“I don’t know, Bob.”
“You don’t know?”
Mike blew his nose on a paper napkin. “Sometimes we’re convinced that a particular action is exclusively the product of a reasoning process, don’t you agree? But then—it could be a long time afterward—we start to doubt. That good testimonial you gave to a student taxidermist, was that justified? Or was it out of pity for someone whose talent you know is little more than mediocre? Or your teenage daughter’s boyfriend, the one you more or less implied to her you weren’t too crazy about—was it really like you said, because he seemed so clueless? Or was it out of the anxiety any father feels at the prospect of losing his daughter? It’s not easy to know the answer when you have contradictory emotions struggling inside you.”
Bob looked out the window. It had already grown darker in the short time they had been sitting there. Light from passing cars was reflected in the raindrops on the parked cars. With a loudslurping noise the last of the vanilla milkshake disappeared up the straw.
“Know what the people around here call this McDonald’s?”
“What?” asked Bob, but never heard the answer because his phone rang. He saw it was from Kari.
“Hi, sweetie, what’ve you got for me?”
“The call to Mike Lunde’s cell phone was from a phone booth.”
Bob noted the address on a napkin beneath a paper cup. “You’re an angel, Kari.”
“Such good news that your suspension’s been canceled.”
“Thanks.” Bob ended the call and looked at the address he had written down. Visualized a map of the city center. “Looks like Tomás Gomez called from a phone booth a block away from your store.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. It dawned on Bob.
“You know what, Mike? He was on his way to the store. He saw me sitting waiting outside. He must’ve figured I was a cop and run off.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. And then he called you just to get confirmation of what he already suspected. That you’ve been talking to us. Damn.” Bob grabbed the paper cup and crushed it in his hand. Drops of vanilla milkshake dripped down from the straw and onto the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
“Sorry for what?”
“That I pressured you into doing this, put you in the line of fire. Because you’re in danger now. You do get that, right?”
Mike shook his head.
“No?” Bob licked the back of his hand.
“Tomás isn’t hunting for people who are hunting him. He understands they’re just doing what they have to do. He already knows who his targets are, and I’m not one of them, Bob.”
“If you say so. What makes you so sure about that?”
“McDeath.”
“McDeath?”
“That’s what they call this McDonald’s here. The crack gangs used to hang out here. This is where Tomás was eating that night, with his family.”
Bob stared at Mike a moment and then looked around the half-full restaurant. “So his family was killedhere?”
“He said they were sitting at the table nearest the door, so it must’ve been that one over there.” Mike pointed. “He said he was happy that evening. It was his daughter’s birthday, she was the one who insisted they go to McDonald’s. He didn’t know this was a gang hangout, he’d just driven by a few times and noticed they had a parking lot. It was a perfect evening. There were balloons, the kids sang a song they’d been taught in elementary school, he and his wife Monica sat there dreaming about the future. Where they were going to live, if the kids should go to university, et cetera. About how lucky they were to live in a land that offered so many opportunities for anyone who was prepared to make an effort. A country that gives you a chance no matter whether you’re black, brown or white, if you sit in a wheelchair or you don’t come from a rich family. You could make it even if your immigration papers weren’t yet in order, because as long as youwilledit hard enough, you knew things would work out. Tomás had what he thought was an unshakable faith in the future. But as things turned out it took only thirty or forty seconds to shake it to its foundations. He used to say he wished I could have known the person he was back then. That I would have liked him. But that he no longer exists, that person no longer exists. He died here that day, along with his family. The man sitting in front of me was just his ghost.”
Bob looked at a couple sitting at a nearby table. Their daughter couldn’t have been much older than Frankie. “Is that why you picked this place for us to meet, Mike?”
“It’s actually on my way home, but maybe. Probably.”
“And what is it supposed to show me, this place?”
“That it could’ve been you or me. It could have been you sitting here with your family that evening, Bob.”
