Enrique’s smile has just upended, but I don’t think it’s because of Miguel’s commentary. “Why do you ask?”
“Then youdoknow JMB?” says Dane.
“I know most of our regulars,” says Enrique, looking them both up and down. “And I know they like their privacy.”
Dane takes a long swig of his beer. “We totally get that.”
Beside him, Miguel’s shaking his head. “We’re not asking for his Social Security number or anything. But are you aware that Jonathan may be missing?”
Enrique’s eyes go buggy. “Missing? I thought he was on vacation or something.”
“He didn’t show up for an event at our store a couple days ago,” says Dane. “And nobody seems to know where he is.”
Miguel gives Dane a look, which probably means he’s revealed too much. “Does he ever talk about his writing with you?” he asks Enrique.
“Um, I’m not sure how much I should say.”
“I promise, we’re here to help,” Miguel tells him.
Enrique sighs, then says, “Jon never said anything about his books, and none of our regulars ever bugged him about that stuff. He liked that. Mostly we talk about the White Sox, sometimes the Bulls during the offseason. But usually baseball.”
Dane and Miguel immediately turn to each other. “I thought Jonathan didn’t like sports,” says Miguel.
“Trust me, he’s into the game—big-time. The guy knows more stats than anyone I’ve ever met. You can be like, ‘Hey, how many strikeouts did Loaiza have last season?,’ and he’ll just rattle the numbers right off.” Enrique looks over his shoulder. “Let me grab her a drink,” he says, nodding toward a woman on the other side of the bar. “I’ll be back.”
“What do you think?” Dane whispers to Miguel.
“What I think is that that’s super strange. Sports? Baseball stats? I’ve never once heard him mention that in an interview.”
“Well, like that Fiona chick said, he’s pretty private.”
“Chicks are prepubescent fowl, Dane. Fiona’s a woman,” Miguel says.
“Yeah, she is,” says Dane, wiggling his eyebrows. Miguel’s just opened his mouth to respond when Enrique reappears.
“You good on beer?” he asks.
“Great, thanks,” says Miguel.
“But while we have you…” Dane pulls a book out of his backpack and passes it to Enrique. “You sure this is the same dude you’re talking about?” he says, pointing to the photo on the back cover.
“Where’d you get that?” Miguel asks him.
“Uh, there’s this super cool little shop in a town called West Haven that sells books? You heard of it?”
Miguel shakes his head, but Enrique’s peering at the paperback. He looks up. “Unless he’s got a diabolical twin who also goes by Jon, that’s him. I know people recognize him sometimes—but in here, he’s just a guy who likes to watch the game and have a beer, and that’s really all I know. I guess you could ask Vik, but I haven’t seen him in a while, either.”
“Who’s Vik?” Dane and Miguel say in unison.
“Jon’s friend. They come in here together a lot, or at least they did. Hey, sorry, but I’ve got to help these people,” he says, referring to the group that just streamed in from outside. “Nice to meet you both.”
“Of course. Thanks for your time,” says Miguel.
Dane’s just scribbled something on a napkin, which he hands to Enrique. “Do us a solid and call us if you hear anything about JMB—uh, Jonathan.”
Enrique shoves it into his back pocket. “If I do and he’s okay with my calling you, sure. But Jon’s a great guy. If he didn’t show up to your store, he had a good reason.”
“I hope you’re right,” says Miguel, standing from his barstool. Just under his breath, he adds, “But I’d like to be the judge of that.”
