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Layne Parrish sipped an Imperial Stout while his daughter Cameron unleashed a fierce attack on the page with a blue crayon. She colored a helicopter with wanton disregard for the lines. Blue everywhere. The blades, the cockpit, the landing skids.
Layne had tried to help guide her aim, but she didn’t seem interested. At four years old, staying inside the lines was a little beyond her grasp. In the end, what did it matter? There would be time to color inside the lines later. Carpe diem.
Across the table from them at Sunshine Brewing Company in Redding, California, Inessa Parrish sat. Actually, not so much sat as perched on her chair with a scowl on her face. Of the three Parrishes at the table, Inessa seemed to be the only one not having a good time.
She had the same last name as Layne, but she was not currently related. His ex-wife. She was long and tall, with high cheekbones and sharp blonde hair. Almost as sharp as her Russian accent. It had been years since she’d bothered to soften the edge of her voice when speaking to Layne, but that was to be expected.
“Cameron, eat your chicken fingers,” Inessa said.
“I wanna save it for later,” Cam said, not looking up at her mother. Inessa’s scowl deepened, and Layne decided not to get involved. He remembered hearing the “starving children in Africa” line from his mother many times in his youth, and it had never made sense to him back then. What did eating all his peas and carrots have to do with downtrodden kids in Africa?
He was a third wheel on this trip away from Colorado, anyway. Same hotel, different room, taking care of Cam during the days while Inessa would work. She was in town to do a few woodsy photo shoots for a clothing line, and Layne had tagged along since he had nothing better to do.
At least, that was the reason he’d given Inessa for tagging along. He did have an ulterior motive to visit Redding he hadn’t shared with her. The timing had worked out perfectly since he’d intended to come here anyway for a couple years now.
“New ink?” Inessa asked, her eyes focusing on a particular section of the tattoos blanketing his arms from wrist to shoulder.
Layne shook his head. “Not for a while, now. Same ones.”
Most of their conversations were like this. Short, strained, not ending well. That was fine with Layne because he wasn’t here to spend time with Inessa or do any sort of work to repair their relationship. Only Cam. Everything was for Cam.
When they’d arrived a couple days ago, Inessa had brought up that age-old topic of how Layne could afford to go gallivanting around the country and not have to work. After all, he was retired, not only from a particular nameless government agency but also retired from his post-retirement security consulting business. Double retired from two jobs not known for being lucrative. Inessa had brought it up, and Layne had once again opted not to answer her questions. Since then, they’d said maybe thirty words to each other.
He drained the rest of his beer and stood, not able to reach his full 6’4” due to the low-hanging light fixture thing above the table.
“Daddy, where are you going?”
“Potty,” he said, brushing his daughter’s blonde hair out of her eyes. “Maybe you can finish the helicopter and we can both color the dolphin on the next page together when I get back.”
She pursed her lips in consideration and then nodded her consent. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and scooted out from the chair. The Sunshine Brewing Company was a huge, open room, with enormous ceilings and wood everywhere. Like many restaurants in the area, bear-related paraphernalia decorated the walls. The touristy places seemed to portray a wilderness-soaked vision of Northern California. Layne had only been here a couple days, so he was still getting a feel for the city. It reminded him a lot of Boulder, where he kept a condo to be close to his daughter and to make joint custody easier.
He strolled over to a large window overlooking the city. A bike path led out, with a Saturday morning California sun rising overhead. Blue sky met the horizon with a thin sheen of yellow that might have been far away smog. Cyclists rolled by with mountains in the background, water from the Sacramento River glistening like diamonds as it cut through the middle of his view. A pretty city.
But, Layne wasn’t here only to see the sights and spend time with his daughter. Despite what his ex-wife thought, he did have a motive for coming to Redding, specifically. He was on the hunt for a man who he used to know as “Thorny.” Real name Jonah Bramble. A man who had cut off all communications after he’d disappeared about six years ago, only a week before Layne himself had retired from the organization they’d both worked for.
Jonah had been spotted in Redding. CCTV footage had shown him coming out the back of this restaurant, actually, about eighteen months ago. Layne needed to seek out Jonah. To find him and ask why he hadn’t been in touch. It wasn’t uncommon for ex-shadows to retire quietly with no social media and no cards at Christmas, but Jonah had become completely invisible.
Layne wanted to know why. He needed to ask Jonah why he hadn’t surfaced. And, to ask him if their shared secret still belonged only to the two of them.
Layne hunted around for the bathroom and saw a sign carved into varnished wood pointing him toward the area with the massive stainless steel vats. He found the men’s and women’s, but when he pushed on the door, the men’s was locked. So, he waited. As he did, he looked on the opposite wall from the bathroom, where a collection of framed pictures covered most of the wall leading into the kitchen. They were like class pictures, rows of employees all smiling for the camera in their tie-dyed work t-shirts. Layne skimmed over their faces.
And then, something caught his eye. A face among the crowd. Initially, it stood out because the man in the picture looked older than the average staffer. Amid the smiling twenty-somethings was a man closer to Layne’s forty-plus, with a thick blond beard and glasses.
But, the face was unmistakable. Jonah Bramble, a man Layne had last worked with in New Orleans on his second-to-last operation, six years ago.
“Hey,” said a voice to Layne’s left. He turned to find a young man with a pencil sticking out from behind one ear, and a half-apron across his waist. Waiter. He looked about half Layne’s age. Tall kid, taut, with muscles pulling his tie-dye shirt across his chest. College kid, maybe, or maybe someone living the waiter lifestyle to avoid college.
“What do you bench?” the kid asked.
The fact that Layne had a bodybuilder’s frame often invited this question, and Layne didn’t usually mind answering it. He was a gym rat, but not the boastful sort. Not the kind who posted videos of all his workouts on social media. That seemed more like something this kid would do.
“Not as much as I used to, man, that’s for sure.”
The kid gave a polite laugh. “I hear you.”
Layne knew the waiter had no idea what he meant by that, but he would, in about twenty years. He pointed at the picture containing Jonah Bramble. “There’s no date on this one. When was this picture taken?”
The kid squinted at it. “We do one twice a year, usually. Spring and fall. That one was three years ago, I think? Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Are you in it?”
“Yeah, dude, that’s me in the second row.”
Layne pointed at Jonah’s face. “You know this guy?”
The kid leaned in closer. “Oh yeah, I remember that guy. Wade.”
“Wade? That’s his name?”
“For sure. He was the oldest guy in the kitchen. Kinda quiet, you know? He was also pretty funny, if you could actually get him to talk. He was working on a certification or something, so he was here part-time. Mostly nights and weekends.”
Layne studied Jonah, also known on the team as Thorny, who had morphed into Wade while in California, for some reason. “Does he still work here?”
“No way. He took off a long time ago. A year, at least. One day, he didn’t show up. No notice or anything like that, so we were all kinda pissed when we had to pick up his slack. But, you know, that’s the restaurant life.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“I heard he finished getting his certification or whatever and went to work at Hillcrest.”
“Hillcrest.”
The kid nodded. “Yeah. The looney bin place past Pine Grove. I know they help people up there or whatever, but it looks like something out of a horror movie.” The kid’s eyes darted left and right, and he took the pencil from behind his ear. “Now, uh, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a lot of tables.”
Layne turned back to the picture, staring at Jonah. With a beard and glasses, he would have been unrecognizable to most. Was it actually Jonah? If so, why was he going by a different name?
Layne looked again, leaning in closer. Definitely Jonah.
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