The Narrows

me.
    " San Francisco," I lied, just to see if I'd get a reaction.
    " San Francisco? What's up there?"
    "I don't know. But I think that's where he went on that last trip."
    "Must've taken the dirt road way."
    "Maybe."
    There was nothing readily apparent in the Cherokee that gave me a second thought. The car was in clean condition. There was a faintly sour odor. It smelled like the windows had been left open during a rainstorm at some point. I opened the compartment between the two front seats and found two pairs of sunglasses, a pack of breath-freshening gum and a small, plastic action figure toy. I handed it out the door behind me to Lockridge.
    "You left your superhero in here, Buddy."
    He didn't take it.
    "Funny. That's from McDonald's. There ain't one over there on the island, so the first thing they do when they get over here is take the kids to Mickey D's. It's like crack, man. They get the kids hooked on those French fries and shit early and then they're hooked for life."
    "There are worse things."
    I put the plastic hero back into the compartment and closed it. I leaned further in so I could reach across to open the glove box.
    "Hey, you want me to come with you? Maybe I could help."
    "No, that's okay, Buddy. I'm leaving right from here." "Hell, I could be ready in five minutes. I mean, I'll just put some clothes in a bag."
    The glove box contained another plastic figure and operating manuals for the car. There was also a box containing a book on tape called The Tin Collectors. There was nothing else. This stop was turning into a bust. All I was getting out of it was Buddy pushing to be my partner. I pulled back out of the car and straightened up. I looked at Lockridge.
    "No, thanks, Buddy. I'm working this alone."
    "Hey, I helped Terry, man. It wasn't like in the movie where I was made out to be the creep who-"
    "Yeah, yeah, I know, Buddy. You told me all of that. This has got nothing to do with that. I just work alone. Even with the cops. That's the way I was, that's the way lam."
    I thought of something and leaned back into the car, checking the windshield on the passenger side for a sticker like the one seen in the photo of the Zzyzx Road sign on McCaleb's computer. There was no sticker or anything else in the lower corner of the windshield. It was another confirmation that McCaleb had not taken the photo.
    I backed out of the car, walked around and opened the rear hatch. The storage compartment was empty except for a pillow shaped like a cartoon character named SpongeBob SquarePants. I recognized it because my daughter was a SpongeBob fan and I, too, enjoyed watching the show with her. I guessed he was a favorite in the McCaleb home, too.
    I then went to one of the rear doors and looked into the passenger compartment. Clean again, but I noticed in the pocket behind the front passenger seat there was a map book that could be reached from the driver's seat. I pulled it out and paged through it, careful not to let Buddy see what I was looking at.
    On the page for southern Nevada I noticed that the map included parts of contiguous states. In California, near the southwest corner of Nevada, someone had drawn a circle around the Mojave Preservation Area. And on the right border of the map someone had jotted down several numbers in ink, one above the other, and then added them together. The sum was 86. Below this was written "Actual-92."
    "What is it?" Lockridge asked, looking through the car at me from the other passenger door.
    I closed the map book and dropped it on the car seat.
    "Nothing. It looks like he wrote down some directions for one of his trips or something."
    I leaned into the car and then down so that I could look under the front passenger seat. I saw more McDonald's toys and some old food wrappers and other debris. Nothing that looked worthwhile. I got out and came around the other side, asking Buddy to step back so I could do the same thing with the driver's seat.
    Beneath the driver's seat there was more debris but I noticed several small crumpled balls of paper. I reached under and swept these out so I could see them. I opened one up and smoothed it out and saw that it was a credit-card receipt for a purchase of gas in Long Beach. It was dated almost a year earner.
    "You don't check under the seats when you clean the car, do you, Buddy?" "They never asked me to," he said defensively. "Besides, I really just take care of the outside."
    "Oh, I see."
    I started unraveling the rest of the paper