Brett Battles - Little Girl Gone

Almost immediately the door began to swing shut. The guy was doing to Logan what Logan had been planning to do to him.

Logan pressed his hands and arms against the door, trying to stop it from shutting. But the man had the leverage, and the door kept getting closer and closer to sealing Logan in. Then, with just a few inches to go, it suddenly jammed to a halt. For several moments, the man continued pushing, trying to close the remaining gap, but the door wouldn’t budge.

There was a grunt of frustration, then the pressure from the other side ceased. Logan pushed the door open just in time to see the man grab Tooney and throw him into one of the storage racks, then race outside.

Stepping quickly out of the refrigerator, Logan spotted what had kept the door from closing. The Glock had caught between the door’s lower lip and the refrigerator frame. He scooped it up, and started for the rear exit, but a moan stopped him before he could get there.

Tooney was trying to get off the floor, but wasn’t having much luck. There was blood on the side of his head, and a dazed look in his eyes.

“Stay down,” Logan said as he knelt beside him. “I’ll call for an ambulance and let the Sheriff know what’s going on.”

Tooney jerked under Logan’s hand. “No,” he said. The look in his eyes wasn’t fear. It was terror. “No police. No ambulance. I be okay.”

Outside, the sedan’s engine started.

“Tooney, you’re hurt.”

Tooney sat up. “I’m okay. Just cut. Can clean myself. No problem. No police. Please, Logan. Don’t call them.”

Logan stared at the old man, confused.

“Please,” Tooney said again.

Though Tooney was injured, nothing looked fatal. Logan thought for a moment, then grabbed the keys he’d spotted earlier on Tooney’s desk, and headed toward the back door.

“What are you going to do?” Tooney asked.

But Logan was already outside, so even if he had an answer, Tooney wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

2

There were only two ways out of town—either north or south, both on the Pacific Coast Highway. North was the tourist direction, the scenic route. It went past Hearst Castle and then up a long, winding road through Big Sur to Monterey. It was a slow drive with few outlets for a hundred miles or more. The one to the south led to Morro Bay, then over to San Luis Obispo and the 101 Freeway. From there, the whole country opened up.

Logan barely paused at the red light before turning south. It was the only way Tooney’s attacker would have gone. Once on the highway, he jammed the accelerator to the floor, then pulled out his cell phone. But as hard as it was not to, he didn’t call the Sheriff or an ambulance.

“Jesus, Logan. What time is it?” his father asked, sounding half-asleep.

“Get over to Tooney’s café right away,” Logan told him. “Have Barney drive you. He used to be a doctor, right?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“You’ll need a first aid kit.”

“Logan, what happened?” Whatever sleep had been in Harp’s voice was gone.

Logan hesitated. “Tooney’s had an accident.”

He could hear his father throwing back his covers. “My God. Is it bad?”

“He didn’t think he needed an ambulance.” Logan knew it wasn’t exactly answering the question, but it was the best answer he could give.

“I’ll call Barney…Wait. Aren’t you there?”

“Not any more.”

“Why not? Where are you?”

“Just hurry, Dad,” Logan said, then hung up.

Nearly four minutes passed before he spotted the Lexus’ taillights climbing up the other end of the valley past the tiny town of Harmony. At least he hoped it was the Lexus. It was about the right distance away, and he couldn’t see any other lights further along.

He did his best to close the gap, but the other guy was driving a late model sedan, while Logan was trying to get all he could out of Tooney’s old Bronco. Still, he was able to trim the sedan’s lead to less than a mile by the time the other car disappeared over the lip of the valley.

After that, they entered a stretch of the road that wound through the hills toward the ocean, making it almost impossible for Logan to keep track of the other car. Every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of lights ahead, but that was it.

As the miles passed, night began to finally lose its grip on the land. On most days he would welcome the dawn, but not today. The taillights that had been easy to spot in the darkness were becoming harder and harder to pick out. Then, as the hills on the right fell away to reveal the bay, there were no lights ahead at all. Logan knew the guy still had to be up there somewhere, so he kept going, driving through Morro Bay, then inland to San Luis Obispo.

But not once did he see the Lexus again.

A block from the entrance to the freeway, he reluctantly pulled to the side of the road. There were just too many directions the man could have gone from there.

Logan had lost him.

For several minutes, he sat motionless, feeling the weight of his failure in his chest. He’d done it again. No matter what his intentions had been, he’d failed.

Finally, he put the Bronco back in gear, turned around, and headed for home.

Just as he passed the San Luis Obispo city limits, his cell rang, the display screen simply reading: DAD.

“Where are you?” his father asked.

“SLO, but I’m heading back now.” SLO was local slang for San Luis Obispo.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re coming there.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Logan noticed the distinct hum of tires coming from the other end of the line.

“Why?”

