Page 78 of Negotiating Tactics

It was only eight thirty in the morning, not the standard time for a surprise visit, but I didn’t give a shit.

Even though I knew Alex would hate me if she knew what I was doing.

But I’d see that she wouldn’t find out.

She was independent, more than capable of taking care of herself. But I’d sworn I would take care of her, even if I hadn’t said the words out loud.

And the best way I could do that was to handle this problem.

I pulled up to the two-family house, modest but well taken care of.

The kind of neighborhood I hadn’t dared to dream I could live in when I was a kid. It took all Nonna and Mom had to keep us in an apartment, our frequent moves supplemented by hotel stays or nights in Nonna’s car.

But this place, while not fancy, had a permanence to it.

Still, I felt no hesitation as I walked to the front door and knocked.

About a minute later, a man about Alex’s height, with a solid but relatively slender build came to the door. He was clean-shaven with a bald head, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.

He seemed totally innocuous, which I knew to be a lie.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking wary.

“Yeah, you can,” I said.

He bristled at the tone of my voice.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“A friend of Alex’s,” I responded.

“Well, I’m Alex, and I don’t know you,” he said, even more defensive now.

Understandable, I supposed.

I wasn’t going out of my way to be polite because this fucker didn’t deserve it. Whatever his excuses, the lack of care with which he treated his daughter, one of the best, most precious people I had ever met, told me everything I needed to know about him.

“Are you going to invite me in?” I asked.

“What is this about?” he said.

“Open the door. We need to talk about Alex,” I said, my patience wearing thin.

He considered for a moment, then pulled the door open and ushered me inside.

I looked around, saw pictures of a woman and two boys, but none of him or his daughter.

As it looked on the outside, the home inside was modest but well cared for.

And I saw the signs of kids everywhere—football cleats, little trophies, and even an entire shelf of real encyclopedias.

“I haven’t seen these in years. Kids still use them?” I said, gesturing toward the books.

He chuckled. “Not really, but I got them at a rummage sale. I think they’re good to have around. Can’t have the kids relying on the damn internet for everything,” he said.

“I’m surprised you have such strong opinions. I thought you took a more hands-off approach to parenting,” I said.

Sure, Alex wasn’t a preteen, but based on what she’d told me, I doubted her father had given a shit about her having access to encyclopedias when she was growing up.

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