Motel. Pool. (25 page)

I could add to that list but you get the idea. You’re my star. I’m going back to bed now. I want you in my arms.

Love always

Jack

T
AG
WOKE
up hungry, which was a bit of a surprise. He walked to a nearby Denny’s and ordered spaghetti and meatballs because he hadn’t had that for years and it sounded good. He smiled when the plate arrived. Yes, maybe spaghetti for breakfast was a little strange. But because he’d learned to fend for himself so young, and because his parents’ grocery shopping habits were haphazard at best, he’d never really fallen into a cereal or bacon-and-eggs morning habit.

He felt a little bloated after all that food, so he took a long walk down the Strip, which was still relatively quiet this time of day. Maybe he should stick around Vegas for a while. Rent at the Baja was reasonably cheap, and he could look for a job nearby. Surely someone was hiring. He’d worked retail and customer service before, and maybe his tech experience from his university job would come in handy. Even a small income would work; he wouldn’t need much to live on. As Jack had written, money wasn’t important to Tag, and he didn’t crave material possessions.

But he couldn’t picture himself living here. Now that his luck and Jack were both gone, there was nothing to keep him here. Maybe now would be a good time to just bum around the country, picking up jobs when he needed them, putting on miles until he found a place that felt like home. He looked up at the fake Eiffel Tower and knew Vegas would never give him that feeling.

As he trudged back up the Strip, a realization struck him so hard that he actually stopped in his tracks, nearly getting plowed into by a man with brochures advertising hookers. Tag shook his head at the man and continued his walk, but with a bit of spring in his step. He wasn’t depressed. God, he missed Jack as fiercely as he’d miss a suddenly amputated limb, but he’d been given such an amazing gift. There he was on the road to nowhere when he chanced upon a ghost! A sexy, fascinating ghost who showed him what happiness could be like and who taught him important things about himself. He was deeply grateful to have had such wonderful luck—and for once, not to have blown it.

And Jack. Tag had been able to break him away from his abandoned town, show him new things, love him. In the end, Jack had gone out as a quiet hero far stronger than anyone he could have portrayed in film. And maybe he’d found peace and joy as well.

Without any decisions made about his future, but with his heart beating strongly, Tag returned to the Baja.

A few minutes after he got to his room, as he stood and tried to decide whether to pack up or find a Laundromat, someone knocked on his door.

“Hi, Buddy,” Tag said when he answered the knock.

“Hey, man. I saw you walkin’ back. Just wanted to check. You okay?” The big man’s brow was furrowed with concern, and he looked a little nervous. Tag was willing to bet anxiety wasn’t an expression Buddy wore often.

Tag swung the door more widely. “C’mon in. Want something to drink? I’ve got, uh, water.”

“Sure, man. Hit me up.”

They sat across from each other at the table, Buddy straddling his chair backward, both of them toying with their water bottles.

“I’m really sorry, Tag. I didn’t mean for—” Buddy blew out a breath. “I’m real sorry about Jack.”

“Thanks.”

“If I’da known what was gonna happen—”

“If you hadn’t sent Jack over there, he’d have disappeared soon anyway and that poor little girl would still be haunting that room.”

Buddy nodded, twisted the cap off his bottle, and took a sip. “It was a little girl?”

“Her name was Angela Jones. I think maybe… I think maybe her father killed her.”

“Fuck!” Buddy slammed his hand onto the table, almost knocking over Tag’s bottle. He pointed a finger at Tag. “I ain’t the most moral guy, but I got no patience for anyone who hurts a kid.”

“I’m with you on that.”

Buddy smoothed his beard pensively. “You said her name was Angela Jones? Rick’s brother’s a PI. I’ll see if he can track her people down. If her father’s still around, I’m gonna make sure the sonofabitch gets what’s coming to him.”

Tag wasn’t usually much for vengeance, but he nodded in agreement. If a peaceful ever-after awaited good men like Jack, he hoped fire and brimstone would be the fate of whoever killed Angela.

