Diners, Dives & Dead Ends Read Free

knew if I sat around my
apartment I’d brood, so I decided to stick to my schedule.  And most Monday
nights you could find me studying at Janelle Johnson’s house.
    In her mid-thirties, Janelle
had smooth, dark brown skin, an enormous, gravity-defying rack, and long, thin
braids that skimmed her ample butt.  We bonded over fetal pigs in biology class
last semester.  She had gone back to school after her husband cheated with a
woman he picked up at Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Janelle came home early from her
afternoon shift at the Quickie Mart and found them eating fried chicken—and
each other—in Janelle’s bed. 
    We lounged at her dining
room table, studying for an ethics test.  And by studying, I mean gossiping and
eating.
    I’d told Janelle about
Axton, the club, the backpack, and the strange man. 
    “That Axton’s always been a
little squirrelly.”
    “No, he’s a sweetie.  But
something was up with him today.  And the guy with the suit?  Creepy.”
    “Ask him about it.”  She
handed me a bag of pretzels. 
    “Oh, believe me, I will.” 
If I ever got a hold of him. 
    “So, Asshat has the kids
tonight,” Janelle said. 
    I nodded, making an effort
to get my mind off of Axton and the strange man and focus on her story.  But I
kept peeking at my phone, willing it to ring.
    “Chicken Licker told my
daughter,” she poked herself in the chest with a long, blue acrylic nail, “ my daughter, she could get her ears pierced this weekend.  Oh hell no.  Over my
dead sexy body.”  Asshat was of course her ex-husband and Chicken Licker his
Kentucky Fried girlfriend.
    “What did Asshat have to say
about that?”
    She rolled her eyes.  “What
does he ever say?  Nothin’.  I told Chicken Licker if she got her bony ass
anywhere near my child’s ears, I would make my foot a permanent part of her
anatomy.”
    I munched on a pretzel.  “I
wouldn’t want her bony ass near my ears either.”  Just then my phone rang.  I
recognized the number and quickly answered.
    “Rose, it’s the Axman.” 
    “Thank God, I’ve tried
calling you a million times.  There was a strange man looking for you.” 
    “Listen—”
    “I can barely hear you.”  I
put a finger over my left ear and held the phone closer to my right. 
    “Can you come and get me?”
     “Ax, what is going—”
    “I need a ride, man.  Can
you come or what?”  Something about his tone sent chills up my spine.  “Aw,
shit.  Rose…”  I heard clattering, like something hit the phone.
     I sat up straight. 
“Axton?  Where are you?  What’s—”
    His phone cut out before I
finished the question.
    I looked at Janelle. 
“Something’s not right.”
    “See?  Squirrelly.”  She sipped
her Coke.  “Where is he?”
    “I don’t know.  Can I use
your phone to call him back?  My battery’s almost out.”
    Janelle waved vaguely at the
phone on the counter.  I dialed Axton’s number, but my call went straight to
voice mail.  Dread swept over me.  “He’s not answering.” 
    I walked back to the table, closed
my books, and shoved them in my backpack.  “I need to look for him.”
    “You want me to go with
you?”
    I zipped my bag.  “No.  I’ll
drive around, see if I can find him.  He’s probably fine.”  I tried to reassure
myself, but even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. 
    Axton Graystone was in
trouble.

Chapter 3
     
     
     
    I drove toward Axton’s
house, way south of Apple Tree Boulevard.  The Boulevard—mysteriously named as
it was devoid of apple trees—was the dividing line in Huntingford.  To the
north, subdivisions with names like Stony Gates, The Cottages, and Crabapple
Estates surrounded manicured golf courses or large man-made lakes.  South of
Apple Tree contained the historic district of Huntingford.  Or as most people
called it, the crappy side of town.
    Axton lived in a tiny, white
clapboard two-bedroom, one-bath home with his stoner roommate Joe Fletcher. 
Joe worked