When they pulled up to the diner<\/span>,<\/span> they saw heads turn to stare at them through the plate glass window. This wasn’t a motorcycle joint. Upton didn’t think there was one in the whole town, if you could call this pinprick of civilization a town. He could see from one end clear out the<\/span> other and several miles beyond<\/span>. Just a stamp of humanity, a brand upon the prairie to show that man had been here and had taken over.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan was the first to dismount, because he’d been born last and had spent the subsequent years trying to make up for it. He took off his helmet, shaking his hair for the locals, though he would have done it even if no one had been watching. He gave Upton an impatient look even though their motors were still hissing.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton sighed and got off his bike. Hung his helmet from the handlebars. His hair was short, only slightly longer than the buzz cut their father had demanded for so long. He and Dylan so different in so many ways, but you couldn’t call it a generational gap, because only six years separated them. Upton often thought he took more after their mother while Dylan, for better or worse, had fallen off their father’s branch of the tree.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n The diner was a throwback to the Fifties, old but not that old, maybe late Eighties. Silver paint flecking off in spots, neon sign in the window buzzing. <\/span>The Bluebird Diner<\/span><\/i>, which seemed to be what all these kitschy places were named. Made Upton faintly sick to his stomach, like the world was trying to drag him back to a time he didn’t belong in, anchoring him with a past that had never been his.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan opened the door. Old country music, fiddle and steel and twang, greeted them from the corner jukebox. They stood in the doorway a moment, acclimating to the air-conditioning. The stares were not open\u2014that polite Midwestern disregard Upton had become grateful for over the past few days\u2014but he knew they struck quite a picture: Upton, tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut and groomed; Dylan, short and wiry, with his first incomplete beard and hair almost down to his shoulders. Charles Manson and the Aryan ideal. It meant they would stand out. It meant they would be remembered in detail.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n The door swung shut behind them. Dylan sauntered past the tables and sat at the counter. Upton would have preferred a corner booth, but he eased himself onto a stool beside his brother. Wished there’d been a mirror along the opposite wall so he could keep an eye on things, but there was just an opening into the kitchen, with smoke and steam drifting out along with the sizzle of a flattop.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n A waitress around Dylan’s age came over and set menus in front of them. Pretty brunette, a spray of freckles across her nose, hair pulled up in a bun. Stains on her apron and a nametag that read “Penelope.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, eyes lingering a little longer on Dylan. “Can I <\/span>getcha<\/span>?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan wiped sweat from his forehead. “Don’t suppose you serve beer?” he asked, even <\/span>though he still had a couple years to go before she\u2014who probably wasn’t of age herself\u2014could serve it to him.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She smiled a complicit smile and shook her head. “Dry county. How about a lemonade? Home brew. It’s got a kick to it.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan grinned. “Well, a kick<\/span>‘s what I need, for sure.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She glanced at Upton who nodded<\/span> and said, “Please.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n As she was getting the drinks, Upton did a small survey of the diner. Ten customers scattered around, only one other at the counter, far end closest to the door. A family of three over near the jukebox, a young couple and a toddler too young for school. Upton had to close his eyes to figu<\/span>re out the day of the week, <\/span>and <\/span>it took <\/span>even more work to reach the month and date. Live too long without <\/span>a set schedule, and you vanish through<\/span> a hole in the world.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n He peered into the kitchen but only saw one individual moving around, a stoop-shouldered middle-aged man in a hairnet who looked Greek in some vague way. Upton would bet dimes to dollars that apron had “Kiss the Cook” or <\/span>“May the Forks Be with You<\/span>“<\/span> written on it.<\/span> There appeared to be no other staff.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n The waitress brought their drinks. “You need a few minutes to decide?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan drummed his fingers on the counter. “What do you recommend?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She glanced over her shoulder<\/span> at the clock. “You want breakfast or dinner?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “I am open to all possibilities.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She chewed her pen for a second. “How about the chicken fried steak?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Is that breakfast or dinner?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “It’s whichever you want it to be, I reckon.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan snapped his fingers. “Hard to argue with that logic. You got a deal.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton ordered a cheeseburger, well-dressed. The waitress gave their orders to the man in the kitchen, then went to check on the other customers.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan eyed her openly. “I sure choose some good spots to stop at, brother. Maybe it’s an instinct. A gift.