Boyd shuffled a little closer.
“And you might wanna tell your pal here that if he gets any closer to me with whatever he has in his hand, I’m going to take it from him and break his arm with it,” I said. “Like I promised to do the other day.”
Boyd froze, unsure of what to do now. He squinted at me through the snow.
“Look, man, we just wanna know where he is,” Stevie said.
“Why?”
“Not really your concern.”
“Your buddy made a feeble attempt to intimidate me,” I said. “Now you follow us home and he’s once again attempting to scare me. You’ve made it my concern, like it or not.”
Stevie pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment he said, “Our boss would like to speak with him.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“Can’t say.”
I looked at Boyd. “Maybe if I put you on your back and threaten to break your arm, you’ll be able to say.”
Boyd shuffled his feet again, setting them wider, bracing himself in case I went at him.
“Get in the car, Boyd,” Stevie said.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Boyd said.
“Get in the fucking car.”
Boyd turned to him. “Come on, Stevie. I can take him and then we can talk to her.”
“Last time I say it,” Stevie said, annoyed. “Get in the car.”
Boyd sulked back to his side of the car and climbed inside, slamming his door shut.
“Wise decision,” I said.
Stevie walked to the front of the car and sat against the hood. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t? Help me out then. Why are you looking for Marc and hassling Isabel?”
“I told you why,” Stevie said. “But you don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“All I’m doing is helping out Isabel,” I said. “I know he owes you money. She told me that.”
He nodded. “He does. And you have my word. I’m not looking to hurt him or anything like that.”
“We haven’t known each other long enough for me to give a shit about your word, Stevie.”
He nodded again. “That’s fair. But I’m not.”
“Your pal seems like he’s looking to hurt someone.”
“Boyd ain’t gonna do shit unless I tell him to.”
“What does he owe you money for?”
He brushed at the snow sticking to his face. “Not important. At this point, the money isn’t even the important thing. Just need to find him.”
“We’re going in circles here.”
Stevie nodded slowly. “Yeah. We are. But it’s complicated.”
“So un-complicate it for me.”
He chewed on his lip and looked away.
“I know who you are,” Stevie said, turning back to me.
“Good for you.”
“And I know what you do,” he said.
I didn’t say anything, but my curiosity was aroused.
“If you find Marc, you need to let us know,” he said.
“Why exactly is that?”
He stared hard at me. It wasn’t the stare of some stupid street punk, like Boyd. There was more behind it, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.
“Joe Tyler,” he said. “Your name is Joe Tyler.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Might be able to help you with your daughter,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I did. It stopped my heart. Turned my blood to a temperature closer to the slush we were standing in. Knotted up my gut.
Stevie stood from the car. “You find Marc or you hear from him, you have Isabel call me. Or do it yourself. She’s got the number. Then we can talk about your daughter.”
I stood there, paralyzed. He’d caught me off-guard and I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t move.
“You didn’t tell me,” I said, forcing the words out, trying to regain my composure. “Why she needs to let you know if she finds Marc.”
He stood at the door to the Subaru, his gloved hand on the door handle, his breath leaving his body in icy swirls. “Because I’m trying to keep him alive.”
TWENTY-ONE
I should’ve been exhausted, but I laid awake for the rest of the night.
Isabel said she had no idea what he was talking about when I relayed my conversation with Stevie to her. She was quick to blow it off, saying he was just trying to manipulate me. She had no explanation for how he’d learned my name or knew about my daughter.
“He said he was trying to keep Marc alive,” I said, standing in the living room of her apartment.
Her face screwed up with confusion. “I don’t believe that for a second. I mean, I don’t think he’s really trying to hurt Marc, but every time he’s come to me, he’s been threatening and a bit of an asshole. Not exactly the demeanor of a guy who’s working to help Marc out.”
“People have probably described me the same way at times.”
She had no answer for that and I went back to my apartment to lie on the mattress and stare at the ceiling for a long time, working it all over in my head.
I closed my eyes and drifted for awhile. Soon, though, the sunshine on the freshly fallen snow reflected brilliantly through the window and I felt myself squinting before I even opened my eyes.
I showered, my tired eyes stinging against the hot water, dressed and walked down to a convenience store on the corner. The snow was like soft powder on the sidewalk, scattering easily around my feet as I walked. The streets had already been cleared, waist-high banks of snow pushed up against the curbs on either side of the street.
I grabbed a bagel and coffee and sat down at a small table near the window. I was halfway thru the bagel when my phone vibrated. I saw the number, hesitated, then answered. “Hey, Lauren.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Nope. I’m awake.”
“Then you must already have coffee in hand.”
I smiled and blew on the surface of the cup in my hand. My ex-wife still knew me better than anyone else in the world. “Always.”
“You alright?” she asked.
I knew she was worried. I’d fled San Diego in a hurry to get to Minnesota without telling her where I was headed. We’d reconnected while I was there and I wasn’t sure what it was like for her, but it had rekindled emotions in me that I thought I’d locked away for good.
“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m in Minneapolis.”
“Then not only do you have coffee, but you’re cold.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
She chuckled. “Trying to picture you bundled up like an Eskimo.”
“I actually had to put socks on,” I said.
“Well, now I know you’re not alright.”
“Good point.”
It was the kind of banter that existed only between people who’d shared more things than they could count. The kind that didn’t disappear even with divorce and the loss of a child. The kind that would always be there for me and Lauren.
“Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing there?” she asked.
I sipped from the coffee. “You really want to know?”
The line buzzed for a few moments. “I honestly don’t know, Joe. Do I?”
It was different for Lauren. It always had been. Elizabeth’s disappearance consumed me, sunk its claws into me and refused to let go. She had decided she had to let go, that she couldn’t live in the place I’d chosen for myself. It was why we’d divorced, even though we hadn’t stopped loving one another. The one thing we loved the most had separated us and the roller coaster of emotions that went into looking for a child was a ride she couldn’t stay on.
But I felt like this was different.
“I got a picture,” I said and explained to her why I was in Minneapolis.
The line was silent for a long time when I finished talking. I drank from the Styrofoam cup, the coffee warming my throat and gut. I knew Lauren was processing and I didn’t want to interrupt that.
“Can I see it?” she asked, her voice quiet, tight.
“Of course.”
“It’s her?”
“Yeah. It’s her, Lauren. I knew it when I saw it. It’s her.”
The line was quiet. I pictured her sitting there on the couch, her legs tucked under her, her forehead in her hand, biting back the tears. I’d seen it too many times.