenty of shade to go ‘round.”
The hobo removed a backpack strap from one shoulder and quickly had his burden on the ground next to him. “Appears so.” He half-carried, half-dragged his big pack into the shadow of the warehouse and placed it against the aluminum-paneled wall, which complained with a metallic screech.
He removed a hand-knit Mexican blanket and spread it on the ground, its thick edge made snug against the warehouse. Once that was set, he sat atop it, cross-legged.
“Name’s Wayne,” the old hobo said.
I hesitated but saw no reason to lie to the old man. “I’m Lochlan. You can just call me Loch.”
“Ah, well, in that case, you can call me Lucky.” That seemed to amuse the old guy to no end as he chuckled a long time to himself. “Loch and Lucky. Sounds like a strip in the funny pages.”
I smiled then nodded. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”
Lucky removed a water bottle and a paper bag from his pack. He popped open the bottle and downed a few gulps. “Ah! Whew! I’d built up a thirst!” His smile remained.
My Dr Pepper was already long gone by that point. “I see that,” I said. “You headin’ anywhere in particular? Or just out for a stroll?”
Lucky opened his paper bag and pulled out a sandwich. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said egg salad. “Me? Oh, I’m just movin’ north. Nowhere in particular.” He lifted his sandwich and waved it at me and the sky. “Perfectly good walkin’ weather, not to be missed.” He bit into his sandwich, still smiling.
“Not bad for riding either.” I tucked my iPad back into my backpack. Lucky had a questioning expression as he swallowed more of his egg salad.
“You aren’t flying colors. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Colors?” The term took a sec to sink in. “Oh—gangs.” I snorted. “No, no colors for me. I’m just a tourist, passin’ through.”
“Thought so. You sound like a Texan.”
“I should. I am one.”
Lucky laughed. “I’ve always liked Texas. Used to be the friendliest folks. ‘Course things change.”
I nodded. “Whole damn country has... West coasters, Sharia, and too many Mexicans. Taking its toll.”
“You don’t approve of our President’s immigration policies?”
“Heh. Um, no. Texas can’t afford any more.”
“It’ll all come to a head, soon enough. Mark my words.”
“Good thing I’ve got spare ammo then.”
“Good thing...” Silence set in for a minute as Lucky finished off his egg salad. Then he asked, “You looking for someone?”
My head almost snapped up, but I let his observation roll off. “How’d you guess?”
“Oh, not too hard to figure out. You’ve been staring over at those two motorcycles since I dropped my blanket.”
“Yeah, they’re with me. We’re hunting.” Now, why the hell did I just say that?
“Hunting. Without rifles. You bounty hunters?”
“Not strictly speaking. But there is a bad guy. Unfortunately.”
Lucky grunted. “Well, I’ll be damned. What’s the crime?”
I grimaced. “Kidnapping.”
Lucky let out a long, low whistle. “That’s some shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s he got?”
I huffed out a breath. “A friend. A girl I used to know, from college. Not sure why her —why he took her—but I’ve tracked him this far. Not going home without her.”
I was staring back across the way to Harmony. Lucky said, in a quieter voice: “I believe you.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I turned to face the old guy.
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. I have to admit, I was surprised he had napkins.
“Sure, kid. Fire away.”
I looked up at the sparsely clouded sky. “The world is round, right?”
Lucky barked out a single laugh. “Earth? Sure. Well, NASA says so, anyway. All the globes in school libraries pretty much say so.” Lucky rolled up his paper bag then tucked it into his backpack with a brief torrent of loud crinkling. “But...” I aimed an ear at the hobo, suddenly keen on the conversation. “... if we consider spiritual belief systems, we get very different definitions of Earth.”
I couldn’t help but give Lucky my most perplexed face.
“Teacher before wanderer,” he said, matter-of-factly, half a wry grin creasing one corner of his mouth.
“Huh,” I said. “Go on. Please.”
“The Hindu, for instance, sometimes claim Earth to be spherical, while at other times, that it can be rolled up like this blanket here.” Lucky tugged a corner of the blanket he was sitting on. “If you look long enough, you could probably find any manner of explanation for the shape of the earth you’re after, depending on the ideology.” I half expected Lucky to call me grasshopper then, but he continued: “But since you’re askin’ me about round earth, I’m guessing what you’re really asking me is, ‘Is the earth flat?’ Yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Some friends are fucking with my head. I think.” I knew that wasn’t true. Deep down. “Anyway. I just figured I’d get a fresh perspective.”
My eyes were back on the sky, but Lucky exhaled and continued: “Christian belief talks about ‘the four corners of the earth,’ and such. Plenty of people will try to tell you that’s flowery language, not meant to be taken literally. Others will insist the Bible is literal, always and forever.
“But the ‘circle of the earth,’ that might mean either globe or flat, nobody can say for sure, really— not even the scholars.”
I grimaced. “Pancake Earth.”
“You got it. But you asked me my opinion, so I’ll give you my opinion.” Lucky cleared his throat then half-shouted, half-sang, “ ‘... for the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, and he hath set the world upon them.’ ” His voice boomed across the flat plains spreading wide beyond the shade of our warehouse. Its resonance jolted me. “Sort of implies something that language, don’t you think? You wouldn’t typically set a globe on pillars... Sounds more like a floor, or a rooftop. So, in my opinion—and being a good Christian and all—I’m inclined to believe the world is flat.
“Not much you or me can do about it, either way. Live long enough, you realize the world is full o’ lies. That’s just the way it is. It’s up to each of us to find what truth we can. Find our own truth.”
“That doesn’t exactly put me at ease, Lucky,” I said.
He laughed, but not bitterly. “I’m sorry about that. Really. Take anything I say with a grain o’ salt.” There was a pause and then, “Gonna be a full moon tonight, looks like.”
I glanced over at Lucky to see him pointing an index finger skyward. I followed that pointing digit until I was staring at a blue-gray moon in the clear afternoon sky. I don’t think it had been there a minute before. A shudder escaped with my next breath.
A blood moon for Vicki. Time was running out.
“Don’t suppose that thing is made of cheese, do you? Or hollow maybe?” Lucky teased.
I shook my head and glowered. “Hell, honestly? That’d be a relief, compared to what I do know it is.”
Lucky went quiet, probably trying to decipher my last comment. I didn’t look in his direction. Instead, I gazed back across to the smoke shop.
Fan had rolled her BMW over to the side of the store, and she was sitting astride it, while still smoking. I had a stupid thought that I’d end up responsible for getting her addicted to cigarettes, but that idea didn’t linger for long.
There was a beep from my helmet. I lifted it to my ear. “Excuse me. There is a white Cadillac Escalade inbound on Veteran’s Highway. Heading south.” Again, there was a hint of excitement in Sophie’s voice. If it was artificial emotion, it was scarily convincing. “I estimate its possible arrival in less than one minute.”