firsthand how disorienting the loss of a loved one could be. "I don't know," he said, filling the car with gas. He watched the pump as each number clicked over to the next. They moved so fast, yet it was taking forever to fill the tank. It was kind of like life. He looked at Ayden, who was holding Celia's hand, and smiled.
After a few minutes, Tom emerged from the car. His face was stoic. Link couldn't get a read on whether he had received good news or bad.
"Bad news?" Celia asked.
"No news is more like it," Tom replied.
"Haven't they found anything?" Mr. Hartkins asked.
"If it's all the same, I'd rather not talk about it," Tom said.
Link shook his head in disbelief, screwed on the gas cap, and hung the pump back in its slot. Then, in attempt to be more considerate, he said, "What sort of leads do they have? Did they find anything new at her house?"
"I told you I don't want to talk about it. Why's that so hard for you to understand? Do I need to use smaller words?" Tom snapped.
"Boys!" Celia chided. "Perhaps you forget why we are huddled around this car instead of sitting inside it." With a strained intensity, she said, "I have to use the restroom. I don't have time for arguments. Let's go, before I do...right here in this parking lot."
48
Is There a Good Way to Die?
Sammy's Pitstop was a dingy hole in the wall. The orange and puke green checkered linoleum floors were in desperate need of a mop. Link looked at the rows of disheveled goods. Had anyone ever bothered to organize this place?
The greasy man behind the counter occupied himself by watching a small, thirteen-inch, black and white TV that was propped on the counter next to the old, iron register.
Somehow he managed to ring up the customers without once removing his eyes from the screen. Link wasn't sure what was more amazing: the clerk's uncanny ability to multitask or his complete indifference to the customers.
Celia was about to walk into the ladies' room when Mr. Hartkins said, "Wait! You can't go in there alone."
"Well, you can't exactly all follow me in either," Celia replied.
A bit red-faced, Mr. Hartkins said, "I didn't mean that we should go in with you, but perhaps Ayden should have a quick peek around. Make sure the coast is clear."
"Oh, all right, but hurry," Celia said, starting to hop back and forth.
Mr. Hartkins swung open the door, and Ayden peered into the bathroom.
"Do you see anything?" Link asked.
"I see potty. I see sink. I see-"
"Ayden, that's not what I mean. Do you see any bad things? Do you see any moving dark?"
"No."
Without another word Celia ran into the bathroom. She gently pushed Ayden out of the bathroom and shut the door.
After a few seconds had passed, Mr. Hartkins knocked on the door and said, "You okay in there?"
Other customers looked over at Tom, Ayden, Link, and Mr. Hartkins, huddled in a tight ball around the entrance to the ladies' room, with a hint of concern. Link imagined what they must be thinking and was thankful he didn't see anyone he recognized. "Dad," he whispered. "Keep it down. She'll be fine."
Even the skuzzy man behind the register had lifted his eyes from the TV for the first time since they had entered the store. "Hey, you." The man called. "What do ya think you're doing? Hanging round the little girls' room? You some kind of weirdo? We don't serve weirdoes."
Link looked at the store's motley clientele. He couldn't say that he agreed with the clerk's last assertion. If the bald man who wore a pink winter coat and held six cans of cheese spray didn't count as weird, nobody did.
When Mr. Hartkins didn't reply, the clerk said, "Mister? You hearing me?"
In the same genteel manner Mr. Hartkins had utilized during the unannounced NGP meeting, he said, "She's got a bad case of the runs. I told her the burritos looked a bit funny. But heaven forbid you tell your teenage daughter what to do."
This seemed to placate the man. He mumbled something unintelligible then resumed watching his television. Link eyed everyone in the store with apprehension. Though he knew any one of these customers could potentially be a Broken, he wasn't sure he would have the necessary resolve to kill a person if it came to that. A dead polar bear and a homicidal mutt had been one thing, but killing a person? Even if it was only a Broken dressed up in a person's skin, could he try to kill someone in cold blood? There was a time shortly after his mother's death where he'd thought he could. But now that it was a real possibility, he wasn't so sure.
"Celia?" Mr. Hartkins called again.
From inside the bathroom, Celia called back, sounding a bit exasperated, "I'm coming! Hold your horses."
