Page 25 of Inferno
Prissy sucked her teeth. “He said pretty much the same thing in the principal’s office. I should have known he got that nonsense fromyou!”
Stan made no reply, watching as Manning descended the staircase and came toward him with the reluctant dread of a condemned prisoner being marched out to face a firing squad. When the boy reached him, Stan cupped his chin in his hand and angled his face toward the chandelier light, frowning as he examined the bruised flesh surrounding Manning’s left eye.
After a few moments, he grunted, “You’ll live.”
“Of course he will,” Prissy said tightly. “He’snot the one who wound up in the emergency room with a broken nose.”
“What!” Stan stared incredulously at his son. “You broke the kid’snose?”
Manning dropped his gaze. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Try telling that to Rory’s parents,” Prissy snapped. “That is, if they ever decide to return my phone call.”
“Hold up. Wait a minute.” Stan divided a wary glance between his wife and son.“Rory who?RoryKerrigan?”
Manning shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know his last name.”
“Yes,” Prissy confirmed, staring at Stan. “It’s Kerrigan. Why?”
“Aw, hell,” Stan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Prissy asked, too alarmed to chastise him for using profanity in front of Manning.
“I work at the same firehouse as Rory Kerrigan, Senior,” Stan explained. “He’s on a different shift, but I know who he is.”
Prissy shot him a stricken look. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I was,” Stan muttered.
Prissy threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t deal with this anymore,” she fumed, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she started from the foyer. “I’m going to have a hot bath and take some aspirin and lay down before I end up killing someone.”
Stan and Manning watched her stalk off,thenlooked at each other.
Stan smiled narrowly.“Looks like it’s just you and me, son.”
Manning gulped hard.
Over his shoulder, Stan saw Montana, Magnum, Maddox and Mason huddled around the kitchen doorway with their mouths hanging open, eyes wide with unabashed curiosity as they watched the unfolding drama. Catching their father’s ominous glare, they wasted no time scurrying back into the kitchen.
“Let’s take this conversation downstairs,” Stan told Manning.
The boy gave a jerky nod.
They left the foyer and descended a narrow flight of stairs to reach the finished basement. The sprawling area—which Stan and the boys had affectionately dubbed the “Wolf Den”—was furnished with a black leather sofa and matching armchairs, a big-screen television, a pool table, a poker table, a pinball machine and an indoor basketball hoop with an electronic scoreboard. The wood-paneled walls were adorned with framed posters of famous black athletes from the past and present: Joe Louis, Muhammad Ali, Walter Payton and Dominique Wilkins, to name just a few.
The basement was a breeding ground fortestosterone,hence it was the only part of the house that Prissy rarely ventured into.
As soon as Manning sat down on the sofa, Stan barked, “Start talking.”
When Manning hesitated a second too long, Stan reached for his belt buckle.
That loosened the boy’s tonguerealquick. “The reason I punched Rory is ’cause he was picking on this girl from my math class. We were walking to our lockers after precalculus, and Rory just came along and knocked Taylor’s books out of her arms. I got mad—”
“So you decided to take a swing at him.”
Manning hesitated,thennodded tightly. “I told him to apologize to her, but he wouldn’t. He started calling us names and talking trash, so…” Manning gave a helpless shrug, shaking his head at Stan. “I’m sorry, Dad, but he had it coming.”
“That may be so,” Stan growled, “but you shouldn’t have lost your cool like that. How many times have we told you and your brothers that violence never solves anything? And now look where we are. Because you couldn’t control your temper, you sent a boy to the hospital and got suspended from school, and you’ve put your mother’s reputation in jeopardy.”
