Page 128 of Just Like That

“You attacked our father?” My attention intensified as the words settled over me. “How did you get a weapon past the guards?”

“Made it.” Oliver’s eyes glittered with delight. “Plastic toothbrush rubbed against the concrete to file it to a point. Saw that in a movie once ... surprisingly effective.”

Abel stared at his friend.

“Is he dead?” I asked. Unclear emotions coursed through me.

Oliver’s shoulders bounced. “That was kind of the point. Oh!” His eyes brightened and he sat straighter. “What about the other two? The old men. Want me to—” He clicked his tongue and made a slicing gesture toward his throat.

“Jesus, Ollie,” Abel groaned. “No. You’ve done enough.”

This is unbelievable.

I eyed Oliver, trying to figure him out. I gestured toward the cup as my stomach bunched. “If you’re so pleased with yourself, then what’s with the alcohol?”

Oliver’s attention was drawn to the plastic cup in front of him. He leaned down, gripping it with his teeth and shooting it backward. Once the booze was gone, he opened his mouth with an audibleahhand the cup tumbled to the ground. “I’m disinfecting from the inside out—emotional disinfectant.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Just because I’m a killer doesn’t mean I don’t feel a little bad about it. I have a conscience ... kind of.”

Unamused, Abel’s head hung low, his shoulders rolled in a defeated slump. “You were almost out, Ollie.”

Oliver shrugged, but his mouth was turned down. “The world is changing and I don’t care for that. Here, I’ve got three meals, a bed, work. I know who my friends are. The only skill I’ve learned here is how to survivehere.” He gestured toward the window. “I can’t use that out there. Out there, I’m an unemployable felon. I can’t get housing. A job. In here I’m somebody. I matter. It’s where I belong.”

Abel’s voice wavered as he looked at his friend. “I told you that I’d have your back when you got out.”

“You’re a good man, Abel. You’ve always been a good friend to me. You protected me in prison when meatheads tried to run me through. But we’re even now.” He tried to hold out his hand, but it was restricted by the shackles. “We’re even, brother.”

Abel stared at his hand and finally filled it with his own.

I lifted my chin. “We won’t press charges.” The two looked at me. “If he is dead, we’re next of kin. We will not be pursuing charges.”

Abel jerked his head in my direction, and he gave Oliver a sad smile. “I told you he wasn’t all bad.”

Still, the realist in me knew this battle wasn’t over for Oliver. “The state’s attorney is another issue. They could go after you even if, as the family, we don’t.”

“What about hisother family?” Abel ground out the bitter words.

My jaw clenched. They were an entity I had altogether tried to forget about. We had only recently discovered my father had a family in Chicago—a wife who appeared comfortable looking the other way so long as the money kept rolling in and adult children we knew nothing about. His lies and deceit seemed endless.

I shook my head. “That will be for them to decide. They can worry about his messes for once.”

Oliver shrugged, seemingly unaffected by how bad this all was for him. “Even if they do come after me, Abel made enough friends here to ensure they keep their mouths shut. Depending on what was caught on security cameras, I’ll get some years added, but like I said ... staying was kind of the point.”

Abel stood and clamped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he replied. “Kiss the wife and kids for me.”

Abel shook his head and I followed him to the exit. Abel’s fist knocked on the door, and it was opened for us.

Oliver’s attorney looked up from his phone with a solemn expression. “We just received word from the hospital. Your father has succumbed to his injuries.”

FORTY-THREE

JP

Russell King was dead.

Deaddead.

As ingone forever.

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