Page 67 of A Master's Destiny
Slater takes a drink, eyeing me indignantly.
I walk out of the kitchen, handing Anderson one of the martinis. “I made this one special just for you. It has a splash of whiskey.”
Anderson flashes a smile as he takes the martini glass. “Thank you, buddy.” Taking a sip, he looks surprised. “Who knew gin and whiskey would be a good combo?”
Throwing an arm around my shoulders, he says, “Now tell me all about the shitshow you’ve been hinting at.”
“Give me a minute.”
I take a long drink, appreciating the smoothness of the gin, and sigh in pleasure. “Damn, that’s a good drink.”
Sitting down on the couch, I set my martini glass on the coffee table and detail everything that happened, beginning with my visit to the shop. Slater adds his own sporadic commentary as I talk. He sounds as wound up over the bizarre events as I am.
When I finish, I tell Anderson, “Watching them drag Ashford out of the classroom was unreal but extremely satisfying.”
Slater laughs ruefully. “I fucking thought you were trying to frame me, Davis.”
I down the last of my drink and then get up to make another, telling Slater, “If we’re being completely honest, I did think it was you.”
He points his finger at me. “IknewI couldn’t trust you!”
“It wasn’t a matter of trust,” I explain. “I based that conclusion solely on your behavior. You did insinuate that I was having relations with Alana—as well as accusing me of giving blowjobs to the panel of trainers.”
“Hey, look, I was just calling it like I saw it,” Slater states defensively.
Anderson narrows his eyes. “And, how do you see it now, Surf?”
Slater holds out his glass. “Set me up with another whiskey and I’ll tell you.”
Anderson downs the last of his martini before taking Slater’s glass. While the two of us are in the kitchen, Anderson asks me, “Do you really think you can trust this guy?”
I stare at Slater, nodding slowly. “After one of the altercations I had with the guy, Master Nosh told me, ‘You can never understand the actions of another until you understand their history.’”
I turn back to Anderson, “Call me curious.”
He chuckles, “Youdoknow curiosity killed the cat?”
Heading back with the drinks, I ask Slater, “So, how are you holding up?”
“What do you mean by that?” he snaps.
“Just a simple question. I lost my father, too.”
When Slater fails to respond, Anderson pipes up, “Yeah, I saw that article about your father yesterday. He was a remarkable man. My condolences to you and your mother.”
Slater instantly turns on Anderson, his eyes flashing in rage. “Don’teverbring up that bastard again.”
Holding up his hands in surrender, Anderson leans back. “Woah! I had no idea it was a touchy subject for you.”
Slater then turns his sights on me. “Let’s talk about your father instead.”
I meet his hostile gaze without flinching. “My father was a good man. The best, actually.”
“Must be nice…” Slater snarls into his glass, taking another sip of whiskey. “You’re lucky he was a nobody. I sure wish my father had been.”
Anderson snorts. “Alonzo Davis wasn’t a nobody, Surf.”
Slater pauses between sips. “Are we talking about that famous violinist who cheated on his wife multiple times before shooting himself in the head?”
