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I snort but appreciate the gesture. “Thanks. I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished with Lucky.”
Dex and I walk quickly out of the house and head toward the address where Lucky is expecting to meet Blue. On our way, I have confirmation from the men stationed at the Margaret Stone Center that Wren is perfectly fine, no one has attempted to visit her. Dex is driving and I text Blue to let her know that.
The diner, which is a hole in the wall, is exactly the kind of place I’d expect to do this kind of business. It’s almost cliché. The windows, which are tinted, don’t show me who’s inside, but I’m guessing the occupants of the diner can see out just fine. From the count of cars in the lot, the place isn’t too busy. I wonder which of the vehicles is Lucky’s.
We park in the farthest corner, backing the vehicle into the space so the front of the car faces the diner. Dex stays in the SUV while I climb out, noting the privacy the trees offer. I want to get Lucky outside. I head toward the diner, scanning the lot once more, then the cars parked across the street. This could be a setup by Girard for all I know. He could have men watching the diner, thinking she’d come.
I pull the door open and a bell chimes to announce my arrival. I stop just inside, scan the place. A waitress behind the counter looks up and I guess I’m a little different than the usual clientele because she does a double take.
“Come on in, handsome,’ she says. “Take a seat anywhere you like.”
I recognize Lucky from the mugshots Robbie got hold of. He’s sitting at the very back booth. We look at each other for a long minute. I take in his greasy dark hair, the unshaven face. He has a cup of coffee in front of him and he doesn’t look nearly as cocky as the postcard would have led me to believe. If anything, he looks to be in rough shape. The checkered button-down shirt he’s wearing is speckled with red and I get the feeling it’s not paint. That’s confirmed when he sets his left hand on the table and leans back in his seat. The hand is bandaged and not well, the white of the gauze is dirty, stained a deep red where his little finger and ring finger should be.
I clear my throat, walk toward Lucky’s booth.
“You’ve changed, Blue,” he says when I slide in across from him.
He’s tall, I can tell, even though he’s seated, and he’s lean. Almost too much so. I guess him to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties but he looks older.
“Lucky.”
“You’d be Ezekiel, am I right?”
“Now how would you know that?”
He grins, picks up his almost empty coffee cup and sips. “I have friends in high places.”
“Those friends do that?” I gesture to the bandage.
His grin vanishes as he glances at his hand. Was it Girard? Has he developed a taste for mutilation since he was so brutally disfigured?
“How’s my little Bluebird? She waiting in your fancy car?”
My eyes narrow and one corner of his mouth curves upward. He hit a nerve, and he knows it.
“She’s not here.”
He straightens, leans toward me. “Let me give you some advice, Ezekiel. Like mother like daughter. That little bitch will fuck you like she fucked me. Hell, you should probably check your bank account. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already emptied it.”
“Thanks for the advice. You and I have business.”
“Can I get you something, handsome?” The waitress who was behind the counter asks me as she pours fresh coffee for Lucky and sets a big slice of apple pie in front of him.
“No, thank you,” I tell her, never taking my eyes off Lucky.
“Well, if you change your mind, just holler and I’ll come running,” she says with a wink.
“I bet you will,” Lucky says. “Took her long enough to get my pie,” he bitches when she gives him a sneer before walking back to the counter. He turns to me. “You were saying.” He slices into his pie and puts a forkful into his mouth. I see the yellowing teeth, the missing one at the bottom. He closes his eyes as he chews and makes an appreciative sound. “Haven’t had pie like this in a long time.” He wipes his mouth, puts his fork down. “They don’t bake in prison.”
“No, I guess they don’t. How did you find Blue? Who’s helping you?”
Lucky shoves more pie into his hole and studies me as he chews with his mouth open. I try not to look.
“A friend. Why didn’t my daughter come? I really would have loved to see her. It’s been years.”
“She didn’t want to see you. Which friend is helping you?”
“The one who wants what’s on my laptop which that little bitch of mine stole. You have it? Didn’t expect to see you walk in here empty-handed.”
