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Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. Discover More
  41. About the Author
  42. Also by Richard Lange

“As I was telling your wife, the same thing happened to my son,” I said. “A small incision over the jugular vein. Very neat. Very precise.”

“Stop,” the woman wailed.

“Call Sergeant Emory,” the man said to her and stepped onto the porch. He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away and backed down the stairs.

“I want to help you,” I said.

He kept coming. I grabbed his arm, turned, and flipped him over my shoulder with a throw I learned in the Army. He landed hard, air whooshing out of him in a beery gust. I ran to the Econoline, climbed in, and sped away.

Figuring the police would be looking for me, I got on Interstate 5 headed south. This was my second visit to Portland in the past year, and I think it’s time to admit it’s a dead end. I’m not even sure how much time Benny spent there. It could have been a month, it could have been a quick layover on a bus on his way to somewhere else. The next postcard he sent you after Portland came from Reno. I’ve been there three times already, but I’ll go back and poke around again before working my way down to L.A.

I pulled into this truck stop shortly after crossing into California, parked between two big rigs, took a shower, and had chicken fried steak for dinner. Afterward I sat in the restaurant and read the local paper but found nothing new to add to the scrapbook.

I know what you’re thinking, baby: I need to work on my approach if I’m going to continue talking to folks who’ve been through what we have—and I am going to continue talking to them, because that might be the key to finding Benny’s killer. My desperation got the better of me today, and I came on too strong. I’ll ease into the subject next time, use more tact. I bought a book in the store here, one of those self-improvement guides. Maybe that’ll help.

TODAY’S PASSAGE: Always lead with a smile. A smile will open more doors (and hearts!) than the slickest patter.

—Listen, Respond, Win: A New Path to Success
by Dr. Christine Pellegrino

4

4

THE FIENDS ORDER BEER AND WHISKEY: SEVEN LONE STARS, seven shots. The old man behind the bar pours the Jack with a shaky hand.

“He scared or just decrepit?” Real Deal jokes with Yuma.

Yuma twists a lock of her long red hair around a finger and smiles at the bartender. “Kinda dead in here tonight, ain’t it?” she says.

There’s only one other customer besides the Fiends, another old man, this one in an Astros ball cap. He’s trying hard not to stare at the seven leather-jacketed savages who burst through the door of this nowheresville roadhouse and charged the air with evil electricity.