39. Wolf
Chapter 39
Wolf
I scanned the crowd around the fire until I spotted Derrick Mayer, a lean muscular man in street clothes. The gladiator sat on his right, the chair on his left occupied by a tall slender man in mechanic’s coveralls.
And then, as if by magic, the mechanic stood, said something to Derrick, and headed for the screen porch.
“Thanks,” I told Bruce. My mom hadn’t dated a ton, but of the few guys she’d seen over the years, I was glad Bruce was the one I’d run into. He’d always been a stand-up guy, respectful of my mom, nice to me.
“Sure thing,” Bruce said. “Tell your mom hello. She’s a good woman.”
I nodded and headed for the empty chair to Derrick, wanting to grab it before someone else came along.
Otis fell into step beside me as I skirted the other people around the fire, trying to keep my expression neutral and nonthreatening as they looked me over, wondering who the fuck the two outsiders talking to Bruce were and what the fuck they were doing at the Strike.
Derrick didn’t seem to notice though, or if he did, he didn’t show it. He was relaxed, sitting back in the wooden Adirondack chair, staring at the flames like they were a meditation.
I sat next to him and felt Otis take up position behind me.
One of the Barbarians was sitting next to me, a dark-haired man with an equally dark beard sans costume, unless you counted his Barbarians cut, worn over a black T-shirt. He glanced over at me, taking me in from head to toe, then seemed to decide I wasn’t a threat when I angled my body toward Derrick.
“Hey,” I said. “You Derrick Mayer?”
“Who’s asking?” the guy asked, still staring at the fire.
“Name’s Wolf. Wolf LaForte. I was friends with Jace Kane.” It was weird to refer to Jace in the past tense when he was alive and well somewhere in the Strike with Daisy, but I had no idea how much Derrick knew about Jace’s reported death, and we couldn’t afford to slip now.
He turned to look at me. “Arlo’s kid?”
The flames cast weird shadows on his face, making his high cheekbones and full mouth seem almost villainous.
I nodded. “That’s the one.”
He held my gaze and I could almost see the memories flash in front of his eyes in the moment before he spoke again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m not sure if you know this, but Mac raised Jace after Arlo… died.” I kicked myself for stumbling over the final word. It was hard to force my brain back to the time when we’d thought Arlo was dead. “I heard you were all friends in high school.”
Derrick glanced up at Otis, almost like he’d just realized Otis was there even though I had the feeling there wasn’t much Derrick Mayer didn’t notice from the get-go.
“That’s Otis,” I said. “He was friends with Jace too.”
Derrick turned back to the fire. “I’m not sure they would have called me a friend, but we hung in the same crowd for a while.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. “About them not calling you a friend?”
“Why are you asking?”
I didn’t know what I’d expected, but his level of calm was almost off-putting, and I considered myself a pretty calm person. “Just have some questions about Arlo, things Jace wanted to know.”
The guy to my left got up and Otis slipped into his vacant chair.
“Jace is dead.” Derrick said it like it was nothing. Not cruel, just matter of fact.
“He wanted to know,” Otis said, leaning forward so Derrick could see him.
Derrick looked at him, like he needed to get a better read on him now that he was sitting down. “What is it you want to know exactly?”
This was the hard part. What did we want to know?
“Anything you can tell us about the dynamic, I guess. Were they tight? Is that why Arlo asked Mac to raise Jace when he died? What happened to Michael?”
Derrick pulled his gaze away fast this time, like he didn’t want us to see something in his eyes. “They were tight. Called themselves the Three Musketeers.”
“That must have been weird for you,” I said. “Not being included.”
“Maybe at first, but later, I didn’t actually want to be… included ,” Derrick said.
“Why’s that?” Otis asked.
Derrick shrugged. “They got up to some weird shit. Especially Arlo and Michael.”
“Arlo and Michael?” I’d always assumed Arlo and Mac were the closest given that they’d started the Blades together.
“I didn’t stutter,” Derrick said.
“What kind of weird shit?” Otis asked.
Derrick pinned him with his gaze. “Why do you want to know?”
I hurried to do damage control. “Was Arlo tighter with Michael?”
“Arlo was different with Michael.”
“Mind if I ask how?”
“What does it matter now? It was a long time ago.”
I nodded. “It’s just something Jace wanted to know. We’re trying to put it to bed for him.”
I was surprised to realize I was glad it wasn’t entirely a lie. I liked Derrick, dug his even energy. In another situation we might have been friends despite the difference in our ages.
“We were all a little wild back then, but Arlo and Michael were reckless. They were…” Derrick hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully. “… dangerous. Mac didn’t like rules, but he accepted that they existed. Arlo and Michael, not so much.”
“What about you?” Otis asked.
He was pushing too hard, being too direct, but the genuine curiosity in his voice told me he was beyond the point of getting information just to figure out who was behind the missing girls. Like me, he was being transported to the past: the trio of Arlo, Mac, and Michael ruling the roost at Blackwell High like we had before things had gone south with Blake.
Derrick looked at Otis. “I just wanted to be free.”
“What happened to Michael?” I asked. “You said he and Arlo liked to break rules together, but we can’t find any trace of him after high school.”
“That’s because he left,” Derrick said.
I lifted my eyebrows. “Left?”
Derrick nodded. “For college. Looking for bigger rules to break.”
“Where’d he go? To school, I mean.”
“Philly. Wharton.”
I could see it: Mac and Arlo stuck here in Blackwell Falls, Michael off to greener pastures, Derrick deciding he wanted no part of any of it, their foursome disbanded through a combination of choice and circumstance.
Like us with Blake.
“His parents live around here?” I asked. “Michael’s?”
Derrick looked at me and I saw the first sign of surprise in his face. “Parents? I thought you knew?”
Otis leaned forward. “Thought we knew what?”
“Micheal lived at the Blackwell Home for Boys.”
“What’s the Blackwell Home for Boys?” I asked.
“The foster home run by June Meynard,” Derrick said, like it was obvious. Like we should have known. “The woman who raised Arlo.”