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A single overhead bulb threw a little light in the corners. He peered through each shadow, searching for her.
The room was empty.
He could feel anger building in his chest, like heat racing down his arms into clenched fists. He turned and went back to the small living room, where his father waited for him.
“She was here, wasn’t she?” Michael O’Co
The older man shrugged. “You still not making any sense.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“If you don’t tell me what happened, what she told you when she got here, where she went, I will hurt you, old man. I am not joking about this. I can do it and I will do it, and trust me, I will deliver a world of pain, and I won’t give a damn about you any more than I ever have. So, tell me, when she called on you, what did you tell her?”
“You’re either crazier than I remember or stupider. Right now, I can’t tell which.” The old man lifted his bottle to his lips and leaned back in his seat.
Michael O’Co
“It was always a question, wasn’t it? Which one of us was go
“Screw you, old man. Tell me what I want to know.”
“Get me another beer first.”
Michael O’Co
Michael O’Co
“This how you spend your nights? Getting drunk and watching the tube?”
The father didn’t answer.
“Too much of the old idiot box is bad for you. Didn’t you know that?”
Michael O’Co
“Bastard. You’re go
“Am I? What else do I have to break to get you to tell me what happened when she called you? How long was she here? What did she promise you? What did you tell her you would do?”
Before his father could reply, he walked over to a bookcase and swept a shelf of knickknacks and photographs to the floor.
“That was just some of your mother’s leftovers. Don’t mean nothing to me.”
“You want me to look around until I find something that does? What did she tell you?”
“Kid,” the old man said through tightly pursed lips, “whatever it is this bit of tail is to you, I don’t know. And what she’s got you into, I don’t know either. You in some kind of trouble? Money trouble?”
Michael O’Co
“Who’s looking for you, kid? Because I think they’re go
“All right,” Michael O’Co
The older man continued to eye his son through narrow, rage-filled eyes. But through the sheet of fury that seemed to be just a second or two away from breaking free, he managed to clench his lips and spit out, “No. No, God damn it. No Ashley. No girl. No nothing like what you just said. And that’s the goddamn truth, whether you want to believe it or not.”
“You’re lying. You old bastard, you’re lying.”
The old man shook his head and laughed, which infuriated Michael O’Co
“She said…”
“I don’t know what she said. But Miss whoever-the-hell-she-is hasn’t called here or shown up at the side door.”
Michael O’Co
“Who you in trouble with?” the old man asked again.
“Nobody. What do you mean?” Michael spat back, angry at having the train of his thoughts interrupted.
“What is it? Drugs? You pull some kind of low-rent robbery with some guys and then stiff them on the cut? What are you doing that would have guys with money looking for you? You steal something from them?”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” He was confused by the smug look on his father’s face. He realized, in that second, that the old man should be a lot angrier about the shattered television set. The reason he’s not angry is because he knows a new one is heading his way, Michael O’Co
“Who’ve you been fucking around with, kid? Because there’s someone real pissed with you.”
“Who told you that?”
The older man shrugged. “I ain’t saying. I just know.”
Michael O’Co
“Old man, I will hurt you. You should understand that. You are old and weak and I will cause you great pain. Now tell me what you’re talking about!” he shouted across the room. He took two quick strides, so that he was again looming over his father, who remained in his chair, gri
Less than a half mile away from the O’Co
As quickly as she could, she pulled on the black coveralls that Sally had purchased. She jammed a navy blue balaclava-style face mask and hat into her pocket. Then she slipped on surgical gloves, and a pair of leather gloves over those. She wrapped several strands of black electrician’s tape around her wrists and her ankles, so that no flesh was exposed between the coveralls and her gloves and shoes.
She threw the backpack with the gun over her shoulder and started to jog in the direction of the O’Co
“Okay. I’m here. A couple of hundred yards away. What am I looking for?”
“The boy drives a five-year-old red Toyota, with Massachusetts plates,” Scott said. “The father has a black pickup truck, which is parked halfway beneath a carport. The only exterior light is by the side door. That is your entry point.”