sharply into the Fix ‘Er Up parking lot and jumped the curb with his right, front tire. He bounced in the seat but quickly recovered. He pulled to a stop in front of the closed bay doors. “No way. That would have been in the police report.”
“Point one four blood alcohol level. I saw it plain as day.” Carlos paused. “My hypothesis is that it was a one-car accident, and no one else was hurt, but the driver left behind an eight-months-pregnant widow. The cops probably thought they were doing your family a favor by failing to mention it in the report. Where it asks for B.A.C., the response is undetermined. I doubt the insurance company would have paid out if it could be shown your dad was at fault for the accident.”
His cousin may have kept talking, but all Gabe heard was the word drunk stuck on repeat like a scratched DVD. Little things his mom had said jumped to the forefront. The constant warnings to never drink and drive. The refusal to let him get a driver’s license until he was in college. The ever-present reminders that even one drink was too many. It must have all sank in, because to this day, his alcohol consumption barely made a blip on the radar, and he hadn’t bothered to get a driver’s license until he was twenty-three.
His lungs seized, squeezing out the oxygen and leaving him wanting. “It can’t….”
“It is. Sorry, man.”
He fumbled for a viable explanation. A reason he could grasp as tight as he’d held the steering wheel minutes earlier. Drunk—.14. At fault. Insurance. Confusion swirled where there’d been only certainty, roiling his stomach.
Desperate for a defense, he latched onto the best bad reason he could imagine. “It doesn’t matter. Dell Jacobs drove my dad to that bottle.”
“You don’t know that,” Carlos said. “For all you know about your dad, he could have been a raging alcoholic. It’s not like you’ve ever told your mom you knew the truth, let alone asked her about him.”
Bullshit. He knew what he knew. What he had to believe. “Are you done?”
“Yeah, I am. The question is, are you?”
“Not by a fucking long shot.” Gabe punched the end call button without saying goodbye.
Ever since he’d accidentally discovered the truth about his father and the accident six months ago, the only thing he’d thought about was bringing Dell Jacobs to his knees and making him pay the debt owed. He’d pushed and prodded associates to look elsewhere with their business. He’d plotted and planned his revenge, right down to the look on the old man’s face when he realized the company he’d spent his life building lay in ruins.
Still, doubt crept up his neck. He had to know. Without second guessing, he went with his gut and dialed the number he knew by heart.
“Jacobs Fine Furnishings,” the cheerful voice chirped.
“Dell Jacobs please.” Just saying the man’s name left a hole in his gut.
“Sure, hold on just a minute.”
Sixty seconds later, Dell answered with a weary sigh. “Dell here.”
“It’s Campos.”
“What in the hell do you want?” The old man was snarly and on guard, not that Gabe could blame him.
Girding himself for a harsh rejection, he made his request before he could change his mind. “The truth.”
“About what?”
“My dad and his accident.”
Silence weighed down the phone line like a lead balloon before Dell spoke. “You know, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“This dog is already awake.” He wasn’t going to turn back now. That wasn’t how he functioned.
“What do you want to know?”
He closed his eyes, wishing like hell he had any other request. “What happened that day?”
“Your dad and I were in business together. For me, it was a side company to help alleviate the risk of putting all my eggs in the Jacobs Fine Furnishings basket. For your father, well, it was something else. Your dad wasn’t a bad man. He just lost his fight with some nasty demons.”
“Alcohol?” Not that
“Point one four blood alcohol level. I saw it plain as day.” Carlos paused. “My hypothesis is that it was a one-car accident, and no one else was hurt, but the driver left behind an eight-months-pregnant widow. The cops probably thought they were doing your family a favor by failing to mention it in the report. Where it asks for B.A.C., the response is undetermined. I doubt the insurance company would have paid out if it could be shown your dad was at fault for the accident.”
His cousin may have kept talking, but all Gabe heard was the word drunk stuck on repeat like a scratched DVD. Little things his mom had said jumped to the forefront. The constant warnings to never drink and drive. The refusal to let him get a driver’s license until he was in college. The ever-present reminders that even one drink was too many. It must have all sank in, because to this day, his alcohol consumption barely made a blip on the radar, and he hadn’t bothered to get a driver’s license until he was twenty-three.
His lungs seized, squeezing out the oxygen and leaving him wanting. “It can’t….”
“It is. Sorry, man.”
He fumbled for a viable explanation. A reason he could grasp as tight as he’d held the steering wheel minutes earlier. Drunk—.14. At fault. Insurance. Confusion swirled where there’d been only certainty, roiling his stomach.
Desperate for a defense, he latched onto the best bad reason he could imagine. “It doesn’t matter. Dell Jacobs drove my dad to that bottle.”
“You don’t know that,” Carlos said. “For all you know about your dad, he could have been a raging alcoholic. It’s not like you’ve ever told your mom you knew the truth, let alone asked her about him.”
Bullshit. He knew what he knew. What he had to believe. “Are you done?”
“Yeah, I am. The question is, are you?”
“Not by a fucking long shot.” Gabe punched the end call button without saying goodbye.
Ever since he’d accidentally discovered the truth about his father and the accident six months ago, the only thing he’d thought about was bringing Dell Jacobs to his knees and making him pay the debt owed. He’d pushed and prodded associates to look elsewhere with their business. He’d plotted and planned his revenge, right down to the look on the old man’s face when he realized the company he’d spent his life building lay in ruins.
Still, doubt crept up his neck. He had to know. Without second guessing, he went with his gut and dialed the number he knew by heart.
“Jacobs Fine Furnishings,” the cheerful voice chirped.
“Dell Jacobs please.” Just saying the man’s name left a hole in his gut.
“Sure, hold on just a minute.”
Sixty seconds later, Dell answered with a weary sigh. “Dell here.”
“It’s Campos.”
“What in the hell do you want?” The old man was snarly and on guard, not that Gabe could blame him.
Girding himself for a harsh rejection, he made his request before he could change his mind. “The truth.”
“About what?”
“My dad and his accident.”
Silence weighed down the phone line like a lead balloon before Dell spoke. “You know, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“This dog is already awake.” He wasn’t going to turn back now. That wasn’t how he functioned.
“What do you want to know?”
He closed his eyes, wishing like hell he had any other request. “What happened that day?”
“Your dad and I were in business together. For me, it was a side company to help alleviate the risk of putting all my eggs in the Jacobs Fine Furnishings basket. For your father, well, it was something else. Your dad wasn’t a bad man. He just lost his fight with some nasty demons.”
“Alcohol?” Not that
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