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21
BENEDETTO
Two days later
"Scotch on the rocks."
I sit at the bar and wait for the bartender to mix my drink. I check my watch, then tap my foot as I prepare for the man I'm meeting to arrive.
When I spoke to my brothers last week, we discovered a series of disappearances in the area surrounding the warehouse. The guy I'm here to see, Max Arnoult, had a young son named Nolan who mysteriously vanished three years ago.
I want to find out if he knows anything about Wesley.
The bartender slides my scotch on the rocks across the bar. "Here you go."
"Thank you." My voice is gritty, raw. I take a sip of the drink, relishing the way it bites my throat. The alcohol goes to my head.
The sound of footsteps distracts me.
"Benedetto?"
I turn around. "You must be Max."
Max has seen better days. His sandy brown hair is uncombed and the bags under his eyes let me know he hasn't slept. His T-shirt is wrinkled and the jeans that hug his body have holes. The distinct smell of body spray reaches my nose. He clearly hasn’t showered today.
I pull out a chair. "I'll buy your drink. What are you having?"
"I quit drinking after Nolan disappeared." He can't bring himself to look at the bartender. "I'll have tonic water and lime."
The bartender makes a note of this. "One tonic water and lime coming right up."
As the bartender makes Max’s drink, I help him into his chair. "Thank you for meeting me here. It was on short notice, but it'll be worth your while."
Max sips his drink when he receives it. "I appreciated your text. It's been a rough few years, and I was sure no one was still searching for my son."
I drink my scotch. "How long ago did he disappear?"
I read the facts of his case last night. But I've screwed myself before by refusing to verify information I've pulled from the Internet, which is why I needed to speak to him in person. The info isn’t always authentic and sometimes sources fuck things up. All it takes is one secretary to mis-enter a date in a database and you’re fucked.
"Four years tomorrow." Max stares at the bar. "He would've been eighteen today."
"How did he vanish?"
"He was at the park with his friends." A dark look washes over his face. "He loved sports. Badminton, basketball, tennis, pickleball. He wasn’t good at them, but he poured his heart into it and he didn't quit. He was tenacious, a total fighter in every way."
I place my palm on Max's back. "I'm sorry to hear that. He sounds like a great son."
"He was." Max grits his teeth. "I wish I could've gone to more games when he was younger. I would've if I'd have known what’d happen to him. But I prioritized work and screwed up."
"It's okay. You had no way of knowing someone would take him."
"He had green eyes and a smile that melted your heart." Max blinks hard. "When he was a boy, he made cards for me and his mom and took us out to breakfast every Sunday morning. No other kid we knew did that."
"Was he close with his mother?"
"He got along with her better than me." Max lets out a shuddering breath. "I had panic attacks and raged around the house. I didn't think it affected him, because I was too worried about internalizing my own emotions."
I nod. "That's the thing about externalizing emotions. You do it to protect yourself, because you don't want to relive your traumas. But it can hurt those around you, especially your children."
