The Passenger by Jacqueline Druga (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

Now, when he looked down at the flyers, the word ‘Missing’ big and bold above his son’s picture, Grant feared he would never get a chance again with his son.

He wasn’t a bad father. Rarely raised his voice, provided for his family, was there if his kids needed him. He just didn’t know if he did enough, maybe if he had done more.

It was surreal for Grant, hanging that first flyer at the rest stop. He made notes of towns he passed, tiny places he’d go back and check.

He had printed up hundreds of flyers and he’d hang them all. He’d make more if he had to. Someone somewhere had to have seen Jonas or know what happened to him.

Grant arrived at the hotel and checked in. It took him a little longer because he stopped several times on the way. The manager was there, and she took time to talk to him.

The police had spoken to her and she told Grant the same thing she told them. He never checked out and she had even looked on the security cameras.

Jonas had not returned that night.

His belongings were left in the room. An overnight bag, toothbrush, fifth of whiskey and a bag of chips. The hotel had them gathered in one clear plastic bag and it was placed in lost and found.

It felt like a slam to his chest when she handed it to him.

He was on his way to his next search location and took the clear bag out to the truck. His son’s things were not garbage. That was the way Grant saw it even though he knew the hotel didn’t mean anything by putting his items in a plastic bag. It was their procedure.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, Grant removed Jonas’ things. The second he touched, smelled the overnight bag, Grant was swept up in a wave of sadness which struck him deep in his soul. Was this it? Was this all he had left of his child?

He placed the bag on the floor by the passenger seat, then grabbed the steering wheel.

He held tight, gripping hard as his forehead rested against the wheel.

It took everything he had not to break down.

Get it together, get it together, he told himself, you have a plan.

After a few moments, Grant started the engine. It was time to go to that bar.

◆◆◆

Denied.

The county judge denied Russ.

Guitar World wanted a search warrant to give up the surveillance video and information about the individual selling the guitar. Stating they were protecting the rights of the individual. The judge agreed. He saw no reason or connection between that guitar and Chip Doe.

He told Russ, “Exhaust all other means first and I will reconsider.”

Russ knew he hadn’t exhausted all means, there was still one.

Fingerprints.

If Chip had a record, and Russ was pretty sure he did, then his identity would come up.

He returned from the county courthouse frustrated and planned on talking to Chip.

But first he wanted to talk to Marge and Old Joe.

Russ headed over to Baker’s Market. It was the lunch rush, and on a Wednesday which was Marge’s Meatball Sub special.

Marge was in the café, not only overseeing the cooking and clerks, but she was hands on. Old Joe sat at a small table, reading a magazine, probably on his third latte. He was done with working, he claimed he was retired but was always at the market.

Like he had a radar on him, Old Joe looked up when Russ walked by and to the counter.

“What’s up?” Joe asked. “Getting a meatball special?”

“They do smell awfully good. Maybe when I leave,” Russ said. “I just wanted to talk to Marge and you know what, you’re here, maybe you can join us?”

“What’s going on?”

“I need your opinion on something.”

“Good luck pulling her away.”

“It won’t take long.” Russ didn’t foresee Marge giving him grief about taking a break for a minute or two.

Then again, Russ never asked her to step away from the floor on Meatball Wednesday.

Marge complied reluctantly. Joe joined Russ and Marge in the little back office and Russ barely got the word, “Fingerprints” out before Marge lit up.

“No,” Marge said. “Absolutely not. No.”

“Can I ask why?” Russ questioned. “I mean, come on, Marge this is a way to find out who he is.”

“By proving he’s some sort of criminal?” Marge snipped. “The fingerprints could be a dead end.”

“Then I need to try.” Russ waved a finger. “I don’t need to ask for your permission. He’ll do it if I say something to him.”

“Then don’t say anything. When he got out of the hospital, he said to you and me he was giving himself a time limit. He wanted a month to let his memory come back. Give him that time. What is the big deal, Russ? Huh? Why do you want his memory back?”

“Because he doesn’t,” Russ said. “If he has amnesia …”

“If? If?” Marge argued.

“Okay. Bad word choice,” Russ defended. “But he doesn’t want it back. Want to know why? Because he knows, deep down inside he’s trouble and he doesn’t want to remember that person.”

“And is that so bad?” Marge asked. “Is it so bad he wants to move forward?”

“You can’t move forward,” Russ said. “Without looking at the truth.” Russ heard the soft chuckle come from Old Joe. “What Joe?”

“What’s so funny is, he remembered what his passenger said,” Joe replied. “And if I’m not mistaken, it was those words. Strange. Eerie. I got chills.”

Russ just shook his head. “Just stop with that.”

“Hey!” Marge blasted. “Don’t you scoff at my husband. You’re searching Russ. Are you so bored in this town you have to run to Fremont to dig up something?”

“What are you talking about, Marge?” Russ asked.

“Oh, Doc Jenner told us how you are chasing a guitar in Fremont. Trying to get surveillance footage, find out who sold the guitar to the store.”

“Yes.” Russ nodded. “I think it’s Chip’s and I think whoever pawned it might be the passenger.”

Old Joe spoke up. “Could you not