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“NO ONE’S ANSWERING at Strongman,” Donnie said. “Someone should be there. What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know.” I wished the slowpoke drivers clogging up the road in front of me would get a move on. “This doesn’t seem right. No one’s answering the phone at the gym? Maybe you should call 911.”
“I’m not sure it’s necessary.”
“Donnie, listen. Davison—”
“Whoa, careful. Want me to drive?”
“I am being careful. People should make up their minds what lane they want to be in. As I was saying, it’s worrisome that Davison’s so late. Since he’s been away at that school, he’s become a lot more, what’s the word?”
Donnie said, “Responsible,” at the same time I said, “Rigid.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Responsible. He has a plane to catch. He wouldn’t just float off and lose track of time. Would he?”
“No. I’ll try his phone.”
Donnie dialed, and Davison’s duffel bag started to ring from the back seat.
Strongman gym was in the middle of a block on a short one-way street. I pulled into one of the diagonal spots at the curb next to a battered black pickup truck with a spray-painted black roll bar over the bed.
The gym’s weathered front door stood propped open. Donnie and I walked into an empty reception area. A small television on the front counter was tuned to a daytime talk show.
We walked past the counter into the main workout room. Mirrors on every wall displayed my reflection at different angles, most of which called unwelcome attention to my abdomen and thighs. Treadmills and machines in duplicate rows receded into the distance, reflecting infinitely in the mirrors like some dystopian mechanical army. I looked around wildly for Donnie and was relieved to find him next to me.
“Let’s not get separated,” I said. “He’s not here. Now, what?”
“Maybe he’s back in the weight room.”
“Oh no.”
“What do you mean, oh no?”
“Nothing.”
Randy Randolph’s death was foremost in my mind. Heavy weights everywhere, no one around. I didn’t like this. I followed Donnie around a corner, to the deserted weight room.
“You smell incense?” I actually thought it smelled like pot, but I didn’t want Donnie to think I knew what pot smelled like.
“There’s the back exit.” Donnie pointed. “Someone’s probably taking a smoke break.”
Three shirtless young men stood in the narrow alley behind the Strongman gym. One of them was short and stocky, meaty arms folded across his broad chest. The second was tall, rangy, and shirtless, a curtain of orange-bleached hair flopped across his forehead. His belly tattoo looked familiar for some reason.
The third was Davison. He didn’t see us at first. He seemed to be concentrating on holding his thumb and forefinger to his mouth. At the sight of Donnie and me, he dropped something on the ground and started coughing uncontrollably.
“Davison,” Donnie said in a level voice. “You’re going to miss your plane.”
Davison gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Isn’t someone supposed to be at the front desk?” I asked Davison’s sketchy friends.
“Sorry, Miss.” The taller one ran his hand nervously over his tattooed stomach. “Didn’t know you guys was coming by.”
“We have your bags,” Donnie said. “We have to hurry.” Then to me, “Want me to drive?”
“Great idea.” The last thing I needed was Donnie breathing down my neck while my Thunderbird stalled out in the middle of traffic. I slid into the back and let Davison have the Death Seat. Donnie had some trouble starting the car. He flooded the engine and had to wait before starting it again. This didn’t exactly improve his mood.
“Who were those two guys?” I asked.
“Those are the Balusteros brothers,” Donnie said. “Davison’s known them since small kid time.”
I noticed Donnie hadn’t greeted them, despite the longstanding acquaintance.
“Balusteros as in Balusteros World of Furniture?” I asked. “Where I bought my living room set?”
“Right,” Donnie said. “They also own Balusteros Baby World, Strongman Gym, and Lucky Bail Bonds.”
We drove in heavy silence, Donnie staring straight ahead. Of course, he was annoyed with Davison for wandering off and getting high with his friends when he was supposed to be catching his flight. But I suspected his irritation was intensified by the fact that Davison had (once again) made a bad impression on me.
“If it weren’t for your mother, you would’ve missed your plane,” Donnie said, finally.
“Who?” I wondered what Sherry had to do with this.
“You,” Donnie said. “You had the presence of mind to go out and look for him. Davison, you hadn’t even started walking back yet. You owe her a big thank you.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s just get him on his flight.”
We pulled up to the curb of tiny Mahina Airport. Davison got out, then reached into his duffel bag and pulled something out. A rectangle of black glass. He went over to the driver’s side window and handed it through to Donnie.
“What’s this?” Donnie asked.
“I found it in the house. Still works.”
“It’s mine,” I cried. “Davison, it’s the tablet our grant paid for. I was frantic about losing this.”
“Aw, now you can be happy, then.” He grinned, his grouchiness dispelled by what he apparently thought was a humorous plot twist.
“Where did you get this?”
“Our house, after it wen’ burn down.”
“It still works?”
“Yeah, fireproof case, like you said.”
“Were you taking pictures with it?” I demanded.
“Baron and Boyboy was going in one bodybuilding contest and needed high-res photos for the entry,” Davison said. “Eh, lucky I found the thing, ah?”
“Please don’t ever do that again.”
“Davison, I’m very disappointed you kept this from Molly,” Donnie said. “You caused her unnecessary worry. You’re lucky we don’t have time to discuss this now.”
Donnie and I got out, said our goodbyes, and watched Davison shamble into the little terminal. Donnie got back into the driver’s seat, and I buckled into the passenger seat. I picked up the tablet, unlocked the screen and checked the files.
“Everything’s here, and then some.”
“Sorry about that. I had no idea. I really thought everything was destroyed in the fire.”
“I’ll tell Emma she made a good decision getting the upgraded case. Boy, am I glad to have this back. You have no idea what kind of paperwork we were in for, reporting destruction of grant-funded equipment. It would’ve been a nightmare.”
“Davison didn’t mean any harm. He didn’t know it was yours. Anyway, you might not even have it back now if it weren’t for him.”
“Hm. I thought you might point that out.”
I spent the ride home deleting the shirtless gym photos, most of which I could see were of Baron and Boyboy Balusteros, and a few of which I now recognized as Davison himself.