The Disappearance of Cristel Epps

We go find Amelia Michaelson. She lives in a house even bigger and, if possible, more perfect than Nathan’s house. Her mom never wears pants and always wears a necklace. Her dad works in a law firm in Charleston. He always smiles because they always have lots of money. He loves telling jokes, even jokes that aren’t funny. He says Hey kid, what do you call a man with a shovel on his head? Doug! And then he creases up as though he has never laughed before. He always kisses Amelia on the top of her head whenever we go out to play, and he always says Don’t get up to mischief. We don’t know what mischief is, but Nathan says it means doing things that adults don’t do anymore since they stopped being kids.

We say goodbye to Mr Michaelson and make our way along Amelia’s street. She is wearing a dress with purple flowers on it because her mom won’t let her wear pants, but she doesn’t care if it gets dirty. ‘We’re just being kids,’ she tells her mom when she comes home with mud on her clothes and leaves in her hair, and her mom sighs and smiles and says, ‘I just wish you could be a nice, clean kid,’ and puts the clothes in the washer.

‘I wanna spy on Ken,’ I say, and Nathan and Amelia nod happily. Spying is fun, and they both know my family is weird and Ken deserves it. I know I should tell them that Cristel is missing and I want to know if Ken knows where she is. But Nathan and Amelia don’t ask why, so I don’t tell them. They don’t need a reason. They know I hate my brother and that is enough.

We make our way downtown to Ken’s gym. The signs say that River Rapids’ downtown area is ‘historic’ and ‘part of a special regeneration program sponsored by Mayor Bob Vance designed to reposition the downtown area as a vibrant shopping and eating destination’. Robarts Street must be waiting for its turn to come, because right now all the buildings are empty apart from Frank’s Gym. Large windows reflect the sunshine into our eyes, but if I push my nose against them I can see inside and the stores are empty and dusty. Some have old pieces of furniture jumbled everywhere, display cabinets that used to hold racks of Goodwill skirts and blouses. In others, old cardboard boxes spill papers onto the floor. Nathan and I have talked many times about trying to get into one of these old stores, but so far we have not found the courage.

We huddle in a doorway across the street from the gym. A notice in the window next to me thanks customers for their loyalty for more than twenty years. Maybe one day we will have the pleasure of serving you again, it finishes. Next to it a bill for a boxing event peels from the glass. I wonder if some of the boxers frowning from behind poised gloves trained at the gym across the street.

Nathan passes around the Doritos. I eagerly cram some into my mouth. I realize I haven't eaten at all today.

Amelia crunches chips. ‘Any idea how long we'll be waiting?’ she says.
‘He always goes to the gym as soon as he wakes up,’ I say.
Nobody cares much. We may as well hang out here as anywhere else. Soon Nathan has transformed deserted, rundown Robarts Street into a busy New York boulevard and we are private eyes hired to spy on a notorious gangster who's been running rings around the police for months. He's Dick Spencer, grizzled former police detective now on the verge of alcoholism, I’m Robin Bruce, teenage assistant, handy with my fists and handier with the girls, and Amelia is the gangster's moll, tired of violence and ready to go straight. Together we'll keep the streets safe for the law abiding public of New York City.

For a time, Dad and Ken and Cristel fade from my mind.

Until Ken's Harley roars around the corner from Main and comes to a halt outside Frank's. We press into the shadows of the doorway. If Ken sees us, he'll go berserk. He pulls the helmet from his head and struts into the gym.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

The windows of Frank's Gym are blacked out and the brief glimpse through the door when Ken went in is not enough to satisfy our curiosity. I imagine a dark, dank room, full of sweaty, over-pumped men in wifebeaters, grunting to each other. The smell of testosterone and metal. Comparing sizes to see who has the biggest arms.

‘I'm going in!’ says Nathan, suddenly.

I stop, a handful of Doritos an inch from my mouth. ‘You're not serious?’

‘I'm Dick Spencer, private eye,’ he says. ‘And there's only one way to find out what goes on behind those doors.’

‘What will you say?’ asks Amelia.

‘I'll pretend to be you, Daryl,’ he says. ‘I'll say I have a message for my brother.’ ‘He'll beat the life out of you,’ I say, eyes wide, Doritos still held in suspense.

‘Only if he catches me,’ says Nathan. 'I do this for the benefit of young brothers and private eyes everywhere. I am prepared to risk all for our cause.’

He thumps his chest over his heart, leaves our hiding place in the empty doorway and cruises the street to Frank's Gym. Amelia and I watch, fists in mouths, as he pushes the door open and disappears inside. I expect the guy at the door who checks membership to boot him onto the sidewalk on his backside. But a moment passes and then another and nothing happens. Has the guy swallowed Nathan's story about carrying a message for his brother? I am just thinking that maybe Nathan truly can do anything when the door bursts open and Nathan runs into the street, eyes wide, a huge grin stretched across his face, yelling, ‘Run!’ as loud as he can. Amelia and I watch, dumbstruck.

Until Ken bursts through the door behind Nathan, red-faced and yelling something about kicking his behind.

Nathan runs past us and we follow, sneakers slapping against the concrete sidewalk of Robarts Street, past empty stores to the end of the block. Then right on Main, no clue where we’re going, high and screaming on the adrenalin of the chase, the thump, thump, thump of Ken's training shoes on the sidewalk behind us reminding me of the sound my heels made against Nathan's mom's couch hours and hours ago.

Right again and now we're behind the stores on Robarts, among dumpsters and abandoned cars and dog turds. We slide into a space between a wall and a dumpster, sweaty and giggling, even Amelia, trying to stifle our noise so we don't give ourselves away. Moments later Ken's heavy footfall approaches.
‘It's disgusting in there!’ whispers Nathan. ‘Smells like old man farts and window cleaner!’

I smirk.

'Shhhh!’ hisses Amelia.

Ken shoves the dumpster aside with one arm like it weighs nothing. The brick wall behind me presses into my back. ‘My snot-nose brother and his snot-nose friends,’ he says. ‘You spying on me, that it? Your sister goes missing, you still playing your stupid games?’

‘What?’ Nathan says. ‘Your sister's missing?’

‘You didn't tell your little buddy?’ says Ken. He smiles and punches my nose. Pain explodes in front of my face and my nostrils fill up. I scream.

‘Get out of here, runt,’ Ken says. He cuts his eyes at Nathan and Amelia, gobs spit on the ground and stalks off. Nobody moves or speaks until he has turned the corner.

‘Are you alright, Daryl?’ says Amelia. She puts her arms around me and hugs me tight. Usually, I would pull away, disgusted, especially with Nathan standing right there, but this time is different. This time it feels nice.

A tear squeezes from my right eye but I blink it away.