Read Online Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) by W.J. Costello - Free Book Online
Authors: W.J. Costello
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living now.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know how to find people. I was a deputy U.S. marshal.”
Lance stared at the glowing embers for a long time. He looked like he was giving it a lot of thought. Finally his eyes came back to me.
“Okay,” he said. “I want you to find her, see if she’s still alive.”
I nodded.
“Tell me more about her.”
He did.
CHAPTER 26
T HE S OCIAL S ECURITY Administration will attempt to forward letters to missing persons in certain circumstances. For instance, to inform them of important matters. Money due to them. Death in the family.
The procedure is different when a relative simply wants to make contact. In that case the relative’s letter is not forwarded. Instead the Social Security Administration writes to the missing person.
Lance’s lost love was not a relative of his. And as far as I knew she did not have important matters she needed to be informed of. So I had to be creative when I wrote to the Social Security Administration and asked them to forward my letter to the missing woman.
Having her Social Security number would have been useful. But Lance did not know it. So I provided the Social Security Administration with the only identifying information I had. It consisted of the woman’s name, date and place of birth, her father’s name, and her mother’s full birth name.
In the letter to the missing woman I included my contact information. I hoped she was still alive, I hoped she would receive my letter, and I hoped she would respond.
I dropped the envelope in a big blue mailbox on my way to the abandoned building.
I was wearing Adidas running shoes, Adidas running shorts, and an Adidas running shirt. I ran past a guy who was wearing Nike gear and I felt sorry for him.
When I got to the abandoned building I attacked the stairs two at a time all the way up to the twelfth flight. Progress.
After that I returned to the campground and did three sets of push-ups. Thirty-six on the first set, twenty-nine on the second, twenty-two on the third. Progress.
Pull-ups require more strength than push-ups. Normally I can do about thirty of them. But my body was not back to normal yet. So I did not expect to do thirty. Fifteen, maybe.
There weren’t any pull-up bars at the campground, so I found a horizontal tree branch to use. I reached up and gripped the thick branch and pulled my body up.
One.
My battered torso ached like hell. It wasn’t going to stop me. I pulled myself up again.
Two.
My biceps felt strong. My lats too.
. . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
My arms were pumping like a piston.
. . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . .
My form was perfect.
. . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .
My breath was labored.
. . . twelve . . . thirteen . . . fourteen . . .
My lats and biceps were swelling.
. . . fifteen.
I dropped to the ground and bent over, bracing my hands against my knees, gasping for breath. My clothes were soaked with sweat. Everything in my body was on fire. I walked it off.
After a few minutes of rest I was ready to do some sit-ups. I knew I couldn’t do my usual sixty. I was shooting for forty.
When I got to twenty my bruised abdominal muscles screamed in pain. The pain burned like a blowtorch. I had to stop for a moment.
Then I grit my teeth, pushed through the pain. Welcomed it even.
Pain makes you stronger. It never lies. It tells you who you are.
Pain told me to stop after thirty-three sit-ups. I did as I was told.
I was willing to do whatever it took to recover from my injuries, but there was no guarantee I would recover completely. It was possible I would never come back from this. Would never be as good as new. Would never be all that I was.
It was possible. But not likely.
Not with my discipline and work ethic.
Not with my tolerance for pain.
I did not plan to become as good as new.
I planned to become better than ever.
CHAPTER 27
M Y FAVORITE CHILDHOOD
“Doesn’t matter. I know how to find people. I was a deputy U.S. marshal.”
Lance stared at the glowing embers for a long time. He looked like he was giving it a lot of thought. Finally his eyes came back to me.
“Okay,” he said. “I want you to find her, see if she’s still alive.”
I nodded.
“Tell me more about her.”
He did.
CHAPTER 26
T HE S OCIAL S ECURITY Administration will attempt to forward letters to missing persons in certain circumstances. For instance, to inform them of important matters. Money due to them. Death in the family.
The procedure is different when a relative simply wants to make contact. In that case the relative’s letter is not forwarded. Instead the Social Security Administration writes to the missing person.
Lance’s lost love was not a relative of his. And as far as I knew she did not have important matters she needed to be informed of. So I had to be creative when I wrote to the Social Security Administration and asked them to forward my letter to the missing woman.
Having her Social Security number would have been useful. But Lance did not know it. So I provided the Social Security Administration with the only identifying information I had. It consisted of the woman’s name, date and place of birth, her father’s name, and her mother’s full birth name.
In the letter to the missing woman I included my contact information. I hoped she was still alive, I hoped she would receive my letter, and I hoped she would respond.
I dropped the envelope in a big blue mailbox on my way to the abandoned building.
I was wearing Adidas running shoes, Adidas running shorts, and an Adidas running shirt. I ran past a guy who was wearing Nike gear and I felt sorry for him.
When I got to the abandoned building I attacked the stairs two at a time all the way up to the twelfth flight. Progress.
After that I returned to the campground and did three sets of push-ups. Thirty-six on the first set, twenty-nine on the second, twenty-two on the third. Progress.
Pull-ups require more strength than push-ups. Normally I can do about thirty of them. But my body was not back to normal yet. So I did not expect to do thirty. Fifteen, maybe.
There weren’t any pull-up bars at the campground, so I found a horizontal tree branch to use. I reached up and gripped the thick branch and pulled my body up.
One.
My battered torso ached like hell. It wasn’t going to stop me. I pulled myself up again.
Two.
My biceps felt strong. My lats too.
. . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
My arms were pumping like a piston.
. . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . .
My form was perfect.
. . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .
My breath was labored.
. . . twelve . . . thirteen . . . fourteen . . .
My lats and biceps were swelling.
. . . fifteen.
I dropped to the ground and bent over, bracing my hands against my knees, gasping for breath. My clothes were soaked with sweat. Everything in my body was on fire. I walked it off.
After a few minutes of rest I was ready to do some sit-ups. I knew I couldn’t do my usual sixty. I was shooting for forty.
When I got to twenty my bruised abdominal muscles screamed in pain. The pain burned like a blowtorch. I had to stop for a moment.
Then I grit my teeth, pushed through the pain. Welcomed it even.
Pain makes you stronger. It never lies. It tells you who you are.
Pain told me to stop after thirty-three sit-ups. I did as I was told.
I was willing to do whatever it took to recover from my injuries, but there was no guarantee I would recover completely. It was possible I would never come back from this. Would never be as good as new. Would never be all that I was.
It was possible. But not likely.
Not with my discipline and work ethic.
Not with my tolerance for pain.
I did not plan to become as good as new.
I planned to become better than ever.
CHAPTER 27
M Y FAVORITE CHILDHOOD
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