Page 150 of Five Mountain Daddies

I shake my head. “Definitely not. You didn’t dream that,Cora.”

She looks a little relieved. “I don’t know if I should be happy about that or reallydisturbed.”

“Both, I think.” I sip my beer and she smiles a little bit. I wish she’d back off this whole thing and let me take over, but I know she won’t do it, so I don’t waste my breath. Besides, I have to go back to Chicago in a day, and if she’s going to keep this up without me, she might as well have some leads tofollow.

“It’s weird, being in here,” she says softly after a shortsilence.

“Why’s that?” I askher.

“Atticus came here a lot I think. I saw it on Facebook at least, back before things got reallybad.”

I nod slowly. “I think a lot of people from our school comehere.”

“I recognize a few,” she says. “People I haven’t really talked to inyears.”

“But they’re still hanging around, going to thebars.”

“I mean, how many people really get out?” She shrugs, meets my gaze. “Not everyone’s likeyou.”

“I guess not.” I glance away, realizing that she never got out either. “Anyway, we should probably looks around for people to talkto.”

“Yeah,” she says, letting me change thesubject.

I finish my beer, needing the courage, before standing up. I approach a few folks, making friendly conversation, but nobody knows Atticus. Cora mostly just watches me, and I don’t blame her. This is a weird part of thejob.

I get through most of the people at the bar before sitting back down with her. An hour passes that way, randomly chatting people up, trying to see if anyone knows anything about Atticus. I ask the bartender, but he’s only been working here for a month, so he’s no help. Cora talks to the people she recognized, but none of them have anything to say. After a couple more drinks, we find ourselves jammed in at the very end of the bar. The early crowd is pretty much gone now, replaced by a harder, rowdier crowd. People are drinking fast and talking loud, and I can feel my discomfortrising.

I start to recognize some things. “You see that?” I say to Corasoftly.

“What?” she asks, leaning in toward me, listening over thenoise.

“People keep flashing a sign. Watch those guys over there, in the denim vests.” She follows my gaze and sure enough, the guys flash the sign again: hands crossed, fingers slightly splayed, one thumbdown.

“Nine fingers,” shewhispers.

“Right.” We meet each other’s gaze and I feel that old familiar buzz in the back of my head, the buzz that tells me something just might be wrong aboutthis.

Before we can do anything though, three figures appear behind us through the crowd. I half-turn to check them out, just as one of them leans toward me. I get a whiff of sour breath, beer stink and somethingelse.

“Wyatt Reap, what the fuck are you doinghere?”

I lean back to get a look at the guy. He’s tall, about my height, though whip thin and sinewy. His hair is buzzed short and his eyes are a bright, reedy, obsessiveblue.

I recognize him right away. “Jaxson,” Isay.

He grins. “You rememberme?”

Of course I fucking remember him. I didn’t expect to see him tonight, not atall.

He’s flanked by two guys dressed like he is, with hard expressions. Jaxson doesn’t bother introducing them, and I know better than to ask. I can already sense what this is and what’s about to happen, and I wish I didn’t have Cora sittinghere.

Jaxson’s eyes flick over to her. “Cora,” hesays.

“Jaxson,” she answerscurtly.

“What are you doing back in this place?” Jaxson asks me. “What’s it been, like, tenyears?”

“Something like that,” I say, though it’s definitely been less. I feel defensive, penned-in with these guys looming over us. I notice the crowd giving us a little more space, and people are tossing glances in ourdirection.

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