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The server returned with a cup of coffee and the check. Mike quickly snatched it up.
“You don't have to do that,” I said.
“I invited you,” he said. “And I'm the one asking the favor.”
I didn’t say anything.
“So Patrick is missing,” he said. His fingers drummed the table, and I could feel his leg bouncing to the same beat.
“Yes. You’ve said that.”
“Just hear me out before you tell me to get lost.”
“I wouldn't tell you that.”
“Yeah, you would, and it would be justified,” he said.
The word missing did turn on a switch for me; I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. The better part of my life had involved the word missing, and I'd sworn that I was done with it once I'd gotten Elizabeth back.
But this was Mike Lorenzo.
“I'd never tell you that,” I said. “You know that.”
“I know you've said that and I appreciate it,” he said, blowing across the steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “But I'd understand if you did.”
“Tell me about Patrick,” I said.
He ran a hand over his chin and sighed. “I've been his default father for most of his life. My sister married a loser, they had Patrick, and he took off. In the beginning, his biological dad would occasionally send an envelope of cash, but it wasn't more than enough to cover a week of groceries, and then that just stopped altogether. So, for better or for worse, I've been the male figure in his life.”
“I'd say that'd be for the better.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Not like I was taking him to Boy Scouts or anything like that. But when Cleo asked for a hand, I tried to help. And when he started dabbling with drugs, I stepped in, did the whole scared straight thing, but it didn't take.” He shook his head. “He's not a bad kid, but he's made a lot of really bad decisions.”
I nodded. That was the case with a lot of the kids I'd met looking for Elizabeth. There was this tendency to think about kids who were struggling as troublemakers or thugs, but the majority that I'd run across were simply kids who hadn't been able to find answers to the problems they were running into.
Mike sipped at the coffee, then set the mug on the table between his hands. “I don't know much more than the fact that he's missing. Cleo called me, a little hysterical. Like I said, though, this is kind of par for the course for me. But she says she thinks something's wrong this time.”
“Why?”
“Because she says he's been clean,” he said with a frown that indicated he didn't buy it. “Because she says he's been in constant contact with her since he got out of rehab. She's been trying to reach him for two days and can't get ahold of him. So he really might not be missing. He might just be ignoring her.”
“But yet you're sitting here asking me to look into it,” I said.
He took a deep breath and spun the white mug around between his hands. The creamy brown liquid inside sloshed the sides but didn’t spill on to the table. “Yeah, I am. I'm not sure why. Probably because I feel guilty because he's my sister's kid. But I just don't want to deal with him. Because I know that if I find him sitting on a couch with a line of coke or a bag or heroin and he just hasn't paid his phone bill, I'll probably bust his neck.” He picked up the coffee and drained most of it before setting it back. “So what I'm asking is if you'll take a look for him and see if you can track down his dumb ass. You're far less likely to kill him than I am.”
I chuckled. “I think you're forgetting my past.”
He froze in the booth. “I'm sorry, Joe. That was incredibly insensitive on my part. I didn't mean anything by it.”
I waved him off. “Stop. It's fine. I was kidding.”
“Look, if this is something you don't want to do, just tell me,” he said. “I completely understand. I know you're not doing this stuff anymore, and I don't want to make it awkward for you.”
“You're not making anything awkward.”
He rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. “I hope not. I just...I just figured if I was going to ask anyone to handle this, it was you. It’s not something I want to go to the department with, and I really don't think I can do it because I've had such a bad time with the kid. But that doesn't mean I want to leave him out in the cold, either, especially if something really is wrong.” He shook his head, frowning at himself. “I'm rambling.”
“You're not rambling,” I told him. “I get it. It's a tough spot.”
“I suppose,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “Or maybe I'm just being stubborn.”
“There's always that.”
He managed a short laugh. “Always that.” He paused and then looked at me. “I'm serious, though, Joe. If you don't wanna do this, tell me. My feelings won't be hurt and I'll forget about it. I understand that it goes a little deeper here, and I feel a bit guilty for asking. So I understand if this is just something you'd rather leave alone.”
I looked down at the table for a moment.
Elizabeth was home. I had papers to grade and I was hoping to use the winter break to get ahead with lesson planning for January rather than flying by the seat of my pants like I'd been doing. I'd sworn off taking cases for anyone because of the way it reopened my old wounds and I'd managed to stick to it for several years.
But there was a spark inside of me that I hadn't experienced in quite some time. And Mike was a friend.
And no matter what he said, I did owe him a favor.
We both knew it.
I looked up at Mike. “I'll take a look.”