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton said nothing. Sipped his decidedly sour lemonade and studied the fossils of Americana strewn about the walls like some antique hunter’s trophy collection. How did people find this shit welcoming? Made him itch, feel like someone was standing just over his shoulder waiting for their moment to pounce.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Aw hell,” Dylan said. “You get upset too easily.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “And you don’t think things through. We’ve talked about this.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “I was hungry, so sue me. <\/span>Your<\/span><\/i> idea to skip breakfast.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “And why was that?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan looked away and shrugged. “Okay. Well, fuck. But this <\/span>ain’t<\/span> any different than any place further on.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “You don’t think we would have st<\/span>uck out a little less in <\/span>Peoria<\/span>?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Don’t know, never been. And besides, I’m hungry <\/span>now<\/span><\/i>. I’ll probably be hungry again when we <\/span>get <\/span>there, if you’re so keen to stop.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton rubbed his eyes. Jesus. Just six years older, true, but so<\/span>metimes he felt like it was decades<\/span>. He wondered if this was how their father had felt at times, then immediately stopped that train of thought dead in<\/span> its tracks. He was nothing<\/span> like<\/span> that<\/span> old bastard.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n He sighed. “Just keep your pants zipped, will you?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan grinned. “That was, like, a month ago, and I <\/span>swear<\/span><\/i> she wasn’t wearing a ring.” He made the sign of the cross, a chilling hold-over from their father that he didn’t seem to know he did, and said, “My eyes may wander, but my heart will stay pure with virtue.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton snorted.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n The waitress came back to check on them, or at least Dylan. Upon watched the way she looked at his brother, a small pang of jealousy offset by a tremendous sense of unease. Her eyes a little too eager to please. Maybe seen too many old movies, and not enough of the new ones where the situation she thought she’d found herself in ended poorly.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “I bet you get this all the time,” Dylan was saying, “but you <\/span>look<\/span><\/i> like a ‘Penelope.'”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She actually blushed. Jesus wept and Upton cringed.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “<\/span>All<\/span><\/i> the time,” she said. “I don’t know how my parents could tell so early.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Speaking of names, this <\/span>town’s<\/span> got a pretty weird one, don’t you think?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n She giggled. “It’s named after a creek that runs north of here.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan looked from her to Upton and back again. “No offense, Penelope, but that doesn’t explain a whole heck of a lot.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Where Dylan picked up his charm, Upton had no idea. Theirs had not been a charming upbringing.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n The waitress was called away. The tension did not ease with her absence. If anything, it seemed to grow heavier in anticipation of her return. They should not have stopped here. Upton should have put his foot down. He’d been going easy on <\/span>his brother for far too long, trying to compensate for all those y<\/span>ears under their father’s fist<\/span>. But maybe he’d been too lenient. If his brother did something stupid again, they would both pay the price.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan tapped his shoulder. “Hey, how much <\/span>you<\/span> think’s in there?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Upton followed his gaze to the cash register, an old-fashioned job, either in keeping with the d\u00e9cor or the owner’s frugality. Easy to break into, you just pretty much had to ask politely and it opened itself.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Not enough to be worth it,” he said. “Don’t even think about it.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Okay, okay, sorry.” Dylan leaned away. “What’s got into you, Up? You’re cranky even by <\/span>your<\/span><\/i> standards.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “I’m busy trying to keep your hands out of the cookie jar. You’re a man now, you should be able to do it your own damn self.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “<\/span>Naw<\/span>, I’m a growing boy still. Got to satisfy my urges.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Not right now you don’t. Right now, you’re <\/span>gonna<\/span> eat, and then we’re <\/span>gonna<\/span> ride until we h<\/span>it <\/span>Peoria<\/span> and lay low for a couple<\/span> days. Or is that too complicated a plan for you to follow?”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan sat back on his stool, scowling. “Ah, come on. You know I’m just playing.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “Yeah, and I’m telling you to quit. We don’t have time for it right now. Maybe in <\/span>Peoria<\/span> you can hit up a strip club or something, but for right now playtime is over.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n Dylan groaned. “Oh, great. <\/span>Peoria<\/span>‘<\/span>s known for<\/span> its<\/span> strippers, I’m sure.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n “You’ll live,” Upton said. “It’s better than the alternative.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Dylan cracked his knuckles, fidgeting. “I just need to <\/span>do<\/span><\/i> something. <\/span>It’s like I can’t breathe. <\/span>I feel like I’m in a cage.”<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n