“I couldn’t do it without them,” Patrick agreed.
“I’m not just talking about the house. I’m talking about what comes next.”
“Meaning… ?”
“The moving business served its purpose,” Jack said. “The pub shifts keep you connected. But neither one of those things iswhat you’re meant to do, is it?” He let that sink in for a minute. “Just think about it.”
“I will.”
Jack stood and put a hand briefly on Patrick's shoulder, the touch relaying several things without the need for verbalization.
“Go on, now. I’ll close tonight.”
“But—”
“Go. You’ve got more important things to do than hang around here watching the clock.”
Jack was right. He did.
Patrick foundWade at the kitchen table, working his way through a large pepperoni and cheese while Bruno waited patiently for the crusts. It reminded Patrick that he hadn’t eaten for a while.
He waved toward the box. “Do you mind?”
Wade pushed the pizza toward the center of the table. “Knock yourself out.”
Patrick slid into a chair and grabbed a slice.
He and Wade had been friends for a long time, which meant they didn’t feel the need to fill the space with unnecessary chatter. They spoke when they had something to say. Based on the fact that Wade was in the kitchen after midnight with a fresh pie, he had something to say and was waiting for the opportunity to say it.
They’d each downed two slices before Wade said, “I found the vehicle.”
Patrick paused. “Excuse me?”
Wade bit, chewed, swallowed. “The dead guy they found at the campground. I found his car.”
“Where?”
“Parked in the brush along an old logging trail about a mile southeast of the campground.”
“What makes you think it’s his?”
Wade shrugged. “Bruno and I walk that trail every couple of days. Wasn’t there before.”
Patrick set his pizza down.
“Silver sedan,” Wade continued. “No plates.”
“Did you report it?”
Wade scoffed. “To who? The Pine Ridge PD? What are they going to do beside ruin any evidence it might contain, just like they did at the campground?”
Patrick looked at the table. Had Wade found Varro’s missing vehicle?
He pulled up a map of the area on his phone. “Show me.”
Wade wiped his hands on a napkin, then took Patrick’s phone, swiped, zoomed, swiped again. Took a screenshot. Marked it with a red X. “Here.”
That vehicle might have some of the answers they were looking for, but Patrick wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Professional hitters didn’t leave evidence behind.