Fancy Dancer by Fern Michaels Page B

down. A second later, his cell phone was in his hand, and he was dialing Alex Rosario’s number. Alex picked up on the third ring. “A problem already?”
    “Yeah, and as my parole officer, I want you to take care of it. Like now, before this gets out of hand. Otherwise, I’ll just go to jail. At least I’ll have a bunk, a sink, and a toilet.”
    “Calm down and tell me what happened.” Jake rattled off his explanation.
    “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. You knew this wasn’t going to be the Ritz.”
    “Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was going to be cave living, either. I have rights. I want a damn bed and a bathroom. I don’t mind sharing, either. And don’t tell me to suck it up.”
    “For whatever it’s worth, I agree with you, Jake. I’ll see what I can do. As a last resort, I might have to go to the newspaper. Are you okay with that?”
    Was he? Yes, he was okay with it. Right was right, fair was fair. “Do whatever you have to do.”
    As long as he had his cell phone out, he might as well follow through on his promise to call his father. Jonah St. Cloud picked up on the first ring. Jake got right to it. “What is it you wanted from me? I’m sure you have figured out by now that I’m not in a position to help anyone at the moment. But I said I would call, so I’m calling.”
    “You’re a damn fool, Jake. I could have gotten you off. Just the way those two old fools Estes and Elroy could have gotten you off. And look what it got you.”
    “I noticed you didn’t include Alex Rosario in your little speech. It’s about accountability. I was guilty, and so I have to pay for what I did. I’m okay with it. Why can’t you be okay with it? It’s over and done with, so let’s get on with it. What do you want from me?”
    “We’re having some problems on the rigs. A few spills that we contained. We have some kind of bacteria out there.” He went on to talk about the water-injection systems, but Jake was only half listening. “I know you worked on that when you were in Saudi Arabia. I’ve been trying to call that guy you worked with, but he isn’t returning my calls. I wanted you to get in touch with him. You said he was a good friend, a mentor to you. If we have another spill, it could be disastrous.”
    “Okay, I can do that. His field of expertise is bioremediation. If he can’t help you, he can turn you on to someone who can. Does that conclude our business?”
    “I’ll let you know.”
    Jake blinked when he realized that his father had broken the connection. He shrugged; he’d done what he promised—he’d called. He had to get in touch with Tom Searles and ask him to call Jonah St. Cloud. In the end, he decided to send Tom a text rather than make a phone call. With that done, he had fulfilled his end of the bargain.
    With nothing else to do, Jake sat and twiddled his fingers as he wondered how his day was going to go, since he’d gone all snarly back there in the kitchen. He looked over at what once had been a side yard but was now a parking lot of sorts. It was lined with cars. Volunteers. He mopped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. It was going to be another sweltering day. Strange for September, he thought. He thought of other Septembers in the course of his life. The one that really stood out in his mind was his first year at LSU, after his mother’s death. The reason it stood out was that he couldn’t remember it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was sick and tired of all the trips down memory lane. The past was past, and you couldn’t undo it. Let it go and move on. Easier said than done.
    Jake was shaken from his somber thoughts when he saw a small boy with golden curls and two missing front teeth running toward him. “Hey, Mr. Man, Miss Fancy said for me to bring you to come to the kitchen.” He held his hand out to Jake, and Jake took it.
    “What’s your name?” Jake asked.
    “Charlie.”
    “Okay, Charlie, let’s not keep Miss Fancy