Chapter 20
Apparently it's now a foregone conclusion that I'm going to ride on the back of Mack’s bike. I can't help but think how many things have changed in the past few days. If you told me a week ago that I'd be living with a six foot two biker and his rescue dog, I would have laughed my ass off.
But now Mack has a second helmet on his bike--one that fits like he picked it out just for me. I don't question it--it's as surreal as the fact that we have a morning routine together.
The heat and humidity don't seem so bad when they're whipping past you at thirty miles an hour.
It's funny how complicated I feel about this whole thing.
If Alex had never disappeared, I don't know if I ever would have met Mack.
Now that I have, it's really hard for me to imagine my life without him.
Along with all the terror and fear I feel about what might have happened to Alex, I also can't help but enjoy Mack's flirtatious smiles and the way I catch him staring at me from the corner of my eye.
Maybe it should alarm me. I've dumped several guys for being too clingy.
Before now, catching a guy staring at me more than once was a surefire way to give me the ick.
But none of the rules seem to apply when it comes to Mack--at least none of the rules that I’ve made up.
I don't know if Mack is following his GPS or if he just memorized the location, but his bike roars down streets of Tamsley that I’ve never visited.
The smooth pavement of the highway is soon riddled with potholes, some claimed by a little tufts of green.
Out here the buildings are mostly one story and cement block.
This is the industrial part of town, where function overrides form at every turn.
I think I might have come down here once last year to drop off some donations at the Goodwill, but other than that, this is a neighborhood I have no reason to go to.
It’s not super awful or anything, but it’s way across town.
Even if I needed my muffler replaced, there’s probably two auto shops closer to my house.
Which begs the question--what on earth was my brother doing here?
Mack slows and pulls into a parking lot on our right.
A single low slung building makes an L-shape facing the parking lot.
The lines on the lot are faded and the asphalt is crumbling in spots.
One lone street light in the middle leans to the left as if it's been backed into a hundred times over the years.
Mack parks his bike and cuts the engine, stabilizing his motorcycle with his strong legs until I get off the bike.
I frown as I unclip my helmet. It's just like Mack said--there's a laundromat, a bakery, a Chinese restaurant, and no discernible reason why Alex would ever come out this far.
Maybe he'd stop for a donut at a bakery, but this is a Hungarian bakery and I didn't recognize anything they had advertised in their windows.
“Why did he come here?” I ask, verbalizing my doubts.
“No idea.” Mack stashes our helmets in his saddlebacks and locks them. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before. Apparently he thinks the neighborhood is as good as I do.
“This isn't a place you just happen across,” I say. “He came here for a reason.”
“I think he must have been meeting someone.”
I frown at the implications. Who on Earth would Alex be meeting?
Apparently Mack has the same question because he says, “You said he didn't have any friends?”
“The only people he mentioned are people from work and they're all more boring then he is.”
“What about people from before? From prison or even before that?”
I shrug. “He talked about his bunk mate sometimes--Daniel something or other. That guy was an accountant. Not super sure what he did to to go to prison, to be honest. It's my understanding that you're not supposed to really ask people.”
“And it's my understanding that people still find out. I'll have Ziggy look into him and see what he can dig up.”
“All I know is that he got released at the same time as Alex.”
“So they were in like a prison cohort together?” Mack exhales a laugh.
I shrug, still staring at the building, trying to figure out why Alex was here. “I guess you could say that.”
“I wonder if his old bunk mate got ahold of him somehow.”
I shake my head. “I don't understand anything that’s going on. I keep waiting for something to click, for something to make sense.”
“Well we can be fairly certain that Hugh doesn't have anything to do with it. I had Ziggy take a look and it turns out he was telling the truth--the only way he knew Alex was through that game.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean you had him take a look?”
Mack grins. “Do you really want me spelling it out?”
“I guess not.” I frown.
“I didn't think you would be mad about something like that.” Mack gently touches my elbow.
“I'm not mad. It just feels weird to not be following the rules.”
Mack smiles down at me. “So you're one of those girls?”
“What do you mean by that?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“You know, the kind that always follow the rules and do the right thing.”
