We rode for the better part of two-and-a-half hours before getting off the mountain.  Three times we had to stop and walk the motorcycle through deep patches of mud that would have swallowed us whole had we been riding the thing.  By the time the rain let up we were just over the bridge into Cincinnati.  Christopher took a couple of side streets right into the heart of downtown and more traffic than I'd seen anywhere in a week.  Eventually he pointed to a large 50s-style diner and I patted his shoulder.

We parked, removed our helmets, and went inside.  The place was crowded and a little too warm.  The waitress seated us toward the back, near the restrooms, and left to get our drink orders.

"So what do you feel like?" I said.  "I'm buying."

"And a big spender.  Is there no end to the surprises in store for me?"

I decided on what I wanted, then closed the menu and looked across the table at him.  "What's the first thing you want to do when we get home tonight?"

"Not my home," he said, not taking his gaze from the menu.

"Work with me here, Christopher.  Tanya's going to understand."

"So says you."  He peered over the top of the menu.  "Would you take it personally if I said I'd rather hear it from her?"

"No."  Though he'd never met Tanya, he'd pegged her correctly:  she did not appreciate unannounced guests.  My wife is a wonderful hostess, and prefers time to prepare for company.

The waitress came with our drinks, took our orders, and left.  Not once did she look directly at either of us.

We sipped at our sodas, not speaking, not looking at each other; both of us were almost completely drained.

"So," Christopher said after a couple of minutes.  "I gather that Tanya and you have some sort of psychic connection."

"Beg pardon?"

He tapped his right temple with his index finger.  "I take it that you can send her a psychic message about company.  I'm forced to think this because you are not using one of the pay phones over by the restrooms."

"Didn't you recharge the cell?"

"Uh, no.  Someone threw it in the back of the bus when it didn't work and broke it."

"Oh.  Sorry.  I don't remember doing that."

He shrugged.  "Things were a little confusing.  Besides, I didn't pay for the damn thing.  You gonna call your wife now, or what?"

"Can't we eat first?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd call her now.  All in favor."

We both raised our hands.

He threw a bunch of change onto the table.  "I think that should cover it."

"I'll call collect."

"You sure she'll accept the charges?"

"Very funny."

"I have moments."

I went to the bank of payphones; two of them were in use, one was broken, but the last one was free and working.  I made the call, but got the voicemail; the operator told me I'd have to deposit two dollars before I could leave a one-minute message.  It took me a few moments to feed all the quarters into the phone, but once that was done the phone rang again and I left a message:  "Honey, it's me.  I'll be home in about four hours.  Listen, I'm bringing someone with me, okay?  His name is Christopher and he's… he's going to be staying with us for a while.  I'll explain everything when I get there.  Oh, one more thing—if you get any calls from anyone asking about me, just say I'm not back from my trip yet, okay?  I love you so much.  God, I've really missed you."

The beep sounded and the phone went dead.  I stood there a few seconds longer, feeling dizzy.  Jesus did I need to eat.

I got back to our table just as the waitress was delivering our food.

Christopher was gone.

"Your friend had to run an errand, I guess," said the waitress.  "He said to tell you he left a note for you."

"I'll be right back."  I ran outside to the parking lot and looked around for the motorcycle but it wasn't there.  I ran to the corner and looked at the traffic, hoping to spot him.

"Goddammit!" I shouted loudly, startling an older couple who were walking past.  "Sorry," I said to them.

"Need to learn some manners, young man," said the woman.  Then she and her husband continued on their way, secure in the knowledge that they'd put that toilet-mouthed bum in his place.

I went back into the diner and took my seat.  After a few moments I realized that I was sitting on something, and scooted over to reveal a couple of large, thick brown envelopes, held together by several rubber bands.  I picked them up and saw the note Christopher had written on the top envelope:  Don't go and do something noble.  You earned this.  I took my share, so don't worry about me.  I left one of the computers plus some other stuff.  Say hi to Tanya for me.  You're one of the good guys, Mark.  Thank you.

The envelopes contained money.  A lot of money.  A lot.

"You sneaky little shit," I whispered to myself.  "What am I supposed to do now?"

I lifted up my head and looked around the diner:  business people, blue-collar workers, teenagers, families with children who were scribbling with crayons on the placemats; signs advertising today's specials, signs about the circus coming to Riverfront Coliseum next week, fliers for garage sales, car sales, auctions for charity… and a couple of missing children posters.

I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and realized that I was crying again.

Missing children posters.

This is where you came in, son.

Don't I know it, Dad.  Don't I know it.

"Mister?  Is everything all right?"

I looked up to see our waitress standing by the table.  This time she was looking directly at me, and seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm very tired," I said to her.  "I just need to eat and get home."

"You live here?"

I shook my head.  "No.  In Cedar Hill."  I blew my nose on a napkin—it still hurt like hell—then wiped my eyes.  "My friend won't be coming back."

"You want me to put his food in a doggy bag for you?"

"Sure.  Thanks."  I smiled at her.  "How far is the bus station from here?"

After eating, I took a cab to the bus station where I bought a ticket to Columbus.  I had about an hour to wait before the bus started boarding, so I walked around the terminal until I found an empty seat away from people.  I opened the shoulder bag Christopher had left behind.  The laptop was in there, as well as several CD-ROMs, more bottles of codeine pills than I could count—Christ, if security here decided I was suspicious-looking and searched my bag, I was in deep shit—and all of the credit cards and various garbage that had been inside my wallet.

He'd also left me the CD of The Marshall Tucker Band's Greatest Hits.  (I listen to it every day.  Tanya is now officially sick of it.)

I held the CD jewel case against me like it was a child, then realized how silly—if not outright crazy—I must look, put it back, closed and zipped the bag (I'd put the money in there before entering the terminal), and decided that I wanted something to drink.

I wandered over to one of the soda machines and bought my regular Pepsi.  I popped it open just as my bus was being called.  I nearly tripped over a little girl who was sitting on the floor beside a tired-looking young woman of about twenty-two was fast asleep.

"Mister," said the little girl.  "My mommy and me don't have enough money to get home.  Can you give me some money, please?"

I didn't even think about it.  I reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of fifties and gave them to the little girl.  "Don't let anyone see this, okay?"