Day Shift

“You do, but I have to tell Manfred first,” she said. “This is his deal, after all.”

“How are we gonna get ’em, now that he knows what we look like?” Suzie said. Suddenly they were a gang of jewel thieves instead of a group of newly met misfits.

“We’ll think of something,” Olivia said.

“After we get out of here,” Barry said brusquely, and they all agreed it was time to leave Bonnet Park.

25

The Rev was in front of the chapel, looking up into the sky. Afternoon was drawing to a close, but the sun was still blazing away with implacable heat. He took his hat off and waved it in the air, whether to dry the sweat on the hatband or to create some air circulation, Joe had no idea. The boy was with him, and for the first time they looked like they belonged together. Diederik was slightly behind the Rev, as if he were trying to stand in the Rev’s meager shadow. They both looked into the vast blue, their eyes narrowed against the glare, reading the sky to come.

Chuy had been ordering some nail polish online, but he came to look out when Joe beckoned. “Huh,” Chuy said. “Let me check something.” He returned to the laptop and typed something in a search engine. After a moment, he said, “Yep. The prediction is no clouds, for three nights.”

“I figured,” Joe said. There was a long moment of silence, while they both considered the fact.

“Still,” Joe said, as if their thoughts had been spoken out loud, “as long as everyone stays inside…”

“Yeah. But isn’t Manfred out of town now? With Olivia and two hotel people?” Chuy was anxious.

“They’re not back yet. Right.”

“Better text them.” Chuy got out his cell phone. “Both of them?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Joe could hear the tiny click of the keypad on the telephone. He and Chuy were tech titans compared to the Rev. The old minister ignored computers and wasn’t even comfortable on his landline telephone. He had grudgingly agreed to have an answering machine attached to the one in his little house only after he had missed the opportunity of some pet burials because grieving pet owners couldn’t get in touch with him.

The Rev and Diederik looked completely at home in their own world just at the moment.

As Joe watched, the older man turned to look at the boy and said something to him, something very serious. The boy nodded, looking nervous, looking excited. He was even taller than the day before, Joe realized. He looked as old as Dillon, the high school junior who bussed at Home Cookin.

That led Joe to think about the Home Cookin family. “Chuy, I have to go talk to Teacher and Madonna,” he said.

Chuy said, “Sure. I’m waiting to hear back from our wanderers. Hey, take Rasta, so he’ll get some exercise.”

Joe put Rasta on his leash, and the little dog danced around, anxious to go on a walk. The sidewalk was hot for Rasta’s feet, so Joe carried him most of the way but put the dog down to take advantage of a little strip of dirt between the sidewalk and the street. He let Rasta have a few happy moments of sniffing and peeing before they continued on their short way.

As Joe pushed open the glass door, he realized he could not remember ever entering Gas N Go twice in consecutive days. Teacher was making change for a customer who’d bought gas, and when the rancher had climbed back into his pickup and pulled out onto the Davy highway, Teacher said, “What an honor! What’s up, Joe?”

“Close early tonight,” Joe said.

“What? Come again?”

“Close before dark. Go home. Make sure Madonna and Grady are inside. Lock your doors. Don’t go out. Tonight, and the next two nights.”

“What’s up?” Teacher wasn’t as surprised to be given this message as he would have been a year ago. And he didn’t question Joe’s word.

“Will you do this?” he asked.

“Yeah, Joe. I’ll do it. Do I need to get my rifle out?”

Joe sighed heavily. “If you don’t go out, you won’t need it,” he said. “Will you tell Madonna, or do I need to go over to the restaurant?”

“She’ll take this better if it comes from you.”

Joe thought that was an odd thing to say, because as far as he knew, Madonna and Teacher had a companionable marriage, but he wasn’t going to question Teacher any more than Teacher had questioned him. He nodded and left, going straight across the road to the hotel and walking west to the restaurant, taking advantage of another patch of shade to let Rasta get a bit of exercise. Madonna and Dillon were having a conversation about the nature of true barbecue, a discussion that could go on forever, especially in Texas. Madonna was sitting on one of the stools cutting up tomatoes in a leisurely way, and Dillon was wiping down the plastic envelopes that enclosed the menus.

Their heads turned to the door simultaneously when the bell chimed, and Madonna cast an anxious glance to one of the booths, where Grady was stretched out asleep. Dillon, who was always glad to see a customer, smiled in a surprised kind of way, because it was before five o’clock.

“Hey, Mr. Joe,” he said. “You want a table? Or you want to sit up here with us? I can bring you some iced tea.”