Chapter 17
Iwave at Mack when I make the turn into Shady Lake, but instead of parking in the employee parking lot, I pull through and drive around the great sweeping loop out front, the one where the tour buses from the casino pick up the old people on the second Tuesday of every month.
Then I head back home. Mooch is ecstatic to see me even though I've only been gone for like ten minutes. He tippy taps his huge paws and wiggles from head to toe, tail wagging.
Before that moment, I never quite understood dog people. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. But they also come with a food bill, vet bills, and all the poop. But after being greeted like this one time by Mooch, I kind of want to keep him forever.
In sharp contrast, Midnight opens one eye from where he's lying on the back of the couch, sees that it's me, and drops back into his semicircle.
I give Mooch a treat, let him out again in case he has to pee, and change into a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank top.
If I'm going to tromp around looking for my dumbass brother, I'm going to be comfortable.
Once Mooch is settled back into the air conditioning, I lock the house behind me and punch the address from the telephone number into my maps app.
The location isn't far, which is why I chose it first. The other closest address was across the state, and the others way farther than that. With any luck, my brother will open the door when I get there and I'll yell at him and this whole nightmare will be over today.
The app leads me down toward Haven, a smaller town about the same distance from Shady Lake as Tamsley. Technically, my address is in Tamsley, but it's fifteen minutes to downtown from my place.
I wind down the darling little main street, noticing that there's been some more gentrification since I was here last. There's a new coffee shop and a vintage records store that opened up.
I always wonder how those places stay in business--the records store, not the coffee shop.
But apparently there's enough people looking for that kind of thing to keep those places open.
I take a right at a crossroads that has a blinking red light and head up the hill.
The app says I've arrived at my destination, so I pull over to the side of the street.
It's not a neighborhood that has sidewalks--there's only flat, packed dirt on either side of the two-lane road. Pine trees dot the property and a hand painted ‘for sale by owner’ sign has been out in the sun so long, it’s starting to peel.
I push my sunglasses on top of my head and squint out Goldie’s side window.
It looks like the address belongs to a bank of apartments.
No, it's more like a quad-plex, painted with peeling beige paint.
The doors all face the sidewalk running in front of them that leads to a crumbling paved parking lot, riddled with potholes.
They're numbered one hundred to one hundred three, and I'm looking for number one hundred. There's two cars in the parking lot--a rusted out pickup that probably lives there permanently, and a really nice black SUV with those big, spinning rims.
Great, I think.
Not that I mean to profile anyone. It's just, suddenly it makes me wonder if I should have told Mack where I was headed, after all.
He can have Ziggy look up your cell phone data after you're dead.
Oddly enough, the thought makes me feel better. Even if I do get murdered, they won't get away with it.
I push open the heavy car door. It creaks its typical protest and I ignore it.
I walk up to number one hundred like I belong there, like I’ve been invited.
I knock on the door and hear someone moving inside.
My heartrate jacks up. I wonder if it’s that easy--if my missing brother is in this apartment.
The door opens and a billow of weed smoke nearly knocks me over. Standing in the haze is a huge Black man. He's wearing a charcoal jogging suit that looks like cashmere, as well as a massive, diamond-encrusted chain.
His eyes are narrowed on me and I wonder what he sees. I'm wearing my off-duty uniform: jean cut-offs, a white t-shirt, and navy Converse low tops. I smile and do my best not to cough--I don't know why, but coughing feels like it would be rude.
I know that the law feels differently, but I don't really care if someone smokes weed. I wouldn't date someone that was into it, but I'm not going to write off friends who partake.
I tried it once in college. Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how you look at it--I'm one of those people who doesn't feel relaxed on the wacky tobaccy.
I get paranoid as shit. I spent all night hiding under my bed, thinking the cops were coming to get me.
Not a good time--zero out of ten; do not recommend.
"Hi," I finally say.
He gives that reverse nod that only big guys can make look cool. "What's up?"
