Who's Your Daddy? (37 page)

I shoved the phone in my jacket pocket.

Most of the guys hung out in the lounge, and sharp laughter punctuated the sounds of gunfire and car crashes. I leaned in the doorway.

“Hey, is Jackson around?” I asked the gathered crew. Jackson was in charge since the chief was off duty tonight.

“I think he’s out having a smoke,” Thoman said without looking up from the game.

“Great, thanks.”

I left the lounge and went out to the parking lot where the guys smoked. Sure enough, Jackson was there, halfway through a cigarette.

“Hey,” I said. “Listen, I’ve got a family emergency, I—”

“
Go
.” He gestured sharply at my car with his cigarette. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

I glanced back toward the firehouse. “But are you guys—”

“We’ve got a full crew tonight,” he said. “You got an emergency, get out of here and give the details to the chief later.”

“Thanks, man,” I said and hurried to my car.

As I drove through the night to get Julia, the city had an eerie atmosphere about it. There were no other cars out on the road. The sidewalks were empty, the windows of all the houses were dark, and even the low volume of the car radio couldn’t chase away the silence. It reminded me of the beginnings of all those horror movies I’d never let Ryan watch when he was little. That ominous stillness that could only mean all hell was about to break loose.

He was most likely okay, I assured myself. If something was genuinely wrong, I’d probably have heard already by way of one of those phone calls no parent ever wants to receive.

Relax, Morris. You’re overreacting.

Odds were, wherever he was, my son was just fine. Probably just hanging out in a friend’s basement or an all-night restaurant.

Probably.

Years as a firefighter had allowed my mind to accumulate a gory, horrifying film reel of possibilities, and no matter how much I tried to think of anything else, that film kept playing in my head. Fires, wrecks, parties getting dangerously out of hand. And it all kept going back to one image that had been seared into my brain for the last seven years.

My crew had responded to a prom-night car crash. There were a few every year, and they were never pretty. This one was bad. Real bad. Group of kids had some drinks, drove too fast and crossed the yellow line. The two drivers were killed instantly. One passenger died on the pavement under flashing red lights. The other three survived, but to my knowledge, at least one of them never walked again.

But the worst part, the part I’d never been able to forget, was when the father of one of the kids showed up. I never knew how he found out, if one of the conscious kids had called their own parents on a cell phone and the message was spread, but somehow, this father caught wind.

In a panic, he’d pushed past the cops and the police line. The commotion had caught my attention, and I’d looked up from extricating his daughter from the crumpled wreckage. I’d looked up just in time to see him at the exact moment he realized what had happened.

The precise moment when he realized his little girl was gone.

In all my life, I’d never heard a more anguished cry, and the man fell to his knees on the glass-covered pavement. Thank God the girl’s face was covered, but her father must have recognized her car. Or maybe he just knew.

Ever since that night, I’d dreaded Ryan’s teen years for more reasons than hormones and attitude. Yeah, my son was probably safely hanging out with his friends tonight just like that girl and her friends had just gone to their senior prom.

I shuddered and kept driving.

Julia was waiting on her front porch when I pulled up. By the time I stopped, she was halfway to the passenger door, and as soon as she was in, I shifted into reverse.

“Any idea where he might be?” I asked.

“No,” she said, pulling her seat belt across her lap. “He didn’t say a word.”

“Did you try calling Kristy’s parents?”

“No, Don,” she snapped. “I just called you and figured I’d let you do all the legwork.”

An equally irritated retort stopped at the tip of my tongue. This wasn’t the time, so I calmly said, “It was just a question, Julia. I just want to find him.”

She exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m…worried about him.”

“Me too.” I slowed to a stop at an intersection. “Why don’t we start with his friends’ houses and go from there?”

“Good idea,” she said quietly.

In theory, Ryan could have been anywhere, but I was familiar enough with his habits to know a few places to start.

Kristy’s house was dark, and Julia’s car was nowhere to be seen. Jon’s and Vince’s places were dark and quiet. So was Aidan’s. There were a handful of restaurants and twenty-four-hour coffee shops they frequented, and Julia and I checked all of them. Nothing.

Downtown, we scoured the parking garage across from Gameworks twice, and there was no sign of Julia’s car. Still, they could have taken someone else’s, so we parked and went inside.

Julia went upstairs to check the old-school arcade games and air-hockey tables. I went through the bottom floor, the café and the multi-player racing games. No sign of Ryan or any of his friends. When I caught up with Julia on the second floor, she shook her head.

My earlier irritation faded in favor of concern. If I’d have found him at any of his usual haunts, he’d have gotten an earful, but now I wasn’t angry as much as worried. We drove around town, retracing some of our previous steps.

While I drove, worry got the better of me, and I had Julia call around to a few of the local hospitals. Part of me felt stupid for taking that panicked step, but I couldn’t deny the mix of relief and renewed concern every time she told me that no, Ryan Morris had not been admitted to an ER.

After she’d called the last one, she dropped my phone in the cup holder and stared out the window.

We retraced our steps one more time. All the houses were still dark and silent. Julia’s car still wasn’t parked outside any of the restaurants. A third sweep of the Gameworks parking garage and, for good measure, the on-street parking on every surrounding block, came up empty.

At around one in the morning, I muttered, “Shit, I don’t know where else to look. Is there
anywhere
you think he might have gone?”

She took a deep breath. “Maybe we should try some of the clubs. The ones down in Holden Square.”

“Why Holden?”

“They’re cheap and not very strict about IDs,” she said. “And the kids…”

“What?”

