It took a long time to connect. Long enough for him to wonder whether it would connect at all, out here in the middle of nothing. Then a woman's voice, calm and clear: "Nine-one-one, what is the address of your emergency?"
He kept his voice low. He told her where he was. The Silver Sage Diner, Highway 50, about twenty miles east of Eureka. He told her what he had seen: the owner pouring his coffee with his back turned, the man in the gray pickup with the camper shell putting what looked like a GPS tracker on his motorcycle. He told her about the girl, the note, the words three times since June. He spelled the name Curtis. He described the pickup. He did not try to read the license plate; he had not been able to see it from the booth.
"Sir, are you in immediate danger right now?"
"I don't think so. Not yet. I haven't drunk the coffee. I don't think they know I know." He paused. "The girl's sixteen, maybe. She's the one who warned me. If they figure out she talked, I don't know what happens to her. I need you to understand that."
"I understand." There was the sound of typing. "Sir, the closest Eureka County deputy is currently about thirty minutes from your location. I'm also notifying Nevada Highway Patrol. Is there any way you can remain where you are safely until units arrive?"
Tom looked at himself in the cracked mirror. A gray-bearded man with a sunburned face and tired eyes.
"Yeah," he said. "I can order lunch."
"Okay. I want you to stay on the line as long as you can, but if you need to hang up to avoid suspicion, do it. Do not drink anything they give you. Do not confront anyone. If anything changes, if you feel unsafe, call back immediately. Can you do that?"
"I can do that."
"Can you leave the coffee where it is? Don't pour it out. Don't let anyone take it."
He thought about that. "That might be tricky."
"Do your best. If it's tampered with, it's evidence."
"Copy that," Tom said, out of a habit twenty years old, and the dispatcher, after a short surprised pause, said, "Thank you for your service, sir. Hang tight."
He flushed the toilet for the sound of it, and ran the water in the sink, and splashed some on his face, and went back out.
When he came back into the dining room, Curtis was standing beside his booth.
Tom's heart stopped and then started again, hard. He kept walking. He kept his face easy. Curtis was holding the coffeepot, and he was looking down at the full mug sitting six inches from the edge of the table, untouched, with the coffee gone still and dark on top.
"Didn't like it?" Curtis asked. His voice was pleasant. His small pale eyes were not.
"Too hot," Tom said, sliding back into the booth. "Burned my wrist when the kid dropped the forks. Figured I'd let it cool off." He held up his wrist, which was still pink. "Scared the hell out of me."