"Are you Hugh Danvers?"
His eyes flick me up and down. "Who's asking?"
"My name is Gabriella Ramos. I'm looking for my brother, Alex. He’s missing."
Hugh steps forward and braces his arm across the top door jam, leaning into my space. Man this guy is big. He smells like expensive cologne, but it doesn't make me feel less intimidated. I keep the pleasant smile on my face and resist the urge to step back.
"I don't know any Alex."
I frown. "Are you sure? I found a number in his phone and traced it to this address." I rattle off the number.
He frowns. "Look lady, I don't know why he had my phone number, but I don't know the guy." Hugh steps back and it looks like he's going to shut the door in my face.
"You guys texted just last week," I blurt desperately. I unlock the screen, pull up the conversation, and nearly shove the phone in his face.
Hugh frowns down at it for a few seconds, then frowns at me. "Come on in."
Despite wanting answers about this, I hesitate. It's not that I'm racist--really, I'm not. It's the size of him that's the problem. And ok, maybe the weed thing, too.
He sighs. "Look lady, I'll tell you how I know your brother, but I'm not gonna do it with the door open. I'm letting out all the second-hand and the AC."
I only hesitate for another half a second before I follow him in. He shuts the door behind us. I blink--the inside of the place is way nicer than the outside. We're standing in a surprisingly tidy living room. It's comfortable and clean.
I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't a tasteful brown leather recliner sofa, a big screen on the far wall, and a coffee table that I'm pretty sure is from Restoration Hardware.
Ok, maybe I expected the big screen, but I didn't think it would be installed so that the cords are hidden in the wall.
Hugh crosses the room and grabs a cell phone off the round glass dining table. It's one of those phones with a screen so big it might as well be a tablet. He taps the screen a bunch of times then shows it to me. It's the same conversation, just from his point of view.
"I didn't even know your brother's name," he said. "I know him as Warmage2005. We play War of Veilcraft together."
"Seriously?" My brow wrinkles.
"Yeah. I'm a level two-twelve Veilmaiden." He nods toward the far wall, at a framed poster I hadn't noticed. It's a huge copy of the game's cover, with a bunch of signatures on it. "I got that at last year's GameCon in Philly."
"Wow. That's neat." I'm trying not to show how stunned I am. For some reason, it's hard for me to imagine this huge dude playing War of Veilcraft. I thought the game was reserved for nerds and losers who lived in their mom's basements. Besides, this guy is older than I am.
"Why a Veilmaiden?" I ask, mostly because I can't think of anything else to say.
"They're the most badass. Doesn't matter that the character's a skinny blonde chick. They have the best defense and attack. Plus they can heal other group members."
"So you really don't know my brother?" My shoulders sag.
Suddenly all the text messages between them seem innocent. It makes sense they'd be 'meeting up' if they played together online. My stomach plummets right along with any hope of finding Alex.
"I'm sorry he's missing. He's a cool dude and a great player."
"How long have you guys been playing together?"
He shrugs and it's like a boulder jerking upward. "A couple months. We met up by chance in the Fields of Gamor. I was with this inept Gnome Lord who portaled out and left me the second the yellow dragons showed up. WarMage showed up with a couple others in his group and saved my ass."
"So Alex already had his group."
"Yeah and I joined up with them there. It's a good group. Balanced between the characters, you know?" He crosses to the kitchen, opens the stainless steel fridge, and grabs a bottle of water. "You want one?"
I shake my head. "No thanks. So you guys didn't have a personal relationship?"
"I don't know about the other guys, but I only played the game with them." He swigs from the water bottle and screws the cap back on. "Makes sense that something happened, though."
"Why's that?"
"We were supposed to tackle the Red Maven together on Tuesday. I was the only one who portaled in. I was dumb; I should have checked. But they've never ghosted me before." He snorts. "Got my ass kicked, of course. Fucking stupid to try and take on the Red Maven alone."