Gravy Patterson's Arc

Chapter 10 of 11

Preston ate slow under the cedar roof. Gravy left him to it and walked past the fire, past the boys, out toward the gravel pad where the food truck still sat parked and humming. A county delivery rig idled at the curb, lights ticking blue and red across the stones. The sweep wasn't done. Henry was somewhere out there with a clipboard and a bad night behind his eyes. Gravy slipped into the small garden shed behind the yard and pulled the door shut. Quiet. Just him and the glow of his phone. He thumbed Henry's number. "Henry. Call it off." Gravy kept his voice low. "The truck's clean. The lot's clean. Whoever phoned it in was lying. There's no alcohol on the Pretzel and Poutine. None near it. I'm telling you straight." A long pause. Henry breathed once. "Already pulled the unit, Gravy. Found nothing. Was gonna call you myself." Then, softer, almost not for Gravy at all — "I'm seeing things again tonight. Out by the pad. Little gold things. Don't matter. That's not the point you think it is." The line clicked dead before Gravy could answer. Gravy stepped out of the shed. The delivery truck was already rolling off the gravel, lights going dark. The sweep was over. But Henry's voice stayed with him — cracked, alone, asking nothing. Gravy looked back at the cedar shelter, at Preston eating, at the fire holding its people. He'd cleared the night. Now somebody else was the one nobody was showing up for.