Chapter 3 #2
“I dunno. Yeah, maybe.”
I doubt it. I’m pretty sure Remi is too smart for a dumbass move like that, but he’s clearly not willing to share how he was going to sell them.
Instead of pushing—something that rarely works with adolescents—I switch direction to motive.
“Are you that bored or hard-up for money, you resorted to stealing?”
“It’s good money,” he defends.
“So is an honest day’s work, except you don’t risk getting your ass tossed in jail when you’re caught stealing. Or make life even harder for your mother, who is busting her ass to take care of you and your brother.”
“Right, and what a bang-up job she’s doing of that, hauling us off to this shithole, away from our friends.”
Thick sarcasm drips from his words. This kid is obviously angry.
“Hey,” I return sharply as I shoot a warning glare his way. “Watch your mouth. That’s my town you’re talking about. And if your brother is even half the pain in the ass you are, your mother deserves a fucking medal for putting up with you two.”
The kid barks out a bitter laugh.
“Hardly. Linc’s the perfect son.”
Hmm. That sounds like sibling rivalry, something I’m sadly familiar with.
Difference was, I’m the one who was considered the favorite by my brother.
Only to him though, from what I could tell our parents didn’t treat us any differently.
I simply made different choices. For my brother, Chance, the idea of being less became the mantra he lived by.
If I think of all the unnecessary, fucked-up stunts he pulled, the self-loathing that followed, and the constant relief he sought in the bottom of the next bottle after that, my heart bleeds.
A raging alcoholic, he most recently got tangled up in something that resulted in him taking a sweet old lady hostage in a standoff with law enforcement. He snapped, hurt Mrs. Dixon, and got hurt himself. He’s currently serving time in jail after first spending three months in court-ordered rehab.
Chance cracked that night of the standoff, and in the aftermath, he took ownership for the very first time in his life. He pled guilty to the charges and was willing to face the consequences.
I’d like to be hopeful a change is possible—God knows I tried to help him out of his messes time after time—but my hope has been squashed so many times where my brother is concerned, I’m not holding my breath.
Not that anything is suggesting to me Remi’s life would follow the same path my brother’s did, but even I can see why I find myself taking an interest in the boy.
“No such thing as perfect, kid. Nobody deserves that title.”
Up ahead, I notice the sign for Pie Central, our local pizza place, and pull my truck up along the curb in front.
“Pepperoni okay?”
Remi seems a little confused as he turns from me to the storefront.
“Looks like your mom’s gonna be late, and you’ve gotta eat, right?”
“Well, yeah, but…I only have—”
I cut him off when he starts digging through the pockets of his jeans.
“Consider it pay for a good day’s work. Sit tight.”
I don’t wait for a response and jump out of the truck. The scent of yeast and grilled cheese greets me when I walk in. There are two other customers inside, apparently waiting for their order. The girl manning the register and taking orders zooms in on me.
“Wait time on new orders is about twenty minutes,” she shares.
I point to the stack of precooked pies they keep warm on top of the oven.
“I’ll take two of your pepperonis.”
I’m in and out of there in no time at all. Getting into the truck, I shove the two boxes across the center console for Remi to hold.
A couple of minutes later, I pull up along the curb in front of what used to be Hugo Alexander’s place, but now belongs to Tessa and her boys.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Remi mumbles without looking at me.
“Yeah, well…maybe I’m trying to score points with your mother. I think she’s pissed at me.”
I can feel his eyes on me but keep mine on the Jeep Wrangler parked in the driveway.
“Your brother’s?”
“Yeah. Bought it himself earlier this year.”
I detect a little bit of admiration in his tone.
“I guess your family favors the Jeep?”
“Not me.” The boy shakes his head.
“Oh? So what car would you want then?”
“Not a car, a pickup. An older model Chevy C/K.”
Surprised at his choice—most teenage boys would go for something a bit flashier than the classic truck—I turn to grin at him.
“Yeah? Like the one you told me you worked on at school in shop?”
“Yeah, like that, but they’re expensive.”
He’s not wrong, because it’s considered a classic pickup, the ones in driving condition can be worth quite a bit.
“Not if you find one at the junkyard. It’d probably be in rough condition, but you could buy it for a steal and fix it up yourself. Hell, you’ve done it before.”
The faintest of smiles pulls at his mouth.
“Is there a junkyard in Silence?”
“Not in Silence, but there’s a big one near Lutton, about fifteen miles north.
I go there from time to time to find original parts for older model vehicles.
I could have a look around next time I go up.
” I glance over and catch him eyeing me.
“Unless you’d wanna come yourself. I could let you know. ”
“Yeah, sure.”
His response is far more casual than the excited expression on his face betrays.
Headlights shine in through the back window and I check my rearview mirror to see the kid’s mother drive up. She swerves around me and pulls into the driveway next to the Wrangler.
“I’d better get inside,” Remi states.
“Good idea,” I return when I see Tessa getting out of her SUV and turn around, her eyes narrowing on my truck.
Remi hops out, just as she starts coming down the driveway toward us. Rather than drive off, I watch as she exchanges a few words with her son before she continues this way, ignoring the rain pelting her. The boy runs inside the house with the pizza.
I lower the passenger side window as she approaches.
“What’s going on?” she demands, grabbing the edge of the window as she stands outside the door, drenched but uncaring.
Her momma bear is showing and I don’t blame her for being suspicious, there are some sick fucks out there, preying on young kids.
“What do you want with my son?” she follows up with.
“Nothing, other than to give him an opportunity. He’s a smart kid, he did good work today, and has a healthy interest in mechanics. Like I said earlier, I could use an extra pair of good hands.”
“Do you buy all your employees pizza and drive them home?” she sharply inquires.
“No, but they drive cars, and don’t try to ride a dinky little bike in a downpour, and the pizza was his pay for today.”
That reminds me, the kid’s bike is still in the back of the truck.
“Let me grab his bike from the back,” I announce, opening my door.
“Don’t bother, I’ll get it.”
Before I can even get out, she’s already reaching into the truck bed.
Man, she’s a tough nut.
She’s back at the window a moment later, the bike in her hand.
“Next time he needs a ride, tell him to call me.”
I give her a long, hard look, before I return, “You bet. And you’re welcome.”
Then I turn my wheel and pull into the street. When I’m halfway down the block I check my rearview mirror.
Tessa is still standing at the curb, bike in hand, looking like a drowned cat as she watches me drive off.