Chapter 3 Casey – Monday Afternoon
THREE
CASEY – MONDAY AFTERNOON
“Casey, it’s time for some Greta Real Talk.”
Casey groaned and almost swore. Real Talk was an irritating hobby of his coworker’s. He wished she’d get off her butt and start that podcast she kept talking about instead of practicing her underutilized psychology minor on him.
“Look,” Greta began, “you’re worried about Mickie, I get it. But maybe stop envisioning what you think he’s up to and have a talk with him. Get to know your brother.”
It was proving hard not to worry about his brother after nearly twenty years of wondering when the call would come that something terrible had happened to Mickie, something worse than being sent to prison. But Casey didn’t say that; he just plastered a bland expression on his face.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me. Mickie made that very clear. I think his exact words were, ‘I need some space.’”
Settling back in her chair with her hands resting in her lap, Greta cocked her head at him. “You have to admit, there’s been a bit of helicoptering on your part. A lot of helicoptering. He’s an adult, he’s gainfully employed, and he has money in savings.”
“He was also behind bars for almost twenty years! What does he know about real life?”
“He was, yes. We know this already and can’t change it.
This is not the first or even second time you and I have talked about this.
” She nodded sagely, and Casey could tell she was enjoying herself.
“But he’s out now, completely exonerated.
I know it’s been difficult, especially since you were the only family on the outside who believed in him.
That said, it’s beyond time for you to step back a tad, give him room to breathe.
And heal. If Mickie needs help, you have to trust that he will ask you for it.
Space doesn’t mean he wants you out of his life, it means he knows how to drive and go to the grocery store by himself. ”
As if realizing he needed an interruption, Casey’s phone vibrated against the top of his desk. He glanced at the word Charming and a picture of Keith taking up the screen. Why was Gabe calling? His heart rate ratcheted up, and Casey held up a finger to pause the conversation. Lecture.
As if he didn’t know his brother couldn’t shop for groceries on his own.
“Gabe?” he said, a tad breathlessly.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear.”
Gabe spoke loud enough that Greta heard him, and she smirked. Greta was the vice president of the Gabriel Karne Fan Club. In spite of himself sometimes, Casey was the de facto president, even if it meant getting phone calls like this one.
Gabriel, Casey had realized early on, had the tendency to downplay the important things and that tendency was coming through strong now. He had been hurt somehow, and he was going to try and play it off.
“What happened? Never mind, where are you?” Casey asked, expecting him to say the emergency room. Maybe jail. Truthfully, Casey wouldn’t have been shocked by one or both of those answers coming from Gabe.
“I’m back home already,” he said.
Right. Because he’d gone off to Westfort on that “job” for Elton and Althea. Casey shut his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then opened them again. Greta was still watching him, still smirking.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Casey, there’s no emergency,” Gabe protested.
But Casey clicked off. He would be the one deciding whether there was an emergency or not.
“I need to get over to Gabe’s. There’s been some kind of incident,” he told Greta.
For her part, Greta rolled her eyes and practically chased him out of the office.
“Go away and don’t come back until you can go five minutes without glowering or looming.
I’ll finish up this report and take a look through the new-hire files.
You should take the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow too, jeez. ”
Casey hesitated. He felt guilty about leaving Greta on her own.
“Go on.” Greta waved emphatically toward the office door. “Get out of here. But maybe take Bowie on a hike before you find out what kind of trouble Gabe managed to get into this time. And don’t forget to call me back and tell me what it is too,” she added while laughing.
Casey grabbed his keys and coat and headed out, waving Bowie into the back of the Wagoneer. A quiet hike in the woods sounded sublime, and maybe that’s the choice he should have made, but he didn’t take Greta’s advice. Instead, he headed toward the RV park, not the woods.
Gabe had been hurt. No matter how much the infuriating man tried to make it sound like nothing, Casey could tell he was trying to sugarcoat it, and he didn’t appreciate the effort.
“I don’t know which of you two I am more pissed off at.”
Casey shot a laser glare at Elton first, because this was all his fault, then Gabriel. Neither one of them appeared particularly quelled by it, which shouldn’t have surprised him. He was losing his edge, getting soft, his glare had wiggle room these days.
