The diner looked as if it had been somehow exempt from the progression of time. Wilson noticed a greasy film on everything he touched. While not desirable, he did not find it intolerable. The diner had a certain charm. Around him, several locals hunched over their morning meals. Most of the conversation was confined to one or two tables of old men who had likely been having the same conversation for twenty years or more.
From his booth, Wilson could see out of the broad windows. The cracked and sun bleached pavement had already begun to radiate a haze as the desert sun rose. Beyond the few buildings in the town of Newton sprawled the empty, reddish American West. It had its own beauty, but not to Wilson's liking. To him, it was dead land and the little town that hosted him was the last of the necrotic bacteria being baked away like everything else.
Wilson's attention was drawn back to the diner by a sweet voice asking, "What can I get you?"
He noted her name tag, "Lauren." His mind spat out a series of information as he looked the girl up and down. Lived in Newton most of her life. Father was a trucker who bought a maintenance company and set up shop on what he thought would continue to be a major thoroughfare. Lauren had attempted to leave for college, but ran out of money and didn't fare as well in a bigger pond. Wilson had watched people for many years and seen many things. Though he doubted anyone else in the diner or town would notice, the young woman wore a constant expression of panicked desperation. Could be her, he thought.
"Coffee, no cream," Wilson said, politely. "Eggs with toast."
Lauren scribbled down his order, "Funny way of saying that. Most people just say coffee black. Not sure I've heard someone specify no cream before."
Wilson's lips tightened, "Occupational quirk."
Lauren started to ask what exactly that meant, but the girl knew better than to pry too deep into the lives of the diner's frequent travelers. Wilson did not look like the usual kind of man that frequented the establishment, but she was able to keep her curiosity in check. "I'll get that coffee for you right away, and the food will be out in a moment."
Before she left, he added, "And a glass of water please. Tap, no ice." Lauren nodded, now positive that the stranger was indeed odd.
Wilson went to reach into his jacket pocket, but remembered that he was not wearing his usual suit. Instead, he was dressed in a button up, short sleeved shirt and blue jeans. He had no trouble remembering that his feet were squashed into a pair of work boots that were a size too small. The outfit made him feel foolish and out of place, but it seemed to be doing his job. The town saw him as an outsider, but not one unfamiliar with their lifestyle. He could pass easily for a trucker or a migrant worker so long as no one asked too many questions.
Fishing into his jean pocket, he withdrew a small box, not much larger than a pack of chewing gum. The box was divided into two compartments. Wilson opened the one on the left and looked at a thirty or so small white pills. He looked for Lauren who was still preparing his coffee behind the counter. Idle, he flipped open the other compartment and looked at a different pill. It was red and quite large. He'd always had a strange feeling that he would choke on it. He closed the second compartment after a brief consideration and took one of the white tablets out as Lauren dropped a glass of water on the table. In a quick motion, he popped the pill in his mouth and took a swig of the water to wash it down.
"One cup of coffee, no cream," Lauren said in a sweet voice. "Sugar is on the table. Comes in packets if that's another one of your...quirks." She fumbled the sentence out, realizing that what was meant to be polite had sounded quite insulting. "Say, uh, mind if I ask what you're in town for? Driving a rig?"
Wilson slid the saucer bearing his coffee cup over in front of him. "I'm here looking into something for a friend. Daughter went missing a few months back." Wilson watched carefully as he stated his purpose, but saw no hint of recognition on Lauren's face.
"Oh, gosh," she muttered. "I haven't heard of anyone going missing," she said, a genuine tone of concern in her voice. "Course, we have people pass through all the time. I suppose it's not uncommon for this to be their last stop. Nothing between here and the state line except Merle's gas station."
"Assuming she would be heading west?" Wilson asked between sips of his coffee.
Lauren put her hand on her hip, delighted at the chance to gossip. "Sure. We don't get many travelers at all, but when we do, they're from the east and heading west. Trucking routes work out that way since they all cross the mountains then swing down towards the border."
Wilson nodded. "This gas station you mention. The owner live out there?"
Lauren furrowed her brow. "I'm not looking for anyone to get in trouble. Merle's as old as dirt and everyone's known him for twice that long."
"No trouble. Want to find the girl is all." Wilson made an unconvincing effort to soften his tone. A bell rang in the window to the kitchen and Lauren floated away. Decent person, Wilson thought. Protecting her own. She returned a few moments later with his breakfast.
"Merle lives out there. Comes to town once or twice a week. He usually doesn't go out to meet anyone who stops at the station. There's no store or anything. Two pumps one regular and one diesel. Try not to spook him if you go nosing around. He's not overly fond of strangers."
Wilson nodded. "I"ll keep that in mind. Thanks."
As she left, he turned his attention to his breakfast. The food was surprisingly good for something so simple. His mind turned over each flavor as it touched his tongue, making certain that nothing out of the ordinary lurked in his meal. He didn't expect anything, but could never be too careful.
***
Wilson grimaced through the short walk from the diner to his car. The temperature was increasing rapidly, but that didn't bother him as much as the sun. The heat was dry and sort of a welcome relief after his last assignment. Why doesn't this sort of thing happen in a decent climate? he wondered as he took shelter in his rental car. The air conditioning provided some relief, but the sun continued to bake down on him through the windows. Noting that the majority of the diner was still looking out at him, he decided to find elsewhere to consult his notes. As he pulled away, he noted Lauren standing at one of the windows, a coffee pot in her hand. She looked sweet and innocent. Wilson found himself wondering how often she had considered taking a ride away from Newton with one of her customers. Maybe that is what happened to Eva.
He drove on past his hotel to where he knew he could find some shade. An abandoned drive in movie theater stood on the outskirts of town, a relic from a more prosperous age. The screen still stood. Many of the panels had rotted away and even the metal girders had started to give way to the sun and heat, but it provided a giant shadow where the weary traveler could find respite. Wilson pulled into the empty lot and parked as close to the center of the shadow as he could. Free of the sun, he unlocked the glove compartment and pulled out a black notebook.
Opening it up, he took a pen and started to note down his conversation with Lauren. Writing more than he thought was necessary, he included everything he'd ate or drank that morning. He also noted the time of his last dose. Once that was done, he flipped back a few pages and looked at a picture taped inside the notebook, beneath which was scribbled "Eva Miles."
It was a candid shot taken of her at a bus stop. Eva looked to be in her mid twenties, white, with very few distinguishable characteristics. In a lineup of average women, she wouldn't have stood out in the least, except for one thing. On her left wrist was a mark. The quality of the picture was awful, but the mark was a clear as if it had been superimposed over the image later on. The symbol was simple, an X with two parallel lines drawn across it. It would have been a harmless doodle if it had not looked like it was branded into Eva's skin with a hot iron.
Wilson closed the notebook and put it back in the glove compartment. From beside it, he took a pistol and placed it on the seat next to him. Putting the car in drive, he headed west.
***
Wilson knew what the police lines meant. He recognized many of the men in black suits. They turned to look at him with dispassionate eyes as he approached the house. Neighbors were being pushed back, told lies, and sent off to their homes where they would wake up on the morrow with a different version of events in their head. Wilson approached the man standing closest to the door.
"Agent," the man said in greeting as Wilson approached. Wilson recognized him as one of the nameless men. The nameless men were rarely seen and rarely spoke to anyone. Wilson was not happy to see his employer.
"Sir," he responded, curtly. His eyes turned towards the house and a chill went up his spine. Above the door, someone had carved in an X with two parallel lines across the top and bottom.