Page 6 of Silent Night

As Sheila faced forward again, she thought of how she might engage Star in conversation. "So," she asked, "are you in school, Star?"

Gabe exhaled slowly. "You see, Sheila, school isn't really an option right now."

Sheila caught the subtle implication behind his words, and she suspected Star had been suspended from school. As she mulled over this new piece of information, her gaze wandered back to the receding neighborhood, its worn-down buildings and graffiti-covered walls casting long shadows in the early morning light.

Images of what life must be like for a girl like Star played out in Sheila's mind. She imagined Star navigating the treacherous landscape of poverty and crime day after day, struggling to stay afloat amidst the chaos that threatened to consume her. It was a stark contrast to the structured, disciplined world of competitive kickboxing that Sheila had known growing up.

Her life must be so rough, Sheila thought, her heart aching for the girl sitting quietly behind her. She noticed the way Star's thin fingers fidgeted with a frayed edge of her hoodie, and she suddenly felt a surge of gratitude for her father. Gabe, who had always been there to guide her through challenging times, was now extending a helping hand to Star.

She didn't have long to ponder this, however. The sight of the junkyard soon loomed in front of them, a sprawling wasteland of rusted metal and decaying vehicles. Sheila's heartbeat quickened as her eyes scanned the vast graveyard of abandoned cars, trucks, and machinery. The sun glinted off twisted metal, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance and flicker like ghosts of the past. She couldn't help but wonder if among these forsaken remnants lay the key to unraveling the mystery of her mother's death.

"Here we are," Gabe announced as he slowed the truck, his voice jolting Sheila from her thoughts. Her anticipation swelled, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. Any of the many cars stacked in crushed towers could potentially be the one they were looking for, a crucial piece in the puzzle that had haunted her for so long.

As Gabe pulled up in front of the office building, Sheila noticed the locked gate beside it. A group of rough-looking figures lounged around the building, their intimidating presences setting her on edge. Their eyes followed the truck, sizing them up.

"Looks like we've got company," Gabe muttered, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. One of the men spat on the ground while another leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette with a sneer on his lips. A third man stood apart from the rest, his arms crossed over his barrel chest, looking as immovable as a mountain.

Gabe looked at Sheila. "How's your head?" he asked.

Sheila knew he was referring to the brain injury she'd received over a month ago. In the face of these menacing figures, her Olympic-level kickboxing skills might be the difference between success and failure. She clenched her fists, feeling the reassuring solidity of her knuckles against her palms.

"Good to go," she said.

Gabe looked doubtful, as if regretting his decision to bring her. "We'll talk our way through if we can, alright? The last thing we need is for you to get hurt again."

"And if talking doesn't work? If they decide to show how tough they are?"

Gabe clenched his jaw. "If one of them takes a swing at my daughter, we'll give them hell, you and I both. You can take that to the bank."

CHAPTER THREE

The dust swirled around Sheila's feet as she and her father approached the trio of tough-looking men loitering in front of the junkyard's office building. The sun bore down on them, making her squint against its glare. She glanced back at the truck where Star was sitting, fidgeting with something in her hands.

"Are you sure Star will be alright?" Sheila asked, her voice laced with concern.

Gabe didn't even break stride as he replied, "She'll be safe in the truck, Sheila. A lot safer than she'd be at home." His tone held an edge that made her wonder what he meant by that, but there was no time to dwell on it as they drew closer to the men.

"Can I help you?" one of the men asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood slightly taller than the others, with a muscular build and a buzz cut that seemed to emphasize the intimidating tattoos crawling up his neck and disappearing under his shirt. The inked images were a mix of skulls, flames, and other symbols that hinted at a troubled life. His eyes narrowed as they scrutinized Gabe and Sheila, sizing them up.

"We're looking for a specific vehicle," Gabe said politely, maintaining eye contact with the tattooed man. "We have reason to believe it might be here."

"What's so special about this vehicle?" the man demanded, his suspicion evident in the single word.

"Family matter," Gabe replied with a vague wave of his hand. "It has…sentimental value, and there was a misunderstanding. Never should have ended up here." Sheila could see her father's years of experience working as a cop coming to play, as he remained calm and composed even in the face of potential danger.

Her heart raced as she watched the exchange between the two men, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She knew she had the skills to protect herself and her father if necessary, but she couldn't help but worry about Star sitting alone in the truck. The young girl had already been through so much, and Sheila didn't want to expose her to any more danger than necessary.

"Are you cops?" the tattooed man asked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Gabe and Sheila.

Gabe shook his head. "No," he said. That was technically accurate, since he was a retired cop and Sheila was only thinking about training to be one. "We just need to find that vehicle."

"Sorry, junkyard's closed," the man said dismissively. "Come back tomorrow."

Sheila frowned, frustrated by the stranger's hostility. "He's just jerking your chain," she said to her father in a low voice.

Gabe didn't seem surprised by her observation. He'd likely reached the same conclusion himself. Channeling his years of experience as a former sheriff, he casually said, "You know, I might not be police, but I do have some friends on the force, and I couldn't help but notice a few things as we came in—minor infractions that, if noticed by the right people, could cause some problems for your business."

The tattooed man's eyes darted around suspiciously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

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