Page 58 of Hellbent

Evan said, “Describe her.”

“She have the thin face. Her hair, it have missing patches. She is sweet girl, but she is troubled.”

“Who has your son?”

“I cannot speak the name.” The deep voice fluttered with fear.

“They kidnapped him?” Evan asked.

“No,” the man said. “He has joined them. And he cannot get out.”

“A gang?”

A silence, broken only by labored breathing.

“If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you.”

“Sí. A gang. But you don’t know this gang. Please, sir. My boy. They will turn him into a killer. And then he will be lost. I’m going to lose my boy. Please help me. You’re all I have left.”

“Sir, if your son joined a gang of his own volition, I can’t help him. Or you.”

Beneath the words Evan sensed the pulse of his own relief. He couldn’t take this on as well. His focus was already maxed, the plate stacked too high. The Seventh Commandment—One mission at a time—blinked a red alert in his mind’s eye.

Evan pulled the phone away from his face to hang up. His finger reached the button when he heard it.

The man, sobbing quietly.

Evan held the phone before him against the backdrop of his wiped-clean plate, the sounds of hoarse weeping barely audible.

He blinked a few times. Joey was like a statue, every muscle tightened, her body like an arrow pointed over the table at him. Breathless.

Evan drew in a deep inhalation. He brought the phone back to his cheek. Listened a moment longer, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Mr. Orellana?”

“¿Sí?”

“I see the location you’re calling from. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon.”

“Thank God for you—”

Evan had already hung up. He slid out of the booth, Joey walking with him to the back door. She shot glances across at him, her face unreadable.

He pushed through the chiming door into the parking lot, the predawn cold hitting him at the hands and neck. He raised the set of keys he’d lifted from the waitress’s apron and aimed at the scattered cars, clicking the auto-unlock button on the fob. Across the lot a Honda Civic with a rusting hood gave a woeful chirp.

The waitress’s shift had just started, which gave them six hours of run time. Even so, he’d steal a license plate at the first truck stop they saw, from a vehicle boondocking in an overnight lot.

He and Joey got into the Civic, their doors shutting in unison.

She was still staring at him. He hesitated, his hand on the key.

He said, “This is what I do.”

“Right, I get it,” she said. “You help people you don’t know.”

26

How Can You Know You’re Real?