Free Blue Heaven by C. J. Box

band on his finger.
    Tom said, “I
tried
to call her a while ago, and she hung up on me. She said she was waiting for the sheriff to call back and to get off her line. It’s bullshit. That kid is just getting back at her by not coming home. I used to do that shit all the time.”
    Newkirk felt a trill race down his spine. “Why is she waiting for the sheriff to call her?”
    “Her kids didn’t come home from school,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, smiling ruefully. “Somehow, that’s
my
fault.”
    “What did you say her name was?” Newkirk asked, knowing Tom hadn’t said it yet.
    “Monica.”
    “Monica Treblehorn? I know her.”
    “No, Monica Taylor.”
    “Don’t know her,” Newkirk said.
    “Consider yourself lucky.”
    “What’d you do?” Newkirk asked conversationally.
    “Pissed her off,” Tom said. “Forgot to take her little mama’s boyfishing, so she fucking threw me out. Threw me right out. Her and that little bitch daughter of hers—they conspired against me.”
    Boy and girl
, Newkirk thought.
Taylor.
    “So they went on their own, huh?” Newkirk said, realizing as he said it that he should have kept quiet. Tom hadn’t told him the kids were on their own. But no matter, Tom didn’t catch it.
    “Took my SIX-HUNDRED-DOLLAR SAGE ROD, too!”
    “That sucks, doesn’t it?”
    “Let me give you a little bit of advice, my friend,” Tom said, reaching out and gripping Newkirk’s arm. “Don’t go out with a woman who has kids.”
    “I’m married,” Newkirk said. “I’ve got kids of my own.”
    “Then don’t go out with
her
,” Tom said, smiling stupidly. “They’ll all conspire against you. They’ll win, too. We’re outnumbered by the women and the kids and the pansies. We’re endangered species, us men, just like that fucking owl that stopped all the logging in the woods.”
    “Hear hear!” the old miner shouted from the end of the bar, raising his glass.
    “Tom,” Marty said, handing the pitcher to Newkirk, “advice is frowned on in this place.” To Newkirk, Marty said, “Keep it on the tab?” Ignoring Tom Boyd’s offer.
    “Yes, and buy my new friend here another,” Newkirk said.
    When he returned to the table, Newkirk said, “You won’t believe who I just met. Monica Taylor’s boyfriend. And we’ve got a problem. He said she’s waiting for the sheriff to call her back. Things might be moving faster than we thought. I’m guessing they’ll form a search team to look for those kids. What if they find them?”
    “Jesus Christ,” Gonzalez whispered angrily. “Does everybody know?”
    “Not like that. He just talked with her,” Newkirk said, shaking his head. “He says she threw him out of her house tonight.”
    Singer looked at Newkirk, his face expressionless. Then, oddly, a tight faint smile.
    “This isn’t a problem,” he said. “It’s an opportunity.”
    “What?”
    “See how his mind works?” Gonzalez said with admiration.
    THEY WAITED until Marty cut Tom off. While Tom pleaded for a last drink, Gonzalez and Singer slipped outside.
    Newkirk settled the tab at the bar while Tom stumbled from table to table on his way to the door.
    When he got to the parking lot he saw Singer and Gonzo standing with Boyd in the light of the single pole light. Tom was leaning back against the UPS truck. He heard Gonzo say, “You sure you should be driving, mister?”
    “I’m fine,” Boyd slurred. “Besides, I ain’t going home. I’m going to Monica’s. We got some things to straighten out.”
    Newkirk approached them. He could see something square and long protruding from Gonzalez’s back jeans pocket. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he recognized what it was from his days on the force. It was called a “Stun Monster,” 650,000 volts. The department had banned them after some guy died, but that never mattered to Gonzo.
    Boyd said, “It’s nice of you fellows to help, but I gotta go. Where you guys from, anyway?”
    “Guess,” Singer said.
    Boyd