EarthrBro_99: I’ll tell you. But only in person.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Not even by phone?

EarthrBro_99: Can’t.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Why?

No answer.

Now I was starting to see the angles. The classic catfish move. Someone poses as someone else online in order to lure a mark out into the real world and defraud them. As the possible catch, I was sniffing a fat wad of stink-bait.

At the same time, we had a shared experience defined by obscure knowledge of a mysterious item. I had never posted about the Chime online alongside anything that could identify me. Never as Flyguy. So it wasn’t like he could have targeted me. He wasn’t asking for money or favors.²⁵ Couldn’t be kidnapping, because I had no money and no one I know could pay a ransom. So that only left murder, really. But why go through all the effort to target someone like me if that’s the play?

>O)))<<Flyguy: Where do you live?

EarthrBro_99: Long haul trucking. I live everywhere, nowhere. You?

>O)))<<Flyguy: Central Kansas.

EarthrBro_99: I-70 is my east-west.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Is that like your route?

EarthrBro_99: Yeah. I should be through there in four days or so. If you can get near Junction City, Salina, Hays, Colby, or somewhere close, we can meet up and I’ll give you the low down on the Chime.

>O)))<<Flyguy: Why do you even care if I know the truth?

EarthrBro_99: Tbh I don’t, really. I just want to meet another one. I’ve been searching for years. Maybe we put our heads together and figure out what’s what. Some common experience. I don’t know.

>O)))<<Flyguy: I feel the same way.

EarthrBro_99: I’ll dm you when and where. Over and out.

I hammered out a few excited responses and deleted them, as that seemed a tad aggressive for the sensibilities of a long-haul trucker. Didn’t want to spook my new friend.

I cycled up and read the chat over once more, then deleted the entries, and logged out. EarthrBro had advised discretion. Best to follow suit.

Exactly four days later I got a direct message while working at the shop.

EarthrBro_99: Susank. Tonight. Between 2-3am. Gravel lot by the big grain silo south side of street. Sorry couldn’t do earlier, that’s just when I’ll be passing through.

Susank. Half an hour from me here in Great Bend, but it wasn’t on I-70 either. About twenty miles south of it. I stared at the message as two coequal thoughts fired my synapses. One was that Susank would definitely be the place to go if you wanted to keep things on the downlow. I’d driven through while scouting creeks. It had one cross street, a stop sign, and no gas station. The second thing that came to mind was that it was also a perfect spot to get kidnapped or murdered, or kidnap-murdered. So, on the one hand, I might learn the truth about myself. On the other, I might end up a deviant trucker’s DIY taxidermied sex mannequin.²⁶

I spied Jim, back in the store, absentmindedly spinning a rack. “Helpya find something, Jim?”