The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) by Aubrey Parker Page B

right place. A place that sent a neutral message — nothing too committed. That ruled out all our old spots, which carried emotional baggage, and I also ruled out all of the unknown spots that might harbor potential land mines. Eventually, I settled on somewhere so bland, my decision to meet there could mean anything: the Hungry Bear — a dingy little diner where I used to occasionally eat with my old man.  
    I’m sitting in a booth when this little portly guy with all-white hair, a white goatee, and a tweed-looking cabbie hat slides into the seat opposite me.  
    “Well, well,” he says. “Ain’t this a crazy sight?”  
    I’m about to respond, but he cuts me off.  
    “Grady Dade. Fancy seeing you here. How long has it been? You know who was in here the other day? Brandon Grant. Got himself a real pretty girl on his arm. You been keeping up with Brandon? Holy shit. I think something is burning in the kitchen. Got a new cook. Can you hang on just a second?”  
    The old guy stands up and bustles off toward the kitchen like an agitated wind-up toy before I can respond. Then he’s back a few seconds later. There’s no way he did more in the kitchen but enter, revolve once, and come right out again. He’s sliding into the booth for the second time and starts apologizing for leaving, as if I invited him to sit in the first place.  
    “New cook,” he explains. Then he sticks a hand toward me, palm up. I intuit that I’m probably supposed to shake it, so I do. This must be correct because he shakes back and diverts entirely from the cook and whatever may or may not be going wrong in the kitchen.  
    “I guess I knew you talked to Brandon,” he says, as if I’d answered him earlier, which I haven’t. I haven’t even been able to confirm my identity. I know this guy; he’s Vincent Brush, the Hungry Bear’s owner. But he hasn’t seen me in forever, and there must be other people who look a little like me. For all he knows, he’s talking to someone who has no idea what’s going on.  
    Knowing Vincent and his propensity for talk, it’s entirely possible that’s happened to him before. It’s impossible to get a word in if he doesn’t allow it, so there’s probably more than one person in his past who’s walked away and said to a companion, “Who the hell was that?”
    “I asked him about you,” Vincent says, his fluffy goatee bobbing along with his hat. “Your old man’s dead, right?”  
    “Um … ” It would be indelicate coming from anyone else, but I can only stammer.  
    “Say, did I ever tell you about my buddy Stinky Peet who died at a bowling alley?”  
    “Um … ”  
    “Yeah. Swear to God. He got his hand caught in that ball return thing. That’s not how he died; I’m just mentioning it because, so, you know, because, well, that’s not really part of the story, but he did, up to the shoulder because his jacket got caught there, and the ball shot up and broke his hand.”  
    I wince. I don’t know what else to do. There were days Dad and I went to another restaurant after leaving the Hungry Bear because Vincent showed up and we never got to order any food.  
    “Oh, he didn’t mind,” Vincent continues. “That’s how he got his hook. And if he hadn’t gotten the hook, he wouldn’t have been able to zip line down the power cable with his cousin, Ralphie Pants.”
    “Ralphie Pants?” I’m still wondering how Stinky Peet died in the bowling alley.  
    “I told you and your dad about the time my buddy Crotchless Dave got his fist stuck in his own mouth, right? It was Ralphie’s wife, Daisy, who helped him get it out.”  
    “Okay.” But mostly I don’t understand why Daisy, alone in this story, has a normal name.  
    Something breaks in the kitchen. Vincent looks over.  
    “Dammit. New guy’s klutzy. But I had to have him cook for me. He’s Mexican.”  
    The Hungry Bear doesn’t have a single Mexican dish on the menu.  
    “Hey,” Vincent says, “remind