An Honest Lie(51)

Riva rolled up her window and Rainy watched as the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust.

She couldn’t get close to the compound; they had it watched around the clock. But Rainy didn’t want anything to do with the compound; she didn’t want to see the pale cream walls or smell the fry oil that permeated the air. Everything in this shithole town was owned in some way by Taured. He supported them and they supported him. If she wanted to know things, she’d have to find someone willing to talk.

Main Street was deserted, but there were a few cars parked outside the diner. The one-story yellow brick building—the old diner had a new name: the Canary. She wondered if they named it that so they wouldn’t have to bother painting the outside.

Rainy spat on the ground outside Red’s doors. The back of her neck stung as the sun’s rays hit her skin. It was the hottest part of the day, and no one was outside. If she went into the Canary, chances were, it would get back to Taured. Though probably her very presence in Friendship would get back to him, anyway. She touched the ends of her hair, glancing at the newly built bar. He probably owned that, too. She could walk into either building and run into Sammy, or Frank, or any one of Taured’s goons. Looking between the two, she decided on the Canary; chances were the same, and she was hungry.

The Canary, she noticed, still had the same giant bubble gum machine that had been there when she was a kid. It looked to be pretty empty, the shells from the candy coating dusting the bottom. The breakfast counter looked the same, too: a trucker in a red flannel slouched over his plate, an old man with a shiny egg for a head reading a novel and drinking coffee. A young couple sat in a booth across from the breakfast bar wearing matching Las Vegas hats: tourists on a road trip. Rainy sat at the breakfast bar a few seats down from the old man. A young server came over, a guy maybe in his twenties but not quite; he still had a smattering of acne across his chin. His name tag said Derek.

Rainy ordered a coffee and a large stack of pancakes from Derek and settled back to study the place. It had undergone a little face-lift: the paint and posters were different, but other than that it looked to be the same old place. She sipped the coffee Derek brought her and looked at the old guy. He wasn’t wearing glasses as he read his novel; she was impressed. He was pushing seventy at least. He’d talk to her, she knew it; that’s what old-timers did.

“That stuff will kill you,” he said, putting his book down and picking up his mug. He was referring to the fake sugar she was pouring into her coffee.

“Gotta die some way.” She shrugged. He seemed to like that, and he spun his chair an inch or two toward her.

“I always said cigarettes would kill me and here I am eighty-two years later.” He patted his shirt pocket where a pack of Marlboros stuck out. “I’m Marvin.”

A memory slammed into her, dragging her beneath the belly of a truck: she could almost feel the heat of the asphalt on her back. She looked away, but Marvin’s sharp eyes caught what she was trying to hide. Her brain was galloping loops. That Marvin? How could she ever forget that name or that conversation?

“You smoke?”

“Not anymore.” She hadn’t smoked since her New York days, but the feel of this place was making her crave it.

“Good, why don’t you come outside and keep an old man company.”

Rainy smiled. “Sure thing.”

They stood by a patch of shriveled saltbush as Marvin smoked his cigarette while leaning against the side of the building. Rainy faced the parking lot, keeping her eye on things. The heat was pulling up memories of endlessly long days spent outside. She wanted a cigarette badly.

“You from around here?” Marvin spat in the dirt and then smiled at her, a fleck of spit resting on his bottom lip like a blister.

“Do I look like I’m from around here?”

He eyed her for a beat before saying, “All right, all right,” chuckling to himself. He reminded her of a lizard, beady-eyed and darty, his skin scaled with age. “You look like someone I used to know, that’s all.”

“Oh? Who was that?” Rainy asked.

“I can’t put my finger on it.”

She smiled. Liar.

“Who owns this place?” She looked back at the Canary.

“I used to.”

She put effort into her surprised face, raising her brows as high as they would go. Marvin loved it. Encouraged by the height of her eyebrows, he did what old men do: regaled her with a story from the past.

“Owned it for thirty years, sold it ten years ago. Was called the Nirvana before, but the new owner hated the band and wanted to change it. I said, why ruin a good thing, but he wouldn’t hear it.” Marvin tossed his butt but didn’t bother to crush it.

“Well, the food’s still good, I see,” she said. “Or are you coming for the excellent service?”

He grinned. He still hadn’t told her who owned the place now.

“You used to live around here, up at the compound.”

“The what?” Rainy made her jaw hang open and hoped she looked as stupid as she felt.

“Old women’s prison. Never mind. Must have been your doppelg?nger. You’re too young to be her.”

She raised her eyebrows. She sensed that he wanted to talk, so she shut up and let him.

“Guy came through here in ’94 and bought the women’s prison, moved a bunch of roughnecks in to work for him, then came the women and children. Pretty soon he had a whole operation going on over there.”