They both drank slowly for a while. Tag had never had a lot of friends, although he had fun hanging around Jason’s pals. It wasn’t often, though, he’d had the chance to just sit quietly with someone and think. “You won’t forget Jack, will you?” he asked after a bit.

“Hell no! Look, I’ve met a lot of ghosts, but he was special. You know that better than me.”

“Good. It’s nice to know he had a little… impact.”

“You two shoulda had more time. Ain’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Buddy.”

Buddy smiled slightly. “Sure it is. I been living in Vegas a while now, and one thing I’ve learned is you can win at anything if you learn to play the odds right. You just gotta know when and where to set your chips.”

“I’m done with gambling.”

“Where you heading next?” Buddy set the empty water bottle on the table and leaned forward.

“I haven’t decided. I was thinking… maybe I’ll stop by the place where I found Jack. Where he died. Leave some kind of memorial. I know that’s stupid, but—”

“I think it’s real nice. Maybe it’s someplace you can go back and visit now and then.”

“Maybe.” Tag pulled some of the label from his bottle. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“How’d you find a ghost in the middle of nowhere?”

“Accident. I was driving and way too tired. A cop pulled me over for weaving and told me I’d better take a nap at the next exit. Turned out Jack had been haunting that exit for almost sixty years and— What’s the matter?”

Buddy had suddenly sat up very straight, his eyes wide. “Whereabouts was this?”

“Arizona. Jack’s place was along the old Route 66.”

Buddy crossed himself. “Holy living fuck!”

“What?”

“This cop—you get a good look at him?”

“I don’t know. Not really. It was dark and I was wiped. He was kind of good-looking. Why?”

“And his car?”

“I only saw the lights. I told you. It was dark.” Tag made an exasperated sound. “Why does it matter?”

Buddy gave him a long look, then pointed at his empty bottle. “You got anything stronger?”

Tag wanted to strangle him. “No. And what’s the deal, Buddy?”

“Buncha years ago, before I met Rick, I was riding my bike through Arizona. I was pretty wild back then, and I musta been goin’ close to a hundred. It was real early—sun was just rising. Nobody on the road but me. Until I saw them flashing red and blue lights behind me.” He chuckled. “I tried to outrun him, but that bastard caught up with no problem at all. Wasn’t till I stopped that I saw the cruiser. She was a beauty—’48 Buick Special, gleaming like she was brand-new. And when the trooper got out, well, I saw right away he wasn’t no ordinary cop.”

Honestly, Tag ought to be used to the supernatural by now. But a funny tingling started in his hands nonetheless. “Was he a ghost?”

“Dunno. He was
bright
, man! I had to squint just to look at him. And he was…. Most ghosts, they’re fuzzy or ripply ’round the edges and the details ain’t real clear. But this guy, he was so sharp. It was like the rest of the world was flat and he was the only thing in 3-D. Ain’t never seen anythin’ like him, before or since.”

“And?”

“And he put his hand on my shoulder. I was wearing a vest and that wasn’t enough, ’cause the morning was cold. But his hand was real warm—like an electric blanket. Felt good. Felt…. If he’d asked, I’d’ve dropped trou and bent over for him right then and there. All he did, though, was tell me to slow down and be safe. Told me I had a good journey ahead of me if I’d only give myself some time. Told me maybe I oughtta check out Chicago—said he’d heard good things about the place. Then he hopped in that old car and drove away. I met Rick less than a week after that. In Chicago.”

After taking a moment to digest this, Tag asked, “So this cop is some kind of… celestial matchmaker?”

“Dunno. I’ve driven that route a few times since and kept my eyes peeled for him. Wanted to thank him. Ain’t seen him again, though.”

“And you think this is the same guy who sent me to Jack? That’s a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”

“No bigger than you and him checking into the one motel in Vegas where the desk clerk sees ghosts. Or Jack and me ending up at a place haunted by a sad little kid.” He picked up the plastic bottle and crunched it in his fist, then set it down again. “I don’t believe in coincidence. But I believe in… fate, I guess. I know for damn sure there’s all sorts of things ordinary humans have no clue about. If we got ghosts, why not angels?”

