Small shops and an antiquated youth center surrounded Newton Exchange, a transit hub in the middle of industrial Surrey. People crowded under the bus stop awnings, waiting, ignoring the beggars and dealers who circulated between clusters. I stared through the windshield of the van at the empty parking lot, listening to the wiper blades and the skitter of rain on the roof.
Nine thirty turned to nine forty-five. A teenager in a black bandanna and thick survival jacket approached the van, knocked, told me he had what I was looking for.
“What you need?” Small inside his jacket, eyes wide and tentative.
I shook my head, I was fine. He wished me a nice night and walked back to the turnaround.
I’d debated with Jeff about taking a gun. He hadn’t advocated for it, but he’d been puzzled at my reasoning. Introducing a firearm wouldn’t improve my safety, I told him. So far they hadn’t threatened me. That was no guarantee, but Dalton Hayes had seemed somewhat reasonable.
Beneath Jeff’s question, though, was the deeper one, the one I’d never been able to answer. Why go at all?
Tabitha Sorenson was unknown to me, and all I owed Dana Essex was her money’s worth. A nice little show of effort followed by a shrug of the shoulders. Sorry, ma’am, gave it my best. Make the check out to Wakeland & Chen, and don’t forget the ampersand. If anything comes up I’ll let you know.
As I waited I tried out my usual responses, knowing they were all insufficient.
The possibility that doing this made a difference.
[in what?]
The satisfaction of work done to the utmost of one’s ability.
[to what end?]
I’d never articulated an answer that had passed my own bullshit detector. Maybe there were no answers. Just momentum and curiosity, a lack of sense and a need to know.
A white Denali swung into the bus loop and jumped the curb. It stopped a few feet from me. The back door opened. The interior light showed Cody Hayes sitting sideways across the back bench, holding something pink and plastic in his hand.
I stepped out of the van and walked toward the truck before he could order me to. I leaned my head inside.
“Where’s the other guy?” Cody asked.
“Not here,” I said, wondering the same thing. Dalton Hayes had the authority and the temperament to reason with; the look Cody gave me meant he hadn’t forgotten our last encounter.
He slid his feet off the bench, making room. “Got something you need to see.”
I waited for him to elaborate. Cody jabbed whatever he was holding into the carpet and idly pulled it out. I realized it was the handle of a machete. He was stabbing the floor out of restless boredom.
“You coming?” he finally said. “I’m ’sposed to take you there. If you want. If not, go fuck yourself.”
Again no elaboration.
“I’ll follow you,” I said.
Cody stabbed the blade to the hilt into the cushion next to him. “Into the fucking car,” he said.
Bus passengers ignored us. It continued to rain. I thought about it and then climbed inside, closing the door behind me.