Man of Wax Read Online Free Page A

pale blue sky—a pale blue that nearly matched my wife’s and daughter’s eyes.  
    Five minutes later I passed a sign for McDonald’s, where I eventually ended up. The parking lot was fairly full, even for a Monday in early October, but what the hell did I know? I pulled the Dodge into a space, got out and stretched my legs, my arms, my back. It felt good being outside, even if it was in a strange place. At least the Golden Arches were a comfort, an Americanized symbol that said in not so many words it didn’t care who I was, where I was going, or what I’d done; as long as I had money, they had grease-fried food with my name on it.  
    But when I started toward the entrance I found myself stopping almost immediately. Staring at the building and its familiar white and red and yellow motif caused an ache in my heart. I suddenly remembered all the times Casey had playfully pestered me and Jen to take her to McDonald’s, how she wanted, needed , a Happy Meal. Sometimes we gave in; sometimes we didn’t. We’d decided early on to keep our daughter away from unhealthy foods, though there had been a series of weekends last year where we went to McDonald’s every Saturday, after Casey proudly proclaimed McDonald’s hotcakes were her all-time favorite food in the whole wide world. So Jen and I had decided to make a morning of it, sitting out on the colorful tables of the Playland, surrounded by the watchful gazes of Ronald McDonald and Mayor McCheese, Grimace and the Hamburglar, watching our daughter happily eat her syrup-drenched hotcakes. Sipping our coffees and clasping hands beneath our table, we talked about whatever—movies, books, Jen’s recent cases, Casey’s upcoming preschool—both so happy to be together as a family and warmed by the simple knowledge that we would always be together, all three of us, no matter what.

    •     •     •

    I NSIDE , I WENT to the bathroom first. At the sink, washing my hands, I realized I hadn’t yet showered. The men’s room door opened and an old guy walked in, his gray hair wiry, shuffling his way past the two hand dryers to one of the stalls. I waited until I heard the satisfying click of the lock before pinching the collar of my T-shirt and pulling it out, lowering my nose so I could take a whiff. Wasn’t any B.O., but it didn’t smell that good either, and I decided I wasn’t apt to get many strange stares while I waited in line along with the general public.  
    I stared at myself for a moment in the mirror. I didn’t look like me, at least not the me I remembered. The glasses were what really threw me off. They just didn’t fit my face in the right way, and thinking of them, I became conscious of just how much they were pinching my nose.  
    In the farthest stall, the old man was mumbling, telling himself he could do it, that he really could.

    •     •     •

    T HERE WAS NO line at the counter, and the woman who waited on me had crooked teeth but somehow managed to pull off a nice smile. She pressed a button on her register screen and looked up, asked if this would be for here or to go. I glanced down at my arm, realized I wasn’t wearing my watch.  
    “To go,” I said, and pulled the wallet that wasn’t mine from my pocket.  
    Back in the Dodge a few minutes later, a large paper bag now on the passenger seat, containing two Big Macs, large fries, and the largest size Coke they had—which didn’t occur to me at the time how stupid that was considering I was on some kind of road trip with a deadline—my stomach had quieted down. It knew it was getting what it wanted and didn’t intend to rush me any further. Still I didn’t reach for the food just yet, thinking I had to make up for the time I’d lost on my little detour.  
    The phone started vibrating in my pocket the moment I backed out of my parking space. I wasted no time pulling it out. The same INCOMING CALL was on the screen.  
    Simon said, “Did I say stop at McDonald’s?