“Here we are, Mr. Vallance. Yes, I got your account pulled up. Um . . .” The kid shot a look around the empty store, maybe searching for help or to see if we really were alone. “The only problem is I’m not supposed to release any information without proper ID.”
“So did you not hear me earlier? All my shit was stolen. I have no ID until I hit the goddamned DMV later, and let me tell you, I ain’t looking forward to that.”
“Yeah, still. I’m uh—”
“Are you serious? Do you know how much business I do in this town? How long have you worked here?”
“Two . . . little over two months.”
“Two whole months? Okay, lemme talk to your manager.”
“Um, well, she’s not in today.”
“Of course she isn’t. What a fuckin’ shit show this is. You know what? I’ll come back when your manager’s here and explain how your little policy lost me one of the biggest deals of the year. I’m sure that’ll go over well.”
All the cards on the table, I stalked away. He wasn’t going to stop me before I hit the door. He was going to tell his manager, and she was going to realize Ryan Vallance was no longer among the living, and she’d file a complaint with the police. They’d come down, review the store’s surveillance footage, and there I’d be on camera—big as life.
Four steps from the door.
Three.
Two.
Hand on the handle.
Pushing out into the mist.
“Hey, Mr. Vallance?”
I stopped, glad I was facing away so he wouldn’t see the pure relief on my face. I turned around.
The kid was writing on a piece of paper. “Here you go.” I went back to the desk, and he gave me the paper with five numbers scrawled in hasty but readable script. “Please don’t mention anything to my manager. I’d get in trouble either way.”
I tapped the paper once and then slapped him on the arm like I figured Vallance would. “Not a word, bud; you really helped me out. Thanks a million. Or two hundred thousand, I should say.” I laughed loudly, and the kid joined in half-heartedly. He looked glad I was leaving.
That made two of us.
17
The sanctuary of home.
Or so I hoped. I spent the first ten minutes checking the entire house to make sure the Visitor hadn’t come visiting again. Maybe spurred by my slicked appearance and trip to the local wireless carrier, no matter how innocuous I tried making it look. Maybe this time he’d shoot first and not ask questions later.
The house was empty, all the locks still locked.
Out of paranoia, I’d almost destroyed the burner phone and thrown it away after my call to HerringBone but decided to keep it at the last moment. I was glad now, given the task ahead. The kid at the wireless store had drawn arrows after the phone numbers, a couple pointing away and the rest pointing in. It took me a few seconds to realize he’d delineated which calls were outgoing and incoming. Nice attention to detail. If he didn’t get fired for the little stunt I’d just pulled, he might have a future in telecommunications.
Not really wanting to call each number to find out who they belonged to, I tried a reverse lookup online first. No go for three out of the five since they were cells. The other two were a sporting goods store downtown and a Chinese takeout in a nearby strip mall that served the best pork fried rice I’d ever had.
Deep breath in. Out.
The first number rang three times, then a female voice came on saying, “Hello? Hello?”
I was prepared for this. I started to panic.
“Hey, hi there, hi,” I sputtered. “I’m not sure I’ve got the right number.”
“Who is this?”
“This is John, I’m a friend of Ryan’s. Ryan Vallance?” I said his name like a question. I was terrible at this.
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I was just going through some of his things, and he had a few numbers written down on his desk, and I was checking them. Seeing if anyone . . . needed anything.”
Long pause, and I felt like there was a drain in my center and someone had just pulled the plug. I was about to end the call when she spoke again. “No, I got all of my stuff when I moved out like four months ago.”
Okay. Girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. “All right, that’s good. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Probably not. Ryan didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah, no, that’s true. I’m sorry, your name was . . .”
“Marla.”