The chances of Celine passing through the first place we try were slim, you know that. What the guy in the store did tell me was that there’s a bar between here and the ruins where some of the local desperados hang out. The bar’s a good call, I reckon. You fancy getting acquainted with some of the shady locals?”

“Damn right. It stands to reason that the local bad boys would know something about missing kids, even if they’re not directly involved.”

“Then let’s go ask some questions. It’s about ten miles on the south road out of town. The guy in the store said we can’t miss it, the bar’s got a statue of a big red cow outside.”

“Did he say which road to take?”

“Aye, back two blocks and turn right. Then it’s a single-track road all the way to the bar. The same road goes all the way to the ruins and back to Highway 293.”

The engine rumbled as Clay steered the Jeep in a tight arc and sped to the required corner. He slowed to allow another kid on a bicycle to cross the corner, then made the same turn.

A mangy-looking dog with a dime-sized hole in its left ear stood impassively in the middle of the road. The bedraggled canine made no effort to evade the oncoming vehicle. The road was too narrow to drive around the stubborn animal. Clay tooted the Jeep’s horn twice. The dog stared back with eyes like marbles but refused to move. Its tail moved in slow motion, tracing a lazy arc in the air.

Danny reached into the bag of assorted of snacks in the rear footwell. He stepped out of the Jeep. “Give me a second.”

Danny opened a packet of potato chips and held one towards the immobile mutt. “Come on, boy. You want some? Come on, then.” Danny threw the chip towards the dog, who snapped it up before it landed.

Danny held out another. The dog took a single slow forward step, its eyes fixed on the treat. Danny moved back to the roadside and squatted down. The dog hobbled over on tired legs but accepted the remaining chips with apparent gratitude, its tail swishing in a tight motion. Clay watched as Danny ruffled the fur between its ears and the dog rolled over onto its side. A jagged line of scar tissue marked the dog’s ribs. The mutt had certainly been through the wars. Danny climbed back into the Jeep.

“You owe me a packet of chips.”

“Quit your jiving and let’s get driving.”

“Wow, poetry. This trip just gets better and better. Quit your jiving… who said that, Keats?”

“Will Smith, I think. Big Willie style an’ all that.”

Clay pointed below the steering wheel. “I’ve got your big willie style right here.”

“Just get driving or I’ll use those nuts of yours like a boxer’s speedball.”

Clay shook his head in mock hurt but kept his foot on the gas.

13

The statue of the red cow was the only thing about the bar that looked like it had seen a lick of paint in the previous century.