Page 21 of Shine: Sins of the Father
“Yes.”
“Had to be them. Donnie Ray Sidler and his brother Carl. They must have seen me roll through the parking lot next door. Maybe they heard my bike. I thought I saw the curtain move when we rode past. Fuck. That was a stupid move on my part. I may have tipped my hand.”
Shine moves to his bike and squats, going over it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Looking to make sure they didn’t sabotage the brakes or tires, but I don’t see anything.”
“Maybe I interrupted them.”
“Yeah, probably.” He straightens and hooks the nape of my neck, pulling me in for a forehead kiss. “These guys are dangerous, sweetness. You see them again, you run the other way. Understand?”
I nod, searching his eyes and seeing only complete seriousness. He looks to the road.
“Are you going after them?” I ask.
“Nah. They’re probably long gone. My best bet is to see what I can find out at that condo tonight.”
“You think the mother is still there?”
“Probably.”
“Won’t she call the cops?”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to stick around that long. Come on. You pick a place to eat?”
I point at the place across the parking lot.
His brow lifts. “Hanzel and Gretel’s?”
“They’re supposed to have fantastic food.”
“Pancakes it is, then.”
We end up taking the bike, mainly because Shine wants to keep an eye on it in case the two men return and slip past us. He backs into a spot on the side near some windows, and when we enter, he asks for a booth with a view of the bike.
The waitress is happy to accommodate and leads us to one against the windows. I slide onto the vinyl seat, and Shine sits across from me. His side has a better view of the highway than mine, and his eyes repeatedly stray in that direction.
The waitress pours us both coffee and passes us menus, then retreats.
I scan the options, and glance up. Shine’s still looking toward the highway, but sensing my eyes, he gives a cursory glance to the menu, shuts it and lays it aside.
“You decided already?” I ask.
“Yep. Steak and eggs.”
I grin and set my menu aside.
Shine takes a sip of coffee and checks out the place. “This place is a trip, huh? They went all in with the gingerbread concept, didn’t they?”
“Go big or go home.” That gets me my first smile over the rim of his mug.
“Didn’t the witch try to put Hanzel and Gretel in the oven?”
“Yep. Not one of the happier children’s stories, is it? Those old European fairy tales were big on themes of abandonment and survival. Little Red Riding Hood, The Big Bad Wolf. Their kids must have been scared shitless every night.”
“I’ll bet,” he agrees. “This gingerbread room is creeping me out all by itself.”