“There's no need to make it sound so boring.”
Mack laughs.
“Besides,” I say. “The world would be a better place if more people did the right thing.”
“There, you and I agree--the world would be a better place if more people were like you. Come on, let's check it out.”
His words leave me blinking, but he's already striding toward the Chinese restaurant.
I hurry to follow him. There's a set of what looks like reindeer bells hanging from the back of the glass door.
They jingle as we push our way in. I can't tell if the bells are a permanent security measure, or if somebody just forgot to take down last year's Christmas decorations.
The people behind the counter turn and the lady asks whether she can help us. By her accent and the smells emanating from the kitchen, I feel like this is probably an authentic restaurant. My stomach growls, and Mack smiles down at me.
“We're wondering if you could help us,” he tells the lady. “Her brother went missing and this is one of the last places he went.”
The lady's eyes grow wide. “We don't have your brother.”
“No.” Mack holds up his hands. “We don't think you do. We just wanted to know if you remember seeing him.”
I fumble with my phone and bring up the picture of Alex.
I snapped it only a couple weeks ago when we were watching baseball together on the couch.
It feels like a lifetime ago, and every time I look at it I can't help but wonder if this is the picture that's going to be used on his Dateline special.
If I would have known it was the last one I ever took of him I would have made it better. I would have made him face the camera and smile.
“Yes,” the lady says with a stout nod. “He was here. He didn't eat anything. Just sat with that messy man who only ordered chicken chow mein.” She frowns as if this shows a distinct lack of judgment on Alex's part. “What about you? Are you going to eat something?”
“We're going to eat everything.” Mack gives her a full wattage smile and apparently his level of hotness is something that transcends cultural barriers, because the lady blinks at him for a moment as if stunned. Or maybe it’s his promise to eat everything that has her seeing hearts.
“But first,” Mack says, “What can you tell us about the man that her brother was with?”
“Old man. Not nearly as handsome as you.” Her tone is clinical. She's not flirting; she's just being honest. “Had gray hair and wore an ugly sweater vest. This is Texas. Who wears sweater vest in the summer?”
She asks the question as if It isn't rhetorical, as if she expects an answer.
“I don't know,” Mack says. “That's weird.”
She nods deeply as if she agrees with him. “What are you going to eat?”
She points at the sign above her that displays every Chinese food dish I've ever heard of and a bunch I haven't.
Mack studies the board for several moments then orders a bunch of dishes. I can't help but notice that he doesn't order the chow mein. I don't blame him--the lady showed distinct disdain for the dish.
We sit down at the table next to the window. It’s a four-seater, but judging by the amount of food he ordered, we’re going to need the room. The 'Open' light buzzes just above our heads in the window.
"What do you think?" I ask.
Because Mack’s thinking something--there's that crease in his forehead that tells me he has an idea.
"The only older guy I can think of in Alex's life is his roommate from prison," he says in a voice too low to be overheard.
Even though the place is empty except for us and the people banging around in the kitchen, I appreciate his discretion.
"Why do you think they'd be meeting?"
"Your guess is probably better than mine."
I don't ask the second question I have out loud--why wouldn't Alex have told me that they were meeting?
I frown and pick my way through my words slowly.
"I think it was something Alex knew I wouldn't approve of.
We had dinner together every night, and I always asked him what he did that day, how it was.
" I look up from the worn laminate tabletop and meet Mack's eyes.
"He's not the most open person in the world, but Alex usually tells me about his day.
All the computer calls he got, even what he had for lunch. "
I search my memories, trying to think of what Alex told me about his day last Tuesday, but I come up blank.
"So what do you think that means?"
The lady who took our order bustles out from the back, a plate in each hand. She puts down crab rangoons and egg rolls that are both still sizzling.
"Very hot," she says redundantly, then strides back into the kitchen, banging through the swinging door, already yelling at whoever’s back there before it swings shut behind her.
"I don't know what it means," Mack says. "Do you?"
I shake my head. "Just that, whatever it was, he didn't tell me about it."
Neither of us point out the obvious--that in itself is enough to raise suspicion.