The leather upholstery creaked as she fidgeted. “From what I’ve heard, it’s the place to go for anyone who’s underage that wants to get their hands on booze, E, pot, stuff like that.”

I cringed. My sixteen-year-old? In those seedy, substance-saturated clubs?

“And you didn’t think to mention this before now?” I growled.

“I didn’t think our son would be into that shit,” she threw back. “Unless you know something I don’t?” She glared at me.

“No,” I said. “No, I’m sorry. Let’s just go see if he’s there.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

Steeling myself, not sure if I hoped we did or didn’t find him there, I turned down a side street. Neither Julia nor I spoke on the way to Holden Square, which was in one of the less savory parts of town. I tried not to think of all the calls I’d responded to down here. Alcohol poisoning, alcohol-induced brawls, alcohol-fueled crashes. Cars wrapped around telephone poles. Violence between drug dealers or users. This city wasn’t the most dangerous city in the States, but shit happened here just like anywhere else, and I got to see a great deal of it firsthand.

I prayed to God I wouldn’t see any such thing tonight.

“Don.” Julia gestured out the passenger side. I craned my neck, and my heart skipped.

Parked in front of a closed bookstore was her car.

“Question is,” she said, “where are they?”

“Don’t know.” I glanced at the clock. “But we’ve only got about forty minutes before they close down and kick everyone out.”

“Why don’t you go check the clubs,” she said. “I’ll stay here in case they come back for the car.”

“Good idea.” I parked, and as I started to get out, Julia stopped me.

“Thank you, Don,” she said. “For…”

One foot still out the door, I turned to her. “Julia, he’s my son too.”

“I know, but…” She sighed, avoiding my eyes.

I put my hand over hers. “We’re supposed to work together on these things. It’s just as much my responsibility as yours.”

She looked at me and, after a moment, nodded. “Still…thank you.”

“I’m just glad you called me.” I leaned across the console. “Come here.”

She hesitated, but then met me halfway, and I hugged her for the first time in years.

“Call me if he comes back to the car,” I said softly, still holding on to her. “I’ll let you know if I find him.”

“Okay.” Julia pulled back. “Go. The clubs will be closing soon.”

I handed her my car keys, got out of the car and headed into the cluster of clubs.

The establishments in Holden Square had a deal where a patron could pay the cover for one club, then get into any of the other clubs by flashing their bracelet. At least that made it easier for me to get in and search the clubs.

At the door of the first club, the bouncer stopped me and demanded ten dollars for the cover-charge bracelet. He didn’t, however, ask to see my ID. I hoped to God it was only because I looked well past twenty-one. Or because I was still in uniform.

Bracelet on, I went into the first club. No luck. By the time I’d finished searching the second, frustration had me grinding my teeth and ready to put my fist through a wall. By the third, worry had begun creeping back in. I’d be angry with him later, I told myself. For now, I just wanted to get him out of this place and safely home. I’d been to clubs like these in my younger days. It was no place for a sixteen-year-old.

I checked my phone for any messages or calls from Julia, but there were none.

In the fourth club, I brushed past the line for the coat check and wandered into the club itself. The only continuous lighting was the backlight above the bar, illuminating the various colorful bottles of the kinds of things I drank well before my twenty-first. Had I really expected Ryan to hold out until twenty-one when I hadn’t?

I shuddered, squinting as I searched for him amidst shadows and strobe lights. If he drank before twenty-one, I could grudgingly live with it. Before seventeen, not so much.

And if he’d gotten into this place, there was a good chance he could get away with ordering a drink. A drink or God only knew what else.

The more I swam through this crowd of partiers, the more my stomach turned at the thought of my son being among them. A good many of them were drunk. The girls were mostly half-dressed, if that. Probably more than a few people had taken something a hell of a lot stronger than alcohol. Those who danced might as well have been fucking, and those who weren’t dancing found corners, booths, walls and barstools and damn near
were
fucking.

The blasting music and flickering lights promised a hell of a headache the next morning, but I didn’t care. They did, however, make it difficult to distinguish between people. Or, more importantly, to find the one I was looking for.

Worse, I probably stuck out like a sore thumb. I was quite a bit older than most of the people here, and I looked the part. Even with my jacket obscuring my uniform shirt, I was hardly club-ready. If Ryan or Kristy saw me, they could make a quick exit before I found them.

In a way, I hoped they’d do just that. If they saw me, that meant they weren’t preoccupied like the people on and off the dance floor. It meant they were lucid enough to recognize me.

I scanned the dance floor. Walked along all three bars. Checked the side rooms. The hall beside the restrooms. The second floor. Three times, I thought I saw him. Twice, I thought I saw her. Every time, I was wrong.

Heart pounding, I went back up to the second floor. Up here, there were a couple of rooms that were marginally quieter than the main part of the club. The lighting was equally migraine-inducing, but no one seemed to notice. They sat in pairs and groups, their drinks, clothes and teeth glowing in the black light. Some carried on conversations; some made out on the garish, graffiti-covered chairs and sofas. The room smelled vaguely of sweat and marijuana, the latter being just a hint as if someone had walked through with the smell on their clothes.

And there I found them.

Up against a wall, getting way too close for my comfort even if they weren’t in a place like this. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she stopped kissing him long enough to look at me.

At first, my heart skipped, thinking this wasn’t the right pair after all. The girl wasn’t Kristy, though. She also wasn’t sixteen. Probably hadn’t been for some time.

She wasn’t Kristy, but he was most definitely my son.

“Dad?” Ryan scoffed with a combination of rage and horror. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Leaving,” I snapped. “And so are you.”