Could’ve gone to college, somewhere far from here. California or whatever.”
“That isn’t how it works. You need parents to foot the bill. Or else be able to shoot a ball through a hoop.”
“How would you know? You never even took the shot.” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “You’re sweating a joker like Brody? There are a million guys like Brody.” Charlie pointed at me. “There’s only one Jay Porter.”
The coffee finished percolating, and Charlie filled two mugs. He set them down with the sugar in front of me, then grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, sniffed it, decided it didn’t smell too bad, and joined me at the table. He swiped a cigarette from my pack and perched an elbow over the back of the chair, digging around his craw for whatever he had stuck in his molars.
I dumped in some sugar and milk and stirred.
“We both know why you came back,” Charlie said, scratching the thinning curls of his kinky hair. “Why you couldn’t leave. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so feel free to tell me I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Charlie grinned. “The sooner you cut bait with your brother, the better your life is gonna get. Don’t get me wrong. I
like
the guy. He’s always been cool with me. He’s just, I’m sorry, man, a lost cause, dead weight.”
“Last night was the first time I’ve seen my brother in almost six months,” I said.
“Ain’t no ‘almost.’ You know exactly when you seen him last.”
It had been five months and thirteen days. But I knew that only because Chris had come by begging for money on his birthday, like junkies are entitled to get high on their birthdays. We’d had this huge fight, which ended with him screaming outside my window, “But it’s my
birthday
!”
“I’d rather talk about Jenny right now,” I said.
Charlie flashed a quizzical look. “I thought we were.”
My cell buzzed on the table. A number I didn’t recognize. Normally,I wouldn’t take the call. But given recent developments, I held up a finger and answered.
“I need it back.” It was a man’s voice, though not a very assured one. He sounded pretty young, in fact.
“Need what back?” I asked.
“I need it back,” he repeated, a little more desperately this time.
Charlie eyed me from across the table.
“I think you have the wrong—”
“I dropped off a computer the other day. By mistake. But I want—I
need
to get it back.”
“Who is this?”
“Please,” the man begged. “I have money. I’ll pay you.” He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears.
“How’d you get this number?” An incoming call was waiting. “Hold on,” I said, and switched over. “Hello?”
“Jay. It’s me. Turley.”
“Christ, Turley. What do you want now?”
“We have a problem.”
“Wrong,” I said. “
You
have a problem. I told you, I don’t know where this guy Pete is. I’m not doing your job for you.”
“Jay, they found Pete Naginis’ body behind the Travel Center Truck Stop about an hour ago. His neck’s been broken. There’s an APB out for your brother.”
“Hold on, Turley.”
I switched over to the other line. It was dead.
CHAPTER SIX
Three squad cars, about half of Ashton’s entire fleet, were parked helters-kelter beside an ambulance with its rear doors flung open at the far end of the Travel Center lot where the semis regularly lined up and rested for the night. Currently, there were half a dozen tractor-trailers stacked up there, nose to bumper, drivers either still asleep in their cabs or else stocking up inside before heading back out on the trail.
The sprawling facility had every accessory and accommodation for a trucker’s needs. Showers, laundry machines. There was a convenience store and a restaurant, the Peachtree, with the Maple Motor Inn a skip away, in case a driver needed more room to stretch out or whatever.
We parked my Chevy in front the
“That isn’t how it works. You need parents to foot the bill. Or else be able to shoot a ball through a hoop.”
“How would you know? You never even took the shot.” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “You’re sweating a joker like Brody? There are a million guys like Brody.” Charlie pointed at me. “There’s only one Jay Porter.”
The coffee finished percolating, and Charlie filled two mugs. He set them down with the sugar in front of me, then grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, sniffed it, decided it didn’t smell too bad, and joined me at the table. He swiped a cigarette from my pack and perched an elbow over the back of the chair, digging around his craw for whatever he had stuck in his molars.
I dumped in some sugar and milk and stirred.
“We both know why you came back,” Charlie said, scratching the thinning curls of his kinky hair. “Why you couldn’t leave. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so feel free to tell me I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Charlie grinned. “The sooner you cut bait with your brother, the better your life is gonna get. Don’t get me wrong. I
like
the guy. He’s always been cool with me. He’s just, I’m sorry, man, a lost cause, dead weight.”
“Last night was the first time I’ve seen my brother in almost six months,” I said.
“Ain’t no ‘almost.’ You know exactly when you seen him last.”
It had been five months and thirteen days. But I knew that only because Chris had come by begging for money on his birthday, like junkies are entitled to get high on their birthdays. We’d had this huge fight, which ended with him screaming outside my window, “But it’s my
birthday
!”
“I’d rather talk about Jenny right now,” I said.
Charlie flashed a quizzical look. “I thought we were.”
My cell buzzed on the table. A number I didn’t recognize. Normally,I wouldn’t take the call. But given recent developments, I held up a finger and answered.
“I need it back.” It was a man’s voice, though not a very assured one. He sounded pretty young, in fact.
“Need what back?” I asked.
“I need it back,” he repeated, a little more desperately this time.
Charlie eyed me from across the table.
“I think you have the wrong—”
“I dropped off a computer the other day. By mistake. But I want—I
need
to get it back.”
“Who is this?”
“Please,” the man begged. “I have money. I’ll pay you.” He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears.
“How’d you get this number?” An incoming call was waiting. “Hold on,” I said, and switched over. “Hello?”
“Jay. It’s me. Turley.”
“Christ, Turley. What do you want now?”
“We have a problem.”
“Wrong,” I said. “
You
have a problem. I told you, I don’t know where this guy Pete is. I’m not doing your job for you.”
“Jay, they found Pete Naginis’ body behind the Travel Center Truck Stop about an hour ago. His neck’s been broken. There’s an APB out for your brother.”
“Hold on, Turley.”
I switched over to the other line. It was dead.
CHAPTER SIX
Three squad cars, about half of Ashton’s entire fleet, were parked helters-kelter beside an ambulance with its rear doors flung open at the far end of the Travel Center lot where the semis regularly lined up and rested for the night. Currently, there were half a dozen tractor-trailers stacked up there, nose to bumper, drivers either still asleep in their cabs or else stocking up inside before heading back out on the trail.
The sprawling facility had every accessory and accommodation for a trucker’s needs. Showers, laundry machines. There was a convenience store and a restaurant, the Peachtree, with the Maple Motor Inn a skip away, in case a driver needed more room to stretch out or whatever.
We parked my Chevy in front the
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