Page 21 of You're so Bad

It’s a schmaltzy thought for a take-no-prisoners woman, but I know what she means. She’s got a bullshit detector, same as me.

“Has the kid ever taken anything from you?” I ask, holding my breath.

“You think I’d let someone steal from me,mijo? Are you sick in the head?”

She hangs up without asking if I want to say howdy to Drew, and that’s that.

I call up Burke and let him know that I won’t be in until after lunch, on account of my distress over the lost truck. He tells me too bad, ending with, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

So much for having a nap before meeting up with Constance.

Burke shows up in six minutes.

“You’re a minute late,” I tell him as I let him in.

He ignores me, pacing the little entryway of the house, which is much too small for both of us. He’s full of the kind of nervous energy that’s catching, but I just stand there and watch him, arms folded, waiting for him to come out with it. I already have an inkling of what’s bothering him.

“What if it’s them, man?” he asks.

I didn’t need to ask him who he means. He’s talking about his folks.

“It’s not,” I say. “Why would they steal a Chevy that barely runs?”

“They wouldn’t have done it directly, but maybe…”

“It’s a rough neighborhood, man. Trucks get stolen. I probably forgot to lock it.”

“Would you?” he asks pointedly.

Never. I might have forgotten to replace the lock on the back door of the house, but I used the thumb lock. I’m not a total idiot. You lock doors or you lose your shit and possibly get beaten for the pleasure.

“Maybe. You know, I pity the bastard who stole it. But it wasn’t your folks. It doesn’t fit their MO at all.”

I mean, sure, Mama and Papa Burke would probably drink champagne while they watched me burn, but I doubt they’d trouble themselves to light the fire. I’m nothing to them. Vapor. I’m not the one who humbled them for their bad business practices—their baby boy is. Still, they know I set their downfall into motion. That can’t feel good.

“Who knows what their MO is?” he says, pausing to kick the bottom step of the stairs.

“They haven’t done anything to mess with you. Neither has that step.”

“I know they haven’t,” he says, turning to look at me. “That’s what I’m afraid of. They send me texts every now and then, and last week a family photo arrived in the mail. They’re trying to mess with me, even if they’re not being obvious about it.”

“You still have that detective working for you?” He hired someone a month ago to keep an eye on them and make sure they’re not plotting our doom.

“Yeah. He’s found nothing, but I’ve got this feeling.”

I feel like a damn goose is tap-dancing on my grave, but I lock it down and pat him on the back. I can’t let the fear take control. Not anymore. “I get it, man, but you can’t let that bring you down. That’s how they win. That’s theonlyway they win. Now what do you say we go over to the house and pretend to work for half an hour before having some lunch beers?”

“It’s way too early for lunch,” he says with a nearly there smile.

“And it’s a few hours later somewhere. I think we need a win.”

“And lunch beers are a win?”

“Lunch beers on the deck in the sun, the mountains spread out under us? Hell, yes, that’s a win.”

I have another reason for wanting to get him out of the house—I’m worried he’ll notice Reese’s crappy shoes and start asking questions.

I’m tempted to tell Burke about the kid, because he’s a man who gets things done—a hero, something I’ll never be. But at the same time, there’s a chance he’ll feel the need to do things “the right way.” He might want to bring in the cops, and I can’t let that happen. I’m going to help the kid, but I’m going to do it my way.

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