For the first few blocks, Jacob had made his trek in silence. Lance, on the other hand, was making quite merry as they walked with his hands behind his neck, his legs kicking high, and a whistle on his lips. He exuded happiness and seemed to light up the street with his presence alone. It was enough to give Jacob a toothache, and he did his best to ignore him. Instead, he started wrapping his brain around what could have happened to his uncle and where he might have gone. Something happened back at the diner that set him off, but, for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what. If he had lost his wallet as he said, he simply would have taken Jacob with him--it had happened before--but rather he had left Jacob behind. Whatever he was rushing off to take care of, it must have been dangerous to some degree; enough that he wouldn't risk bringing Jacob along. He was obviously panicked, and there was a bruise forming on the back of his head. Then there was the key pendant he gave him shortly thereafter. Jacob took it in his hand and held it up, marveling at the glimmer in the late-day sun. It was a beautiful piece of citrine, or some similar gemstone, with gold caressing its edges and cut into a key at the tip. As he thought back, he recalled the pendant growing warm during the kerfuffle at the police station. Lance had said he had appeared in a blast of light, and he certainly recalled some sort of flash, followed by a sea of gold.

  He gave his head a hard shake.

  "That's impossible!" he grumbled to himself. "So what? I'm now Dr. Spock and I can teleport?"

  "Mccoy was the one that ran the teleporters." Lance chirped. "Plus, teleportation isn't that big of a stretch."

  Jacob shot him a look.

  "One, I wasn't talking to you. Two, do I even want to know what you mean?"

  "Teleportation in the basic sense is the transmission of information from one node to another," Lance said matter-of-factly. "So if there is a means to convert physical matter into information, it can likewise be transferred from one node to the other. This process ultimately requires physical matter to be broken down into energy, likely through the method of nuclear fission where a matter's nucleus is broken down into small bits before being transmitted. I'd wager your mass is about eleven point two kilograms, so, plugging that into Einstein's formula, I'd imagine the energy manifestation of your body would be in the ballpark of 1.0066058 x 1018 meters squared per second squared."

  Jacob balked at him.

  "Yeah, it weirds me out too. No wonder you made such a big bang when you suddenly appeared. Oh, look! Ice cream!"

  Lance took off for a nearby ice cream stand parked in front of a hardware store while Jacob remained rooted to where he was, his jaw all but on the floor. Granted, he could have likely answered that whole equation himself if he had taken the time to gather the numbers, but he always thought of himself as a freak when it came to numbers anyway. But that kid just now more or less proved that he had teleported, and he explained it all in such detail that Stephen Hawking would blush with shame. He wasn't sure if even his uncle Laramie was that smart. Lance quickly returned now armed with a pair of vanilla cones, and he offered one to Jacob. He quickly fixed his face, and he held up a hand.

  "Thanks anyway, but I'm lactose intolerant."

  Lance grinned.

  "Oh, that's ok. Hey, Oscar, you got any of that dairy-free in stock?"

  Oscar, a large Italian-looking man with dark hair and a handlebar mustache, flashed the two boys a smile and opened up his cart.

  "You're in luck." he rumbled in a throaty baritone as he scooped a fresh cone. "Got me some of the good stuff, this time. Not that cheap knockoff like last time."

  Lance shuddered.

  "Gah, don't remind me. That was the shortest block party I ever saw."

  Oscar gave Jacob his cone, making the boy uneasy. Oscar took quick notice, and he gave a sharp bark of laughter.

  "No need to be so sullen, my friend. Any friend of Lance is a buddy of mine, and the first cone is always free. Now go on before it melts."

  Jacob reluctantly obeyed. He had never had ice cream before as a result of his allergy, so he was nervous. However, the minute the cold tang of the vanilla met his taste buds, his entire face lit up in delight. This brought yet another chorus of laughter from Oscar, and he gave him a pat on the back.

  "Kindness should be shared, and nothing soothes the soul after a long day like some good gelato, no?"

  "I'll agree with you there." Jacob chuckled as he took another lick. "Thank you, Mr. Oscar."

  "Bah!" Oscar rebuked. "Mr. Oscar was my padre. I am just Oscar, and that is enough for me, see?"

  With that, he sent the boys away, waving in more customers as they passed. The two boys quickly finished their cones as they continued down the street. Maybe it was the ice cream or just the fact that things were finally slowing down, but Jacob was starting to take a much closer look at the city around him. Unlike Lowtown, Midtown Grummsdale seemed a bit more boxed in and cozy with the trolley line running down the middle of the street like a zipper. There were several nickel and dime stores, a couple more diners, and even a large theater that promised a high school rendition of Hamilton. But there were no chain restaurants or stores to be found as they went. Everything was owned by an individual or a family, and everyone they passed offered a friendly smile or a wave.