For his part, Bowie trotted across the room, giving Gabe a thorough once-over sniff and a lick on the hand before plopping down onto the dog bed in one corner, the special extra cushy one Gabe had spent a ridiculous amount of money on.
He’d excused the purchase with some comment about Bowie being the best doggo who deserved the best. Which, of course, Casey couldn’t argue with.
He could, however, argue with Gabriel.
“It’s not as if I don’t have enough to worry about without Gabe gallivanting off to—to—” he sputtered, unable to come up with a descriptor that suited the occasion.
What the fuck had they been thinking? Answer: They had not. Together, Elton, Gabe, and yes, Althea too, he wasn’t about to leave her out, had hatched an outrageous plan, and it had gone sideways. Why had he let them go ahead with it? Because he was losing his edge, that’s why.
Regardless of what Gabe and present company wished to be true, having a key did not give the holder carte blanche to enter another person’s home without their permission.
Randy could press charges. If he ever figured out who Gabe was and where he lived.
That was unlikely, so they were probably safe on that front.
Small mercies. Casey rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Gabriel Karne was genetically wired to tread the thin line between legal and illegal but had a huge soft spot for underdogs, the quintessential modern-day Robin Hood, and Elton Cox and Althea Mortine had tapped into that aspect of his personality.
Because of course they had. Convincing Gabe to use his “skills” for good and not evil, something along those lines.
“I warned you. You can’t just go breaking and entering, Gabe,” Casey repeated. He doubted his admonishment was going to be acknowledged or possibly even heard.
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Not even to retrieve an irreplaceable treasured necklace with great sentimental value?”
That was a first. Casey tried not to show his surprise at Gabe almost admitting to breaking the law and refused to think that maybe Gabe’s values were changing slightly.
The bag of frozen peas being held against Gabe’s forehead didn’t fully conceal the purple bump and scrape underneath it, and a previously frozen droplet rolled down the side of his face. He swiped at it with his free hand while waiting for Casey to respond.
“You look like you were dragged through a hedge backward,” Casey added, knowing the retort was pathetic.
“It was this close to being a hedge drag.” Gabe raised his hand, index and thumb about an inch apart.
“Randy wasn’t fucking around. I slipped and had to slow down when I went through the gate.
He managed to shove me into an inconveniently placed evergreen shrub, made me trip, and I stumbled.
That’s when my face hit the holly tree branch.
The guy was set to commence with the violence, lots of yelling and profanity floating around.
Good thing no small children were nearby.
Luckily, he was distracted by a car going by or something and let go.
Too bad for Randy though. I kicked him in the kneecap, scrambled off to the Honda, and drove away before he could get me again. ”
Blowing out another breath, Casey ran that imagery through his head. Then he added it to the fact that Gabe was proud of his breaking and entering. “I give up. Did someone call the police?”
“Maybe,” replied Gabe. “But if they did, I didn’t see them. I sure didn’t call them on myself.”
Casey stared at Gabe’s off-white, sparkly sprayed ceiling, sucked some air into his lungs, and let it out slowly.
In the past, Elton had hosted these post-disaster tête-à-têtes at his place.
But with the demise of The Golden Ticket, Gabe had his own address now, 183 Bayview Drive, just down from Gordon MacDonald’s place at Smitty’s RV Park.
Casey was surprised Gordon hadn’t shown up for this debrief.
The park hosted fewer recreational vehicles these days, but the name stayed the same from when it first opened.
Since learning this fact, Gabriel had started a low-key campaign to change it to something more appropriate.
But the names he’d come up with—Shady Acres, Riddle Hollow—were no better.
Casey thought they sounded like cemeteries.
“Look, I got the locket for Althea, didn’t I? You can’t deny the success of my mission.”
Across the room from Casey, Elton smirked. Ignoring them all, Bowie stood up, turned three times, and lay down again.
Casey jabbed a finger in Elton’s direction.
“You’ve created a monster. Breaking and entering?
For crying out loud. I just—” His attention drifted to the bag of defrosting produce covering Gabe’s forehead.
“That looks nasty. Have you cleaned it up yet?” He shifted his butt off the windowsill to start toward the bathroom where Gabe stored the basic first aid kit Casey had given him as a housewarming present.