It was in that moment that Link spotted an enormous man who had been concealed somewhere in the chip aisle. He held a bag of pork rinds in one hand and a 64-ounce cup of soda in the other. Link was mystified. How could he have failed to spot a behemoth like this? The man wore tight blue jeans and a black button-down shirt beneath a black leather vest. His shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, which allowed his oversized, silver belt buckle to catch a glint of sunlight from the store windows. He approached the group with heavy, menacing strides.
Mr. Hartkins straightened his shoulders and tried to appear bigger than he actually was. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked as he wedged between the approaching man and his sons.
"Can I help you?" Mr. Hartkins repeated, doing his best to sound intimidating.
The man stared at Link. With his thumb and forefinger, he withdrew a folded piece of paper from the front pocket of his pants. He tucked the pork rinds under his arm and carefully unfolded the paper. Then he held it up to inspect. His eyes meandered across the group, stopping momentarily at each member of their odd group before moving on to the next.
The bathroom door swung open and Celia bounced out with her eyes to the ground. Still toweling off her hands, she said, "Okay, guys. All done. The crisis has been averted. We can all hit the road now." Her eyes finally lifted from the paper towel. "Holy crap!" Celia's hand edged its way to the back pocket of her shorts where she'd concealed the small canister of pepper spray.
The man squinted and his jaw jutted forward in disapproval as he said, "I wouldn't do that, missy. Keep your hands where I can see them."
"Okay, well, it's been a unique pleasure, Mr...Mr..." When the man did not offer his name, Mr. Hartkins continued. "Well then, Mr. whoever you are, I'm afraid we need to be leaving. We are in a bit of a hurry." He herded the group to the side of the man and made as little eye contact as possible.
The kids had only taken a few steps when the man's hand snatched the front collar of Mr. Hartkins's shirt. He yanked him closer until the two stood face to face, a mere foot or so between them. "You'll go when I say you can go," the man snarled.
Celia called over to the grungy clerk sitting behind the counter. "If you aren't going to help us, could you at least call the police?" she pleaded. "This man is harassing us."
The clerk, still more interested in the TV show than what was happening in his own store, calmly responded, "Who? Trax? Nah. The way I see it, you get him on your case, you're the ones on the wrong side of the law."
Trax released Mr. Hartkins and brushed smooth the front of his shirt. In a forced effort, Trax's facial muscles twitched and contorted into a sickly expression that resembled a smile. "Let's go," he said.
"We're not going anywhere with you," Mr. Hartkins said indignantly, still trying to exit the store.
Without warning Trax rammed his fist into Mr. Hartkins' face, catching him completely off guard. The impact of the blow sent him flying backwards into the wall. After the collision, Mr. Hartkins seemed to melt to the floor until finally coming to rest in a motionless heap of limbs. Blood trickled down his face from both nostrils and an open gash on his upper lip.
Stunned by the unexpectedly violent sequence of events, nobody moved. Then, Celia and Ayden broke through their shock and bent down to check on Mr. Hartkins. Though unconscious, he was still
breathing.
"He's still alive!" Celia exclaimed.
"If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have shot him." Trax swept aside his leather vest to expose a large pearl-handled revolver he wore holstered to his hip. "Let's go, you two." He motioned for Link and Tom to pick up Mr. Hartkins. "I need both of you to carry him." To the clerk he called, "Can you put this on my tab?" He indicated the soda and the pork rinds.
"No problem, Trax," the clerk said. "See you next week." He waved, but had already turned his attention back to the tiny TV.
"Where are you taking us?" Celia asked.
With remarkably fast reflexes for such a large man, Trax whipped the pistol from its holster and held the barrel level with Celia's face. "Did I tell you to ask questions, or did I tell you to move your daddy and follow me?"
Both Link and Tom sprang to work. They heaved Link's father up and propped his flaccid body between them. Link stared at the clerk with loathing. How could the man sit by and watch all this happen?
A plump, middle-aged man walked into the front of the store and grabbed a bag of candy from one of the racks. He seemed to notice the pleading look in Link's eye and redirected his walk in their direction. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.
Link's heart fluttered with hope. It was about time somebody did something to help. He was about to ask the man to phone the police when the man's face erupted into a smile. He began to chortle with laughter as he gave Trax a hardy slap on the back. "So what've you got here?" he said. "A bunch of troublemakers