“Or demons.”

Buddy pointed at him. “Exactly. And why not goddesses with spinning wheels and scissors?”

This was probably the strangest conversation Tag had ever had—and he’d had some odd ones lately. “So if it’s all up to fate, we don’t have free will?” he asked.

“Naw, man. Wanna know my thoughts? Whoever’s in charge, they mostly leave us be, let us make our own choices. Let us fuck things up if we wanna. But maybe now and then, they give us a nudge. Dunno why. Maybe they think it’s funny. I guess entertainment’s hard to come by if you’re a celestial being.” He grinned. “Maybe they just think some of us are really cute and so they play favorites.”

Tag snorted.

Buddy stood, twisted the chair around, and pushed it under the table. “I gotta get to work. You wanna stay here, I can cut you a deal on the rent. My bosses are gonna be happy knowing they can let people stay in that room now that it ain’t haunted no more. I might even be able to hook you up with a job. But if you decide to go….” He picked Tag’s phone up off the dresser and poked at it. “I’m in your contacts. Gimme a call if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Tag stood too. He walked over to Buddy and held out his hand for a shake, then was surprised when Buddy enveloped him in a beer-and-leather-scented bear hug.

By the time he said good-bye to Buddy and shut the door, he’d reached a decision about what to do.

I
T
WAS
a strange thing. Tag had spent countless years traveling on his own, and he hadn’t really driven that far with Jack. But now the Camry felt empty without him. Tag played with the radio but couldn’t find anything except eighties hair bands, country, and terrible pop. No Elvis. He couldn’t even find the Eagles playing “Hotel California.” He didn’t stop at Hoover Dam, although he thought of the resident ghosts as he drove by. He hoped they were able to find their peace someday. Maybe he’d ask Buddy to drop in and pay them a visit sometime to see if there was something Buddy or Tag could do to help.

Tag smiled, knowing Buddy was a good friend to have.

Although he did want to get to Jasper soon, he decided on a Grand Canyon detour. His seven-day pass had expired the previous day, so he had to shell out another twenty bucks. But he decided it was worth it when he stood at the rim. He looked out over the painted vista and thought about the things water could do. Tourists around him chattered in a half-dozen languages, and he and the tourists smiled at one another, wordlessly awed at the spectacle before them.

He spent that night sleeping in his car, the blanket he’d last used in the ghost town of Zzyzx draped over him for warmth. He woke before dawn and watched the sunrise—the sky coming alive in delicate oranges and then pale blues, the morning rays illuminating the canyon walls—and his heart beat fast at the beauty of it. He might have given away his extraordinary luck, but he was still very fortunate to have the opportunity to view this place.

For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, he took some short hikes and rode the shuttle bus to new and equally breathtaking vantage points.

He would have liked to spend another night in the park, but he couldn’t afford a hotel room there and couldn’t face another night in the Camry. So he left the park, drove south, and turned east when he reached I-40.

The shadows deepened along the desert mountains as dusk fell. He’d like to go camping someday. Backpacking over mesas and through ravines. He hadn’t spent much time in the Pacific Northwest, but hiking part of the Pacific Crest Trail would be amazing. He wasn’t up for the entire Canada-to-Mexico distance, but he could choose a nice stretch somewhere in Washington or Oregon, where the trees grew tall and everything was covered in moss. And now that he thought about it, he’d never been out of the United States, not even to Canada. If he put some money away, he could get a passport and see what the Alps looked like, or Machu Picchu, or the Great Wall of China.

Or he could get a little house somewhere, something that needed work. He’d learn to DIY. If he had a yard, he could get a dog. When he was a boy, he’d longed for a pet but never had one, not even after he grew up.

Jesus. When he stopped worrying about what he was going to screw up next, he realized there was a whole world waiting for him, ripe for discovery. It was as though one of Buddy’s celestial beings had pulled the curtain aside to reveal the Fabulous Prizes behind it.