A single light bulb hung suspended from the middle of the garage ceiling. It was an old light bulb, edging toward the end of its life, the filaments inside almost retired. It flickered for the first few seconds after Darrell hit the switch, but then it stayed on, though it wasn’t very bright. It didn’t even begin to do the car parked beneath it justice, but neither did the tarp currently hiding it.
I asked, “So this will run, huh?”
Darrell hobbled over and grabbed one end of the tarp. He threw the tarp aside, placed his hands on his hips, and stepped back to marvel at the car’s beauty.
“It’ll run. Question is, how far will it take you?”
The car in question was a 1970 Dodge Charger. The color was all black. Most importantly, the engine was a 440 Six Pack. With three two-barrel carburetors and 390 horsepower, it didn’t stack up to many of the cars nowadays. Still, it was a classic, Darrell’s pride and joy, having made it his very first purchase when he returned from the war and he had kept it ever since.
The sentimentality in Darrell’s eyes gave me pause.
“If you don’t want me to use it, I won’t.”
“You already paid for it.”
“Consider it collateral. I’ll make sure you get it back.”
He didn’t answer, just kept staring down at the car.
“Darrell, I’m serious. I can find other transportation.”
“Did I ever tell you why I never got rid of this car? It’s the car I drove when Janice and I had our first date. It’s the car I drove us to the beach one summer day a year later, and where I proposed to her. It’s the car I drove our son home from the hospital in. I don’t know why—I know it’s stupid—but this car had always been there for every pivotal point in my life, I just could never bring myself to sell it.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“No? Tell me what’s really going on.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“If all goes well, someday soon I’ll bring this car back and we’ll crack a beer and I’ll tell you everything.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, but I wish you would consider leaving too. These men are trained professionals. They won’t think twice to kill you.”
He nodded, staring down at the car again.
“I’ll think about it. I promise I will. You know how stubborn I am. Have to convince myself it’s my own choice. But I appreciate you looking out for me.”
He turned and held out his hand. I shook it. The man had a firm grip, even after all these years.
“I’m putting her in your care.”
“I understand.”
“I trust you.”
“I know.”
“Do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
He forced a smile.
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
The Charger had only a quarter-tank of gas left, so I stopped at the first gas station I came to just before Durango to fill up.
Big fluffy flakes of snow still kept falling. The road crew was already out, plowing the major roads.
It wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning, but the gas station was moderately busy. Several tractor-trailers were parked in the side lot, a few with their running lights on. Since I didn’t own a credit card, I went inside to pay and waited behind two truckers before it was my turn. I placed two twenties on the counter and told the kid working the register my pump number.
He rang it up, chomping on a piece of gum as he did, barely even making eye contact with me. He had a magazine open beside him on the counter, some sports rag, and it seemed he couldn’t wait to get back to it.
“Question for you.”
He gave me a tired look. Didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face indicated he was waiting for me to ask my question. An echo of what Darrell had said came to me: goddamned punk.
“What’s the easiest way for me to check the Internet?”
The kid didn’t do a good job of hiding his disdain. He literally rolled his eyes.
“Uh, your phone.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Then your computer.”
“I don’t have a computer.”
The harsh bright fluorescents in the ceiling spotlighted the acne and grease and furrow on the kid’s brow. He couldn’t be more than sixteen years old, and judging by his current position and the time of year, he was a dropout.
“I don’t know. What do you need the Internet for? Wanna look at some dirty pictures?”
I didn’t even bother dignifying his question with a response. I turned and started for the exit when the kid spoke.
“The Apple Store.”
I glanced back at him.
“What’s that?”
“The Apple Store. We don’t have any around here, but when I was up in Colorado Springs last month, I stopped by and played around with their stuff.”
He shook his head, offered up an embarrassed smile.
“But that’s because I like Apple products. You might as well use the Walmart in Durango. They’ll have computers too.”
The Walmart in Durango was the most obvious choice, and that was exactly why I needed to avoid it. There was no telling just how far the reach of the people hunting me went. My best bet was being as unpredictable as possible.
The kid watched me, seeing if this would make up for his earlier disrespect. He sincerely looked like he wanted to help. And it was because of that I nodded, said thank you, then continued toward the exit again. But then I stopped and turned back around, asked one final question.
“What exactly is an Apple Store?”