No Return

6

Wes’s alarm went off at six. Anna gave him a kiss, rolled out of bed, and slipped quietly out the front door. He was pretty sure he mumbled a goodbye, but it could have been a dream. A second alarm woke him a half hour later. With a groan, he hobbled on sore knees into the bathroom to take a shower. The reflection that greeted him in the mirror was bruised and scratched.

“Awesome,” he said with zero feeling. The day ahead had to be better than the one he’d just gone through.

But before he could even get the water started, his cellphone rang. The name on the display read CASEY.

“Hey,” Wes said into the phone.

“You can’t be serious,” Casey said.

“Way too early for cryptic. What are you talking about?”

“The plane crash yesterday. You were there?”

“How did you know that?”

“I never reveal my sources.”

Casey Dake worked as one of the top researchers at the Quest Network. His job was information. He assisted producers and writers in gathering any facts and other data they might need for future shows.

Casey and Wes had been friends since college, meeting in the television/film department while working together on such collegiate classics as Drive-Thru Confessions and The Man from La Mirada. After graduation they’d stayed close. Casey had helped Wes get his gig at Quest. And when Casey had broken up with his longtime girlfriend, Wes had offered up the guest bedroom in his Santa Monica townhouse. They’d roomed together ever since.

“No. Really. How did you find that out?”

“Racquel over in HR. She just sent me an email to see if I’d heard from you. Apparently a couple military guys in uniform came to the office yesterday afternoon and asked about you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Racquel said they were making sure you worked for the company.”

It kind of made sense. The Navy would want to confirm Wes and the crew were who they said they were. But a phone call should have been enough to take care of that.

“So what happened?” Casey asked.

Wes gave him a condensed version of events, then asked his friend to keep him posted if any other gossip surfaced at the office.

“Sure,” Casey said. “And you try to stay out of trouble today, huh?”

“Don’t worry. I plan on it.”

Wes soaked in the shower, letting the heat work out some of the soreness in his muscles. Once he was finished, he dried off, shaved, brushed his teeth, and got dressed, marginally more awake than before. That’s when he noticed that the red message light on the motel phone was lit. He followed the message retrieval instructions, heard a beep, then:

“I’m calling for Wes Stewart,” a male voice said. “Wes … em … it’s Lars … Lars Andersen. From high school? I just found out you were in town. Look, why don’t you give me a call when you get this. I was thinking maybe we could get together. Here’s my number.…”

Wes wrote it down, deleted the message, then stared at the piece of paper.

Lars Andersen. Wow. He hadn’t thought of him in years.

Wes looked at the clock on the nightstand. He still had twenty minutes before he had to meet the others.

What the hell?

He grabbed his cellphone and punched in Lars’s number.

“Lieutenant Commander Andersen,” a voice answered.

“Lars?”

A pause. “Wes?”

“You’re in the Navy?”

After growing up with him on and around the China Lake naval base, Wes thought Lars had been as anxious as he had been to do anything but join the service.

“You think I’d be back here if I weren’t?” Lars said with a laugh.

“Good point.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Wes said. “But surprised, I guess. How did you know I was here?”

“You haven’t seen the paper this morning?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s a front-page article about yesterday’s F-18 crash. It mentions you and your colleagues were nearby and witnessed it.”

“How did they get my name?”

“I don’t know, but if they hadn’t included you, I wouldn’t have known you were here.”

“Of course.” Wes paused. “So … uh … how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Busy. But that’s normal. Hey, listen. I can’t really talk too long right now, but why don’t we meet up for lunch? It would be great to see you again.”

“Hold on,” Wes said. He grabbed the shoot schedule off the dresser and scanned his day ahead. “Looks like I can probably break free around noon for about forty-five minutes.”

“Perfect,” Lars said. “I know exactly where we should go.”

“Where?”

“Tacos.”

Wes smiled. “Don’t tell me. La Sonora.”

“Yes, my friend. La Sonora.”

“They’re still around?”

“I know. Surprising, huh?”

“Is Hannibal Lecter still running the register?”

“Still there.”

Wes laughed. “I would have sworn she’d have been dead by now.”

“It’s possible. Could be they’re just propping her up.”