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with shoe polish messages about some sports event passed us, and a gaggle of teenagers bounced around in the back. Happy, clear faces, invincible until proven otherwise.
    I didn’t know what to say to Zeke. “Bummer,” was all I could think to say.
    “You and your dad close?”
    “Not exactly. I barely knew him.”
    He shook his head. “That's a shame. My old man could be a real son of a bitch, you know, but he was still my old man. I keep thinking about what I didn’t get to say to him.”
    I considered this in silence for a couple minutes, and Zeke seemed satisfied to leave it at that. I hadn’t seen my father in so long, I didn’t even know if he was a son of a bitch. I hadn’t known him at all, come to think of it.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    I spent the night at a crappy motel in north Austin. The remote control for the television was anchored to the TV by a chain. I don’t know who would steal a remote control, but the motel had definitely found a way to keep me from doing it.
    Checked in with Grace and still had her full support after I explained my progress so far. She said her sister was keeping her busy with home improvement projects like cleaning out the garage to make space for her car.
    She told me that Dog had started sleeping on my side of the bed, which made sense. That was probably his plan all along, the conniving little interloper. I’d deal with that when I got home.
    In the morning, I took a cab out to Elm Creek Drive, to the former residence of one Mr. Omar Qureshi. Trailer park neighborhood filled with double-wides and porches made of 2x4s. Despite the crisp December morning air, lots of kids were running about in shorts and t-shirts, spraying each other with colorful and futuristic-looking water guns. A few people sipping coffee on porches eyed me as I walked through the gravel lot, checking the address listed on my phone.
    I located the trailer, a mobile home with bowed and faded blue siding. Rocking horse in the front yard next to a rusted car battery.
    I knocked on the door, and after some shuffling inside, it cracked open. A pair of eyes materialized from the dark interior, then a face with a massive black beard.
    “What do you want?” he said.
    “This is going to sound weird, but I’m looking for Omar Qureshi. I understand he used to live here.”
    The bearded man looked me up and down, whistling air through his nose. He reached to his left, then inserted a toothpick in his mouth. “Who wants to know?”
    “My name is Candle.”
    “What kind of a name is Candle?”
    “A last name. Look, I’m a friend of his, but I haven’t been able to find him lately and I know he used to live here. It’s important that I get in touch with him now, as soon as possible.”
    The man grunted. Didn’t seem to buy my line. “If you’re a friend of Omar’s, seems mighty strange that you wouldn’t know what happened to him. He hasn’t been around here in a couple years.”
    I paused, trying to figure a way I could get this guy on my side. Didn’t see that we had much in common I could use for leverage. “I know, but you see, it’s been a long time. I need to find him, so I’d really appreciate it if you could point me in the right direction.”
    He opened the door, revealing a naked belly billowing over a pair of grungy boxer shorts. From inside, a baby’s cries leaked out into the air.
    He stepped out onto his porch, wearing only his skivvies, then flicked his toothpick at me. “You listen to me: the last thing in the world I need is to bring that mess into this house again. I don’t like that you’re coming around here, making trouble for me and my family. Omar ain’t here, and I got nothing else to say on the matter.”
    I stammered. “I don’t want to make any trouble, sir, I just need to locate him. It’s urgent.”
    “That two-bit liar has caused enough grief for me.”
    He got in my face, the smell of cheap beer assaulting my nostrils.