Chapter 11
Leo refused to leave the empty corner for over an hour. She paced back and forth along the asphalt, her eyes scanning every passing vehicle, hoping against hope that the green and purple food truck would round the corner with its familiar exhaust hum. Toby sat quietly on the curb, his head bowed, the damp morning chill sinking deep into his bones through his worn-out gray jacket.
When a delivery truck pulled up to the loading dock of the nearby warehouse, Leo finally decided to act. She marched right up to the driver, who was unlatching the back doors with a heavy metal clang, her chin tilted up with that fierce, protective defiance that defined her.
"Excuse me," Leo said, her voice cutting sharply through the idling engine noise.
The driver, a heavyset man with a clipboard tucked under his arm, looked down in surprise at the dirt-smudged child standing before him. "Yeah, kid? What do you want?"
"The food truck," Leo said, pointing an accusatory finger at the empty space by the curb. "The green and purple one that’s always here on Tuesdays. Where is he?"
The driver scratched his head, squinting through the fog at the vacant spot. "Oh, Arthur’s truck? Man, I don't know. Word around the yards is his transmission finally blew out late last week. Tow truck hauled him away Friday evening. Heard he’s parked down at a garage off the interstate getting a new engine put in."
"Which garage?" Leo pressed instantly, not missing a beat.
The driver blinked, taken aback by the intensity in her eyes. "Uh... Miller’s Auto Repair, down on Fourth and Elm. About two miles south. Why? You owe him money or something?"
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Leo didn't answer. She gave a sharp nod, turned on her heel, and walked back to where Toby was waiting. She grabbed his hand, her expression set in stone. Two miles south through a maze of unfamiliar city streets in the freezing fog. It was a long, brutal walk for an eight-year-old and a six-year-old, but there was no question in her mind. They were going to find that garage.
They set off immediately, their small, worn-out shoes slapping rhythmically against the cold pavement, chasing a ghost through the gray morning mist.