“Barney talked Tooney into letting us take him to the hospital.” Cambria was too small for its own hospital. The closest was in SLO. “He’s worried Tooney might have some internal bleeding, and he doesn’t want to take a chance. Me, he says, I only need a few stitches.”

That last part was such a matter-of-fact add-on that Logan almost missed it, but the second it sunk in he hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. “What do you mean stitches?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Over the line, he could hear Barney yell out. “He knocked his head against a storage rack when he tried to help Tooney stand up.”

“Dad! What the hell?”

“What the hell what ?”

“What the hell were you doing trying to help him up? You’re eighty years old!”

“I’m not eighty for three more months!”

“Dad!”

“What was I supposed to do? He couldn’t get up on his own.”

Logan rubbed a hand across his eyes. “How many stitches?”

“None yet.”

“I mean, how many does Barney think you’ll need?”

“I have no idea.”

Logan knew there was no use arguing with him. “Which hospital?”

3

Logan watched from the window of the Hamilton Memorial Emergency Room as the others arrived. But it wasn’t just Barney, Tooney and his dad like he expected. The rest of his father’s buddies—Will Jensen, Jerry Kendrew, and Alan Hutto—walked in right behind them. They referred to themselves as the Wise Ass Old Men, or WAMO. Which, of course, didn’t make sense to Logan at all since the M and the O should have been reversed.

When the nurse at the reception desk saw Tooney enter with Harp under one arm and Barney under the other, she called out to one of her colleagues, who rushed over and took charge. Soon Tooney was sitting in a wheelchair, being rolled toward the back with Logan and the WAMO troupe following right behind.

One of the orderlies asked, “Can someone tell me what happened?”

Logan was about to speak when his father, sporting a large square of gauze taped to the side of his head, blurted out, “He was mugged,” then shot his son a look that was clearly telling him to keep his mouth shut.

“Mugged? Where?” San Luis Obispo County was a far cry from being the crime capital of California.

“Cambria,” Barney said.

“He was on his way to work,” Harp quickly added.

“Cambria?” the orderly said, even more surprised.

“Probably one of those tourists,” Will said.

“Did anyone see it happen?”

Again Logan’s father glanced at him, then shook his head and told the attendant, “I was going in for an early coffee and found him in front of his café. Barney here’s a retired doctor. He was close, so I called him.”

“I thought it best if we brought him in right away,” Barney explained.

The automatic door to the examination area slid open as the group neared, but the orderly held up his hands, stopping everyone except his two colleagues and Tooney. “I might have some more questions later, but you’re all going to have to wait out here.”

“Hold on,” Logan said. “What about my father?”

“Your father?”

Logan grabbed Harp by the shoulders, and turned him so that the gauze on the side of his head was clearly visible. The orderly stepped over and pulled the bandage back.

“What happened to you?”

“He fell trying to help our friend get up,” Barney told him.

The orderly frowned, then waved for Logan’s dad to follow him. “Let’s clean that out and stitch you up.”

The rest of them stood there until the orderly and Harp disappeared inside, and the door closed again.

Turning to Barney, Logan said, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Harp should tell you,” Barney said.

“But he’s not here.”

“I’m sure he won’t be long.”

Before Logan could ask anything else, Barney and the others headed to the front corner of the waiting room and sat down. Instead of joining them, Logan took a seat right next to the examining area door, and waited.

Growing up, he had always been close with his dad. Working at Dunn Right, camping on the beach, watching football all day on Sundays, these they did together right up until Logan left home. It was Logan who actually caused them to drift apart. As he became more and more involved in his new life, he lost touch with his old one. His relationship with his parents became a monthly call at best, and then, after his mother died, that call became holidays only.

When he moved back home, he expected Harp to be less than excited to see him. But that wasn’t the case at all. His father treated him like he’d never been gone. It was exactly what Logan needed, and it had made him feel all the more ashamed. All those wasted years when he had forgotten what a good man his father was. Better than himself, for sure. He knew he could never— would never—let something like that happen again.

That’s why his father’s actions that morning were so confusing. What were his dad and his WAMO buddies up to? It just didn’t make sense.

It was about twenty minutes before the doors opened again, and Harp reappeared. A nice square portion of his head had been shaved, and in place of the missing hair was a new bandage. He took a couple of steps out, stopped to adjust his shirt, then started up again, walking right past Logan without noticing him.

“Dad?”

Harp turned, surprised. “Did everyone else leave?”

Logan shook his head, and pointed to where the others were sitting, then said, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

“The stitches?”

“Don’t play dumb, Dad. You know what I’m talking about.”

Harp sighed, then nodded toward his friends. “Let’s sit over there.”

“I think maybe you and I should talk alone, don’t you?”

But his dad was already heading across the room, so he reluctantly followed.