Page 57 of Smitty

He eased off the gas right in front of a rundown house with an old metal carport. There was a bright red nylon sign tied to the rails that read, Best Breakfast Burritos in Town. The words were painted by hand in faded yellow letters, and a picture of eggs and bacon was beneath them.

The driveway ran straight through the open carport and out the back, and there was a split door that entered the house. The top half was open, and a single yellow light glowed inside. That was the only indication that the place was still open because there were certainly no customers streaming inside or even a car parked out front.

Nothing.

Just that light shining from the open half-door.

Drifter pulled right up like he was parked at a drive-thru and waited. I looked over at him and asked, “You sure this is a good idea?”

He ignored me and stared at the open door, and it wasn’t long before someone shuffled into view. The man looked to be at least seventy with olive skin that had been weathered by decades of sun and cigarette smoke. He had a scraggly gray beard that covered most of his face, and his faded plaid button-down hung wide open, revealing his thin torso.

When he spotted Drifter, he smiled, and I couldn’t help but notice all his missing teeth when he said, “Well, I’d be damned. I thought you’s was dead or somethin’, ol’ man.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Drifter scoffed.

“Nah, man.” The man shook his head. “It’s good to see ya. I was worried about ya.”

“Good to see you, too, Pete. It’s been a while.”

“Too long.” Pete lowered his head. “I’s heard about your girl and son. That was some tough luck.”

“Yes, it was, but that’s not why I’m here.” Pete’s brows furrowed. “There was a drive-by downtown last night… Prez got shot.”

“Damn. Stone okay?”

“He’d be better if he knew who did it.”

“I hear ya.” Pete scratched at the end of his beard. “But I ain’t heard nothing about it.”

“You will.” Drifter rested his arm on the window. “Guys like these like to brag, and when word gets back to you, I wanna know about it.”

“I gotcha.” Pete nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll make it worth your while when you do.”

“I know you will.”

Pete smiled again, and that smile grew even wider when Drifter told him, “We’ll take two burritos.”

“Now, you’re talkin’.” He started back inside. “Give me two shakes.”

He disappeared inside, and I sat there staring at that split door for longer than I cared to admit. “How the hell did you find this place?”

“A friend of a friend.”

“So, this friend just rolled into what looks like somebody’s garage and ordered a fucking burrito?”

“That’s right.”

“And was it you or your friend who figured out that this was the place to go for information?”

“That’d be me.” He shrugged. “One morning, me and Pete got to talking, and it didn’t take long to figure out that he was a good listener. And with the kind of folks rolling through here, that can come in handy.”

A few minutes later, Pete returned, carrying two foil-wrapped monsters that looked more like footballs than burritos. He handed them through the opening, and Drifter placed them on the dash. He pulled out a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and handed them over to Pete.

“Thanks, man.”

Pete looked down at the money and said, “That’s too much.”