Page 116 of Average Joe

“Would you believe zero?” She opened the whiskey and downed another shot. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a connection to Harper, too?”

“No connection, really,” I answered honestly. “Only know about Johan Harper because I used to keep tabs on my uncles. But I tried my hardest to steer clear of them growing up.”

“So you don’t know him personally?”

“Never met the guy.”

“But Larry works for him.”

I nodded.

“Small world, huh?” Marley leaned back in her seat, hands folded in her lap, her wheels grinding hard enough to wake the dead.

“Listen, these are not good guys we’re dealing with. Larry’s an old-school chauvinistic dipshit, and he has no problem laying hands on women. If I hadn’t been standing in that room with you, you’d be in the hospital right now, or worse.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because from where I stood, you thought you had things under control, but you were too out of control to read the room.”

“I know what kind of men they are, Joe. Give me some credit.” She shook her head, lifted the bottle to her lips, then changed her mind. “I watched Harper’s goons drag my father out of the house. He showed up three days later, beat to bloody hell and missing toes. Toes, Joe!” Clearly agitated, she fiddled with the bottle cap, huffed, then shoved the liquor into her handbag. “And my dipshit dad went to jail for that man more than once. I don’t know why. Maybe he had something on my father, too. Maybe that’s how Harper keeps his guys under control.” A long pause. “Shit.” Marley cocked her head. “That’s how he’s trying to get me to fall in line. He’s using Dylan. But what’s he using to keep Dylan under his thumb?”

“You,” I said, the answer simple.

“Do you think?”

“Or your father. How close is your son to his grandfather?”

“I had no control over my father’s comings and goings when I was a kid. The day I turned eighteen, I got an apartment. Wouldn’t let Warren anywhere near us. But once Dylan was old enough, who knows what he did or who he saw?” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, God. Oh, God. I should’ve moved far away. I should’ve gotten a desk job as an accountant or something. Changed our names so Warren could never find us.” She groaned, sinking into her seat. “I should’ve married that computer geek that used to text me poetry and hack my laptop so that every time I turned it on, a new bloom of flowers appeared.”

“Okay, babe. Taking it a little far here.” I gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “Listen. From what I can tell, you did nothing other than love your son and try to protect him.”

Eyes glassy, she nodded.

“Just like my mom did for me. She protected me from my father’s dangerous lifestyle. But I’m a guy. I did enough stupid things without my father’s influence and gave her every one of those gray hairs on her head.”

Marley nodded.

I continued. “Mom tried to keep me in line, but I drove her insane because, again, I’m a guy. We’re selfish. We make stupid choices—for our dicks and egos. Mom and I fought all the time from the day I hit puberty. But I never stopped loving her. And I love her all the more now that I can look back and see all the shit I put her through.”

I rubbed a runaway tear from Marley’s cheek. “Dylan will come around. The kid just needs time to be a guy and learn who he is without his mom.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will,” I assured her.

If not, I’d find that little fucker, show him what road his current choices were going to drag him down, then make sure he made his mother feel appreciated.

* * *

Rain pinged the roof, the staccato slowing, then speeding up again with each gust of wind rocking the cruiser.

Frank leaned on his elbow, chin perched in his hand. “Where the hell is the runt?”

The clock read 1:17 AM. “Larry said after dark. That’s all he knew.”

The run-down “vacuum repair” building sat on a busy corner of a shady south Seattle neighborhood, where old homes, some still lived in but most converted to offices, were tucked between new industrial buildings. Homeless camps littered most of the alleys and spilled onto the sidewalks.

The place looked vacant, no lights on, no cars in the parking lot, but we knew at least one person was inside, because he’d come out to chase away a crackhead that had tried to break in two hours earlier.

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