  "Heya Lance!" a girl walking her dog called.

  "Lance, how you doing?" a skateboarder cackled as he skated past.

  "What up, Lance?" a street artist greeted as he finished a mural on a store wall.

  "You're looking thin, sweety. Are you eating right?" an elderly woman tutted.

  "Don't forget about Friday night sesh, Lance!" a young man with a dragon shirt hailed.

  Jacob blinked at just how many people seemed to know the kid and seemed completely unphased by his shabby appearance. He looked down at the boy again, silently questioning him. Lance took notice, and he shrugged.

  "It's not that big of a town, and I guess you could say I get around."

  They made it past another light when a man stepped out of a parked car with a man pouring over his engine. Jacob heard Lance groan, and he made his way over.

  "Ok, Finster, what'd you do this time?"

  The man twitched, and his head shot up, banging against the hood as he turned about. He was a young man perhaps in his early twenties, his blonde hair styled into a short pompadour. In the car proper they could see a young red-headed girl sitting in the passenger's seat, her arms crossed and her face terse.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Lance, you're a lifesaver!" Finster gushed as he fell to his knees in a pleading position. "You gotta help me! I finally got Lindsey to say yes to a date!"

  "This isn't a date." Lindsey protested. "You're supposed to be driving me to work."

  "My old jalopy just up and quit!" Finster went on, seeming to not hear her. "Could you work that techno-magic of yours and get her cylinders singing again?"

  Lance rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  "Finster, I keep telling you that this car is no good."

  The car in question was a cherry red Buick Roadmaster, though it had seen better days. The muffler was held together with duct tape, a headlight was dangling out of the fender, oil, and gasoline were slowly but steadily leaking as the vehicle sat still, and it had no mirrors. It was indeed a wreck, though not as a result of age.

  "Lance, come on, she's a classic." Finster insisted. "Chicks dig this stuff! You'll get it when you're older."

  "Oh, I get it plenty," Lance assured him. "It's you that can't get a clue. Just get me your toolbox while I check it out."

  Jacob watched as Lance pulled out a cinder block from a nearby alley and peered into the engine as Finster fetched a toolbox from the trunk. For the next several minutes, Lance fiddled with the engine, muttering and grumbling now and again about the abhorrent state the machine was in. He finally came up for air, his face mucked with oil and grime as he wiped his hands on his overalls.

  "Alright, dummy, give her a twirl."

  Finster gunned the engine, which chugged a few times before belching a noxious black cloud behind. Finally, it turned over, and it started to run. Finster whooped with glee, and then he put on his most charming smile as he turned to his passenger's seat.

  "Now, baby, what say you and I go cruising..."

  But Lindsey was gone. While Lance had been working and Finster fretting, the girl had wisely vacated the vehicle and made her way down the street. Jacob had considered saying something, but the panicked look on Finster's face made him crack a smile. Without so much as a goodbye or a thank you, Finster took off down the road in pursuit of his beloved. Lance could only shake his head in disgust and tried to clean himself off.

  "Anson Williams eat your heart out," he muttered under his breath.

  "No happy days for that loser, that's for sure." Jacob quipped. "Gotta say, you're like a Swiss army computer. Quantum mechanics one moment and then an actual mechanic?"

  Lance shrugged.

  "I have a four-digit IQ. Suffice to say, I know a thing or two about a thing or two."

  "Four digits?" Jacob asked skeptically.

  "I don't have to justify myself," Lance replied nonchalantly. "By the way, where are you going, anyway? It's getting pretty dark by now."

  Jacob motioned to follow, and they made their way down a couple more blocks before coming to a small auto shop. Laramie had left their van there for what he called a routine maintenance check, but Jacob knew it had been there too long. He initially wrote it off that the car wasn't even needed with the trolley line, but now he was hoping he could find a clue as to where his uncle had gone. It was closing time about now, but Old Joe, a swarthy African American man with mutton chops and an afro, opened the door all the same as the two boys walked in.

  "Lance, great to see you again, bud." Joe greeted warmly. "I got your usual parts sitting in a pile for you near the bathrooms."

  "Thanks, Joe," Lance said before taking off.

  Jacob would have questioned, but he instead focused on Joe.

  "Sir, I have an interesting request. Have you been working on a lime green 1960 Volkswagen bus?"

  Joe adopted a sneer, and he nodded.

