Chapter 16
T hat one text has thrown my whole world in a blender, set it on pulverize, and pours it down the drain.
“Mom?” I question with severe prejudice.
She snags back her phone as if it is as precious as a Nazi era Picasso relocated and returned to its rightful owner. “Yes. Mom. I’m a mom.”
“When did you become a mom? And where is his dad? Why isn’t he protecting your ass from the boogie men?” I pause. “Scratch that. Why did he let you get mixed up in this in the first place?”
“He was in jail. He didn’t get a choice in the matter on why I was unprotected.”
Laughing out, I smile. “Delinquent jailbird father. Bet he’s in there for some blue collar crime. Tax evasion or some shit. You can really pick ’em, Toni.”
She huffs. “Not quite. He was set up. He didn’t do it. He’s a good man,” she exalts, trying to puff up the guy who’s no better than me. Who’s just as much a criminal as I was.
“Wrong place, wrong time, I suppose. I’m not the one you have to convince that he’s great.” I grasp my glass, pouring in a healthy amount of whiskey until the bottle is reaching the end, then pouring the rest in Toni’s glass, a little of my argumentativeness has died off. Thinking clearer now of the situation, I realize it was the kid at the mansion. I ask, “Is it the kid I met at the house?”
“Yes.” She sips at her glass. “Tristan. His name is Tristan. Like the legend. I named him after the stalwart and true hero.”
“Stalwart? I remember that movie differently than you.”
She scoffs, “You remember that movie?”
“Yeah. I do. You had me watch every fated love story there was back then. Tristan, Arthur, Jack and Petunia, When Harry Met Sally . All that love drunk shit. I nearly drowned on sweet bullshit, Toni.” I remember all of them and sometimes when I feel a bit nostalgic, I watch one or two of them.
She quizzes me, “Jack and Petunia?”
Taking a gulp of my drink, I reply, “Yeah. The one on Titanic .”
Laughing deep, her lyrical tone soars around the tight kitchen quarters. “Jack and Rose, Death. Jack and Rose.” Shifting closer to the counter, she hikes herself up onto it. “And yes. That is why I called him Tristan. Fated love. Or ill-fated love, depending on what version you think of.”
“So, his dad is in jail?” I prod further. I wonder if I know him. Maybe I could get him a bit of protection, for Toni and the kid’s sake. No one needs to grow up without their parents in their lives.
Shaking her head, she says, “No. Not anymore.”
Oh?
“So why isn’t he looking after you? Keeping you safe?” I ask.
Blowing out a hot breath, sucking down the whiskey, she holds out her glass. “Do you have something stronger?”
Reaching into the cupboard, pulling free the only other bottle of booze I have, I set the clear bottle of tequila on the counter. “Will this do?”
“Yeah.” Grabbing the bottle, setting her glass on the counter, Toni pulls free the stopper and upends the bottle to her lips.
“Toni. Who is his father? Why isn’t he looking after you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Death.”
“Punk bitch pussy. He doesn’t deserve to be a father if he can’t keep you safe,” I remark, but she doesn’t respond, so I ask again. “Toni. Who is he?”
Grasping the bottle by the neck again, ready to drink down more, instead of answering me, I halt her hand.
“He’s not worthy of you or your adoration.” A strange sense of jealousy courses through me, something I haven’t felt for a woman in ages. Not since her. Not since her betrayal.
Balling my hands into fists, feeling disappointed in myself for even feeling an inkling of jealousy, I growl out, “Who is it? If he isn’t man enough to look after you when you need him most, then he’s not much of a man.”
Stepping before her, parting her knees to stand between her legs, I place my hands on her knees. Giving her legs a slight squeeze, I stare into her eyes with a harsher tone than I intend. “Tell me, Toni. Now, before I go and find out on my own. That’s one thing you don’t want. Me dark diving into your life. I’ve kept you out of my life for nearly twenty-four years, and I’ve stayed out of your business, but if you can’t tell me who he is, I will find out more than you want me to.” Pulling free my phone, partially to intimidate her into telling me the truth, and partially because I really want to know who this dirtbag is, I unlock it and start to dial Trigger. If anyone can find anything on this prick, it will be Trigger.
With the call about to connect on speaker, she pleads, “Quinny, please. Don’t make me. I ask this as a favor, the only one I’ll ever ask. I promise.”
Over the tiny speaker, Trigger states, “Yeah, Boss?”
“Please,” she protests once more.
“Hang on a sec, Trig,” I say, turning to Toni. “You tell me the truth or I find it out myself the hard way. Your choice.”
With a slight nod, she relents, “I promise. I’ll tell you. Though you won’t want the answer.”
“Trig. I won’t be in tomorrow. I need you to keep down the fort.”
“You got it, Death,” he says before hanging up the line. Placing it on the counter between us, I turn back to Toni.
“Don’t make me ask again. Who is he?”
Staring at me, thick tears collecting in the corners, she blinks them away as she answers, “You are. Tristan is your son.”