He sat up in his bed, then got out and padded over to the window in his skivvies. He touched the scars on his arm and his shoulder. Both had been repaired to the Agency’s satisfaction, though Robie figured that within another few decades they wouldn’t feel all that “satisfactory.”
He parted the curtain and looked down upon the darkened main street of Grand, Colorado. It reminded him some of Cantrell, Mississippi, his hometown on the Gulf Coast. Actually, Cantrell was a bit bigger than Grand, though it had never been more than a traffic light stop on the way to somewhere else. His father was there with Robie’s half brother, Tyler. It was just his father and the young boy now, after what had happened back then.
When Robie had finally gone back to his hometown, he had discovered secrets that perhaps would have been better left buried in the past.
Blue Man, on the other hand, had come back to his childhood home often. And on this last trip back, the man had vanished.
There were more dissimilarities there than parallels, Robie noted. But had something from Blue Man’s past come back to cause his disappearance? Did it have something to do with the suicide of his parents nearly fifty years ago? But how could it? There was nothing criminal about that.
Or was there?
Earlier, he had sent an encrypted e-mail with their first-day report to the DCI. Her response had been terse but direct.
Dig deeper. And pick up the pace.
Right. Easier said than done in a place like this.
Cantrell had kept its secrets for a long time. Small towns just seemed to be able to do that, though one would think with fewer people the truths would stand out.
Well, those who thought that would be wrong.
Robie knew that each day that went by would make it more unlikely that he would ever see Blue Man again, at least alive.
Robie had few friends.
Blue Man had been one of them.
Is one of them.
Blue Man had never given up on Robie, not even when Robie had perhaps given up on himself. And for that sole reason, Robie could never give up on the man.
His attention turned back to the street.
The growl of a motorcycle.
Robie squinted out into the poor light coming from a few streetlamps.
The rider looked big, his bulk seemingly dwarfing his bike.
He had on no helmet, and as he passed under a disc of thrown light Robie could see that his head was bald. The rider pulled into a slot in front of a building across the street and two doors down from the Walleye Bar. Robie had noticed the building before. There was a large NO TRESPASSING sign on the front door. The windows were all dark.
Robie moved over to his bag, pulled out his night-vision scope, and returned to the window.
Sighting through it, he watched as the man strode up to the door and knocked.
Two beats passed and the door opened. A shaft of light from inside was freed, and Robie got a better look at the man. He was dressed all in black. There were creases where his head met the back of his neck. Tatted on one side of his head was a large swastika.
The skinheads, Robie assumed. He wondered if they were all as large as this gent, who Robie estimated was about six four and three hundred pounds, with not much of it fat.
The person opening the door was also revealed. She was petite, and looked to be in her twenties with soft brown hair and pretty features that looked familiar to Robie, though he couldn’t place them. She had on jeans and a sweater.
She stepped aside, the man passed through, and the door closed behind him.
Robie lowered his scope and tapped it against the palm of his hand.
Did the woman live there? What was the place? It might be abandoned for all he knew.
He looked at his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. Was this just a late date? But they hadn’t acted like a couple. They hadn’t hugged or kissed upon seeing each other.
Robie quickly dressed, left the hotel by a side door, bypassing the sleepy front desk clerk, and stepped into an alleyway. He got his bearings, listened and watched for anyone coming, then stole across the street.
He reached the bike, saw that it was a highway Harley, and snapped a picture of the license plate with his phone. The door the biker had entered was just ahead. But Robie decided on another entry.
Robie hung a left, skittered down a side street, cut a right, and came up on the back side of the building.
It was three stories tall with windows riding up the brick on each floor. There was a back door. Robie assumed it was locked, and when he checked, his assumption was proved correct.
He stepped back and gazed up at the building’s façade. He couldn’t see one light on in the place. When the woman had opened the door an interior light had been revealed. But no light had come through the windows.
He walked over to one and examined it.
They had been blacked out with paint.
Okay, that was definitely interesting.
Robie stepped back and again looked up at the façade.
This might or might not be connected to Blue Man’s disappearance, but it was certainly out of the ordinary, if not downright suspicious.
He flipped out his pick tools and attacked the back door. If the place was alarmed he could always run for it.
But he was faced with another dilemma when he tried to pick the lock but failed. The knob turned but the door wouldn’t open. Was it nailed shut? But the front door had been operational.
What the hell was this place?
He used a knife in an attempt to open the lower window. Again, he got the clasp to turn but the window did not rise.
Clenching his knife between his teeth he put a foot on a window ledge and boosted himself up. Finding nearly invisible handholds among the uneven bricks, he made his way to the second floor and then to the third. He figured the second-floor windows might be nailed down, but not the top floor.
He reached the window and used his knife to lever open the clasp. Then he pushed up on the window and was relieved when it slid cleanly open.
He was inside in a moment and squatted down, letting his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness in the room and listening for any sounds. He heard nothing. He straightened and placed one foot carefully on a spot on the floor and then put his weight fully on it.
There was no squeak.
He put away his knife and pulled his gun. Technically he was trespassing, and whoever lived here could lawfully shoot him.
Technically.
It was a calculated risk, but one he figured was worth taking if for no other reason than Robie was most comfortable doing inherently dangerous things. It was only the normalcy of life that tended to bother him.
He reached the door and opened it slowly, testing the quietness of the hinges.
He slipped into the hall and took a few moments to study the long passage. There were doors leading off it, but they were all closed.
He reached the top of the stairs. They were carpeted, which was good, since they would absorb sound better.
He walked down them to the second floor. It was a mirror image of the third floor.
He looked down the flight of steps to the first floor.
Lights were on there.
Harley Man and the woman were down there. Whether anyone else was Robie didn’t know.
But he decided to find out.
And that was when all hell broke loose in Grand, Colorado.