  "Yeah, some chump named Laramie dropped it off on me a while ago. Paid in a check, but it bounced so hard it brought back one of Saturn's rings on a return trip. If that deadbeat doesn't get back here soon for it, I'll have it busted down for spare parts."

  Jacob shrunk at the thought as a lump formed in his throat.

  "Then I guess he hasn't been here yet?"

  Joe shook his head.

  "You know him?" he asked.

  "He's my uncle."

  "My condolences."

  Jacob glared at him.

  "You'll get your money back," he assured him hotly. "But, before you do something I'll regret, can I at least check it out? I left something in there, and I'd like it back."

  Joe crossed his eyes while eyeing Jacob carefully.

  "Hey, Lance!" he called, garnering the boy's attention. "This kid here. He with you?"

  Lance smiled, and he nodded.

  "Yeah, Jacob's cool," he replied.

  That seemed good enough for Joe, and he gestured to the car. Jacob gladly left Joe's side and made a beeline for the vehicle. A wash of nostalgia hit him as he pulled open the double doors in the back, and a deluge of memories filled his mind: late-night stargazings at various truck stops and parks, various lessons that brought frustration and laughter, meager meals that were shared with gratitude, and he could even smell the burning candles of numerous birthday cupcakes. This van had been his whole world; a mobile bastion of peace and safety. It was the closest thing to home Jacob had ever truly understood. He had to shake himself to return to the present, and he got to work combing the vehicle with a fine-toothed comb. From the carpet to the pockets on the back of the seats and even the cupholders, he looked for something, anything, that could give him a clue as to where his uncle had gone. In the end, all he found was a slew of old receipts from drive-thrus, exactly thirty-two cents in change, a box of soggy cigarettes from when his uncle thought about taking up smoking, and a half-eaten can of sardines. In short, he found Jack diddly squat. He sighed as he started to make his way out of the car. He could see Joe looking at his watch, waiting for them to leave so he could close up shop. Jacob started to leave when heard a noisy whirring sound underneath the van. He dropped down, and he peered underneath. There was Lance armed with a hydraulic wrench, and he appeared to be unscrewing something.

  "The blazes are you doing?" Jacob demanded.

  "Something's bolted under here," Lance said. "It's not part of the manifold. Looks like a black box."

  A moment later, the boy came sliding out, even greasier than before but now armed with a small, black box. It was about the size of an old VCR with a small antenna sticking out on a corner, as well as a tiny red light that was beeping. Jacob took it from Lance, looking it over.

  "What is this thing?" he wondered.

  "Like I said, it's a black box," Lance explained. "Think like what airplanes use to store their flight data. Typically they're used to store sensitive data in the event of an accident or something that would cause a malfunction. This one isn't for the car, though. It has what I think is a wireless transmitter designed to receive data from a distance. Think of it as a very large hard drive."

  "Could Joe have put this on?" Jacob asked.

  "Joe doesn't even know how to update his computers," Lance replied dryly. "Everything's paper to him, so I sincerely doubt it."

  Lance looked down at the box again.

  "Then my uncle must've left this for me to find. But how do I even use it?"

  "Just plug it into a computer." Lance said pointing at one of the sockets on the side. "Looks like your typical laptop could access it finely enough."

  He crossed his arms.

  "Of course, depending on the information stored inside, it could be heavily encrypted. I don't suppose you're good with computers or know anything about software hacking?"

  Jacob's face went blank.

  "Yeah, I figured as much."

  Quick as a whip, Lance snatched the black box back, throwing it onto a wagon full of junk Joe had given Lance.

  "Leave it to me. Once we're back at Paradiso, I'll get it unlocked for you."

  Now Jacob scowled.

  "Alright, I know you're smart, but if breaking into that's supposed to be next to impossible, how in the heck are you going to hack it?"

  Lance offered a cheeky grin, and he held up four fingers.

  "Four words: four-digit intelligence quotient."

  He started to strut away, chest out and knees high while dragging the little red wagon stacked high with junk. Jacob could only roll his eyes to the ceiling and throw up his hands in surrender. He fell in line behind the boy, only to stop short when Joe pulled his truck out before them.

  "You guys hop into the back. I'll drive you up to Paradiso."

  Lance beamed, though Jacob balked.

  "Uh, why?" he asked.

  Joe and Lance each exchanged a knowing glance, and then they winked at him.

  "Porque puedo." they chimed in practiced unison.

  Jacob officially gave up and just climbed into the passenger's seat. This whole town was weird, he had decided, and the sooner he found his uncle the sooner he could get the heck out of dodge.