They finished their coffee, and Yale stood and shook Simon’s hand. “Thanks, I appreciate this.” He pocketed the money and headed off to the truck. As soon as he got inside, he left.
Simon called Kate and explained what had just happened.
“Which direction?” she asked.
He told her, along with the little bit he knew.
“I’ll put out notice to pick him up.”
He put away his phone and sat here, wondering just what his friend was doing mixed up with that blue truck. Then he considered how long he’d actually known Yale. As he tossed his mind back, it was hard to actually pinpoint the time they had first met. They’d both been in a private college for a short time, what with Simon’s gifted mind, skipping several grades, graduating from high school much earlier than most. A scholarship had gotten Simon there. He’d filled out the forms and had gotten the funding and the acceptance on his own.
But, after a year, he realized just how useless a stuck-up education was, and he’d walked away. But a lot of kids attended there, and Yale had been one of them. Because Simon had been there, everybody assumed he had a trust fund. That’s because they all did. He knew for sure that Yale did. He quickly typed Yale’s name into Google and did a search on him, found an address for him, but it was years old. It didn’t tell Simon anything new or current. He picked up his phone and texted Yale.Where are you heading, by the way?
Not sure. I haven’t decided if I’m going south or north.
Simon left it at that, frowning. As he got up and headed toward home, he started across the street. Too late, he heard a vehicle racing toward him. He bolted out of the way, but it caught the corner of his hip and flung him onto the sidewalk. He rolled and jumped to his feet, furious, turning to face whoever it was.
It was a damn blue truck, and Yale stood there, gun in his hand.
He pointed it at Simon. “Why the fuck do you want to know where I’m going?”
Simon stared at him in surprise. “I thought we were friends,” he said. “Are you saying you don’t want to keep in touch?”
Suspicion battled on Yale’s face.
Simon stared at him. “It’s your truck, isn’t it?”
“This?” he said, with a disgusted look at the ugly truck.
“Yeah, that,” he said.
Yale shook his head. “No, it’s not mine.”
“Really?” Simon said, walking slowly toward him. “I saw it the other night, going through town.”
“Well, it wasn’t me driving,” Yale said.
“No, you are right about that,” he said. “It was some other geezer. I didn’t know who it was at the time, but he shot me a look, but the area was too shadowed to see him clearly.”
“It’s got nothing to do with me though.”
“Maybe it does,” Simon said slowly.
Yale glared at him.
“Does your family know?” Simon asked.
“Know what?” he said, with exasperation.
“That you’re hanging around with pedophiles?”
Yale froze. “Fuck off,” he said. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you were abused as a young boy,” he said. “I remember that from school.”
“That was just a rumor,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“And I know that you are part of a family who all have trust funds,” Simon said slowly, trying to read his way through his memories and to sort through the little bit of information popping up.