I hurried over to the lockers, saw the broken lock, dangling. Everything was still there. Except the hummingbird. I’d known this could happen. I’d tried to steel myself to the possibility. But the absence was stark.

My locker wasn’t the only victim. They’d gone down the line, busting off the locks. Saving Charlie a major repair bill: only a couple dozen people bothered to use locks.

“When did it happen?”

“I don’t know. They jimmied the door in the night. I came in, stuff was all over the place. I just finished cleaning up.”

“Do you have surveillance footage?”

The look Charlie gave me was incredulous. A lot of people used that gym because Charlie said he didn’t use cameras.

“Here’s the license number of that SUV I saw hanging around. Someone else saw it again yesterday.” He handed me a scrap of paper.

“Thank you, Charlie!”

But I should’ve realized he wasn’t looking at me in a friendly way. Or I wouldn’t have said what I said next.

“Do you know people who could hide something for me?” I was thinking of the journal in my purse.

“Know people? Know what people?” With scorn. “No. Get the hell out. Take your bag of junk with you.”

I straightened up. I was one step behind what was happening. Again. The panic returned. Hard to doubt his tone. Something about the contempt for my go-bag hit harder. Like he’d always been judging me.

“Charlie—”

“You leave now and you don’t come back here. For a good long time. I don’t want any part of what this is. Remember— I told you someone was following you.”

A gut punch. But it made me mad, too. Reflexive. Like, I didn’t understand the old world was receding from me.

“No, I’m not going to do that. I’ve been a member of this gym for—”

“Leave or I’ll call the cops,” he said. “Trespassing.”

“What the fuck, Charlie!” Call the cops … on the one who’d been robbed. Unfair. Like I was playing a role where I was the innocent.

“Cops or get the fuck out!”

I knew he’d do it. The expression on his face told me. The set of his body, like he wanted to punch me. And that’s when I knew for sure Charlie owned the place. And it was all he had.

“Can I come back when—”

“Get the fuck out.”

So I got the fuck out.

[43]

Halfway back up the hill, I realized someone had followed me from the gym. A glimpse back revealed a bulky man in a suit. Shitty haircut for dull brown hair, washed-out features. Very wide shoulders. Maybe fifty and a powerful build, only a bit gone to fat. Laboring on the incline. Built for a different kind of labor.