Book of Bravery: A Novel 2,000 Plus Years in the Making

CHAPTER VII

Reno Arrival

When Quintus killed Chivington and the mad twins, Reno had just come into existence. Today it's known for its casinos and the nearby great outdoors. It may have been just over 150 years since Quintus was last there, but I'd be lying if I told you he wasn't a bit unnerved as he arrived at the city's outskirts.

During his drive, he recognized some of the countryside where he rode that stolen chestnut horse to escape the law. In a bid to avoid such recollections, he mulled over how he'd again have to alter his identity within the next five years. A process that was increasingly becoming difficult and complicated.

His current Canadian identity was Quintus Bremmer. Going by the date of birth on his fake passport and all his other counterfeit documents, he was a young-looking 42-year-old. His internet research at his last place of work told him he might have to go as far as Thailand to acquire quality replacement forgeries.

Such a scenario had him toying with the idea of visiting nearby China for old times' sake. He'd earlier used Google Earth to find what he once knew as White Dragon Mountain, which was situated near what is today called the Toudou River, not far from the city of Leshan in Sichuan province. Google Earth even showed him where he believed the sanctuary was and how two blurry blobs, which he thought were probably very large boulders, had slipped and lodged where the terrace once was. He calculated that the sanctuary might be a two-day walk from the nearest road, as shown on the internet.

For several minutes, Quintus mulled over his master's words: 'When the time is right, you will return to White Dragon Mountain.' He just wasn't sure what his teacher said was still valid.

But as he drove towards the city's center, he pushed China and any doubts from his mind. Instead, he focused on finding a hotel to book into before finding somewhere to eat, something he hadn't done for several days.

The Diner

Reno's Last Great Diner was old-school Americana. Elongated and spacious, with large glass windows and slide-in booths. Built in 1962, you know the type.

Inside it, the diner's manager, Bill, a large, friendly-looking 38-year-old with a wild mop of red hair, worked an espresso machine at the counter's end. The kitchen phone rang behind him. Someone picked it up and called out.

'Excuse me, Bill, it's Lauren; she is calling in sick.'

Bill, steaming a pot of milk, mumbled something about Gen-Z before offering a reply.

'Okay, do me a favor and call Tina. Her number is above the phone. See if she can work today; tell her she'd be doing me a huge favor,' he said.

The doorbell chimed, but he didn't look up at the elderly couple exiting the diner. Outside, Quintus held the door open for them, and once they were through, he entered. He cut through the near-empty eating area and sat on a swivel stool at the counter.

A mid-40s black guy named Lance, who was halfway through a late lunch, was seated two seats up next to him and scrolling through a cellphone.

A waitress, Gabriela, approached with a 'what will it be' smile and a menu.

'An Americano coffee to start with, please,' Quintus said as she handed him the menu.

A minute later, he gave a food order.

Three minutes later, Bill delivered the coffee.

'And there you go, one Americano,' he said.

'Many thanks,' Quintus said.

'You're welcome. You're Canadian; your accent gave you away, all two words,' Bill said in a friendly manner. Speaking with customers was the highlight of his working day.