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Probably a back entrance, he thought. Check to make sure.
“Through there. Don’t mind the mess. I wasn’t expecting company,” O’Co
Scott let himself in the aluminum screen door, then through a second, solid-wood door, into a small kitchen. Mess was an accurate description. Pizza boxes. Microwavable di
“Let’s go into the living room. We can have a seat, Mr.-okay, Mr. whatever your name is. What should I call you?”
“Smith works,” Scott said. “And if you have trouble keeping that straight, Jones will do just as well.”
O’Co
“Okay, Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones. Now that I’ve invited you in here, why don’t you sit right over there where I can keep an eye on you, and you can explain yourself nice and quick, so that I don’t go back to thinking that my friend the ax handle is the better way of dealing with you. And you might get to the how-I-make-some-money part real quick. You want a beer?”
Scott walked into a small living room. There was a threadbare sofa, a recliner with a large red-and-white cooler next to it that served as a table, across from an oversize television set. Newspapers and pornographic magazines littered the floor, along with piles of grocery-store circulars and catalogs from various hunting stores. On one wall there was a stuffed deer head, which stared out blankly from behind glass eyes. A T-shirt hung from one of its antlers. He tried to imagine the house when O’Co
Scott slid into a chair that creaked and threatened to give way and turned toward O’Co
“I’ve been asking questions because your son has something that belongs to the person I represent. My client would like it back.”
“You a lawyer, then?”
Scott shrugged.
O’Co
Scott shook his head. “Names are really irrelevant to this conversation.”
“Okay, then, Mr. Smith. Then tell me what he does for a living.”
Scott smiled, as evil a grin as he could muster. “My client makes a great deal of money.”
“Legally or illegally?”
“I’m unsure whether you want to ask that question, Mr. O’Co
O’Co
“No. He seems to have disappeared.”
“And you come snooping around here.”
“Just one of a number of possibilities.”
“My kid don’t like it here.”
Scott raised his hand, cutting O’Co
“How much?”
“How much can you help?”
“Not sure. He and I don’t talk much.”
“When did you see him last?”
“A couple of years. We don’t get along too good.”
“What about at holidays?”
O’Co
Scott smiled. “Again, Mr. O’Co
“I’m not stupid. Of course. And how precarious, Mr. Jones?”
“Speculation is useless.”
“Just how much goddamn trouble is he in? The type of trouble that gets you beat up? Or the type of trouble that gets you killed?”
Scott took a breath, wondering just how far to push the fiction.
“Let’s just say that he can repair the damage he’s done. But it will require cooperation. It is a sensitive matter, Mr. O’Co
“What, drugs? He steal some drugs from somebody? Or money?”
Scott smiled. “Mr. O’Co
“How much?”
“You asked that already.” Scott rose out of his chair, letting his eyes roam over the room, seeing a single hallway, leading to the rear bedrooms. It was a narrow space, he thought, that wouldn’t allow much maneuvering. “Let’s just say that it would be a pleasant Christmas gift.”
“So, if I can find the kid, how do I get ahold of you? You got a phone number?”
Scott put on the most pompous voice he could manage. “Mr. O’Co
O’Co
“Okay,” Scott said, lying with ease. “An easy promise to make. You hear from your kid, you send an e-mail to this address.” He walked over to the table and found an unpaid phone bill and the stump of a pencil. He made up a completely bogus e-mail address and wrote it down.
He handed the paper to O’Co
The father rattled off his telephone number as he stared at the address. “Okay,” O’Co
Scott smiled. “We won’t be seeing each other again. And, should anyone ask you, I presume you will have the sense to say that this little meeting never took place. And, should that someone be your son, well, then that admonition would go double. Do we understand each other?”
O’Co
“Good. Don’t get up. I can show myself out.”
Scott’s heart was moving rapidly as he slowly made his way back out. He knew that somewhere behind him was not only the ax handle, but a gun, which the neighbors had told him about, and probably a heavy-caliber rifle, as well; the glassy-eyed deer head mounted on the wall said as much. He had to trust that O’Co
Michael O’Co
The key to forcing Ashley to understand that no one-other than him-could actually protect her lay in underscoring everyone’s vulnerability. What prevented her from fully recognizing the depth of his love and the overwhelming need he had for her to be at his side was the cocoon that her parents had erected around her. And when he thought about Catherine, he got a bilious taste in his mouth. She was old, she was fragile, she was out there alone, and he had had the opportunity to remove her from the equation, but had failed to, even when she’d been within his reach. He decided that he would not make that mistake again.