Already Gone by John Rector Page A

little.
    There are no streetlights down here, and the buildings fade in and out of darkness as I drive. My instructions were to head west until I crossed the railroad tracks, then turn north and look for the sign.
    He said it would be easy to find.
    When I was a kid, Gabby owned a junkyard thirty miles outside the city. He had a homemade sign out front that said you could find anything you wanted inside, and he was probably right.
    The yard seemed to go on forever.
    I’d spend hours out there, wandering through a sea of crushed cars and mountains of rusted appliances. There were always new places to explore and treasures to find.
    When I was a few years older, my father told me that besides being able to find whatever you wanted at Gabby’s junkyard, you could also dispose of anything you wanted.
    For a price.
    “There are more bodies buried out there than over at Fairview Cemetery,” he said. “One day, that place is going to be all over the news, you just watch.”
    He laughed when he told me, but I didn’t.
    There was nothing funny about Gabby.
    Even as a kid, I knew something wasn’t right about him, but my father didn’t seem to notice. If he had one true friend in his life, it was Gabby, and he trusted him completely. So, when I was twelve and my dad went to prison for the first time, Gabby took me in.
    I lived with him for four years before I found my own trouble and they sent me into juvenile detention.
    Gabby would visit from time to time, and once he even told me he considered me a son. Now, driving through this deserted part of the city, all I can do is hope he still feels the same way.
    I cross over the railroad tracks and turn right, heading north until I see a two-story brick building with a hand-painted sign out front.
    Gabriel’s Custom Wood Furniture.
    Gabby was right. It was easy to find.
    There’s a heavy steel gate along the side of the building surrounding a large paved lot and loading dock. I drive by for a closer look, then pull into the parking lot across the street and shut off the engine.
    It’s quiet, and I can hear my heart beating against my ribs. I close my eyes for a moment, then open the door and step out. The wind sliding between the empty buildings is cold and smells like asphalt and oil.
    I breathe it in deep and try to focus.
    My feet don’t want to move.
    The two men who cut off my finger are inside, which means the answers I’m looking for are inside. I don’t know if they’re the ones who killed Diane, but I’m going to find out tonight, no matter what.
    I stay by my car for a while and stare up at the grid of dark windows on the buildings lining the street. I try to shake the feeling I’m being watched, but it’s hard.
    Eventually, I cross the street to Gabby’s place and walk up to the front door. There’s a black button on the frame. I press it and hear a buzzer sound far away.
    I hear a series of clicks from the locks, and then the door opens. The kid standing inside looks younger than my students. He is wearing a shoulder holster, and I see the handle of the gun by his armpit.
    For a minute, we just stand there.
    “What do you want?”
    “I’m looking for Gabby.”
    He stares at me, doesn’t move.
    I look past him into the darkness. “Is he here or not?”
    The kid’s eyes go wide, just for a second, then he smiles. I know the smile. He’s been assigned a job, and he thinks that makes him king. He knows he doesn’t have to put up with anyone’s shit.
    I know this because ten years ago, that was me.
    He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt and say, “No, don’t talk. Just go find him.”
    The kid stops smiling. “Who the fuck are you?”
    I start to tell him, and then I hear a door open somewhere behind him and a familiar voice say, “Hey, Jake.”
    The kid doesn’t take his eyes off me, but the muscles in his face go loose. He waits until Gabby gets close, then he looks down and steps away from the door.
    Gabby walks up with his arms