Caleb #2
The system boots up and the TV flashes a racing logo, and before I am even fully standing, he is loading in the game to play like he's done this a million times, but I don't see any other gaming console. Olivia either must not let him play games or she can’t afford them.
Either way, I grew up without video games and I turned out fine.
Kids don't need them, but his father must think he does.
I stand and step back, scanning the room one more time. If there's something wrong here, I'm not seeing it yet. But looks can be deceiving and if the client really fears something is going wrong, I have to make sure I've been thorough.
Olivia appears in the doorway. "You got it working?"
"Yeah, we got it all fixed up," I say, nodding at Ethan who is already into his first lap on his first race. She's gonna have a hard time pulling him away from that later.
She watches Ethan race for a moment before she turns to me with another warm smile. "Thank you again for helping. Fixing that fence is awful nice of you, and you hurt yourself too."
"Neighbors help neighbors." I glance at the half-empty beer on the table and actually think about staying long enough to finish it, but I'm not here to make friends. Just to gather information. "I should get back and clean up my tools before it gets dark. Thanks for the beer and the field surgery."
She laughs softly, and it might just be the most amazing sound I've heard in my life. "Anytime. Just try not to bleed on my welcome mat again."
"No promises."
After picking up the mess in the yard with the intention to finish the fence tomorrow, I head inside and shower and change.
It hurts like hell to wash up with a busted hand, but I manage to get myself in order and put a fresh bandage on the wound, though I'll admit it's not as efficient as Olivia's bandage.
Then I'm off to Crafted and Cured to meet my client.
Mr. Derek Bennett, Olivia's ex-husband, sits at a table on the second story near the bourbon bar when I arrive.
I order a Knob Creek neat and carry my glass to the table where he sits.
He looks up at me with his typical nasty attitude scrawled on his face and watches as I sit down.
"What the hell happened to you?"
I glance down at the wad of gauze wrapped around my hand awkwardly.
It'll be a talking point for a few days or a week, I suppose.
"I cut it on the post-hole digger while I was working on the fence between our yards.
" I take a sip and set the glass back down.
"I did it on purpose to get inside the house, so I got a look at the kitchen and the living room while I was in there. Fixed her kid's gaming console too."
Derek shifts forward in his seat and rests both arms on the table.
"And what did you find?" I pause for a moment, wondering how a father could skip right over the mention of his child needing my help and jump right to attacking his ex-wife, but I'm not paid to question his motives.
Still, it feels a little questionable. It's a red flag I should pay attention to, but I'm here to do a job.
"She's got a prescription for sertraline sitting in the kitchen cabinet, but I didn't see anything dangerous, man." I'm on edge about this meeting because I'm not sure what sort of man I'm dealing with.
Derek bailed my buddy out years ago when he left the service to find his wife gone and his kid estranged.
The man had to fight to get his child back and Derek was the one who helped him against all odds.
It was cause enough for me to take this job for Derek, though it's not the ideal security gig I wanted to be doing right now.
He sets his glass down and shakes his head. "See? She's unstable and she's medicated, and she's got my son in that house, popping pills just to function."
"It's an antidepressant, Derek, and millions of people take it.
" I narrow my eyes at his hostile tone. I know there are plenty of people who come from some old-school mindset that antidepressants mean mental illness in the way that antipsychotics or sedative-hypnotics do.
They lump it all together and call them crazy, when in reality, they themselves probably suffer from untreated depression and would benefit from the help.
"Millions of people don't have custody of my kid." He picks his drink back up and finishes it, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "What about the rest of the house? Is there food? Is Ethan being taken care of?"
I'm starting to hate this job more than I thought I would.
When Reilly suggested looking Derek up, I figured it would be to help defend his clients or something.
Little did I know Mr. Bennett had a job for me.
I'm supposed to be running protection and security, not being someone's private investigator.
But he paid me so well, how could I refuse?
"The house is in decent shape and the kid looks healthy and happy." I turn the glass slowly on the table. "He was excited about that console you bought him."
Derek leans back in his chair and shakes his head like I'm telling him the wrong answers.
"You're not looking hard enough. She puts on a front, Caleb, and that's what she does.
She smiles and charms everyone while she's barely holding it together behind the scenes.
I lived with the woman and I know exactly what she's like when no one's watching. "
He goes on for a while, swirling his drink between sentences, jabbing a finger at the table when he lands on a point he's trying to make.
And if I don't let him go on about this and rant about how much he hates her, he'll move on to someone else.
What he's trying to do is protect his kid, or so he says, but he isn't even interested in how the kid is doing.
I've mentioned that gaming console twice but he didn't bite.
Olivia would've asked a hundred questions by now, I'm sure of it.
When he finally spins himself out, he's slurring his speech slightly and sulking like I’m failing him.
If he really wants to protect that kid, then he's right, I do have to dig deeper.
I need to make sure my gut feeling is more than just reliant on red or green flags.
I'd need actual proof of something being off. Or the opposite.
Either way, a few days living next door isn't long enough to make any real observation.
"I need more time," I tell him, finishing the last of my bourbon. "If something's there, I'll find it, but I'm not going to manufacture what isn't."
Derek stares at me across the table while he grinds his teeth. He runs his thumb along the rim of his glass before he concedes. "That's fine, but don't get comfortable over there. She's good at pulling people in to believe she's all innocent. That's what she's wanting to do with you. I can tell."
I push my chair back and stand, dropping cash on the table for a tip. "I'll be in touch when I have something worth sharing." The man is silent as I walk away but already too drunk to speak rationally with.
The drive home is quiet as I mull over that interaction. Derek might just be the one I need to watch out for, but after he saved my friend, how could I turn on him? I park in my driveway and sit with the engine off, staring at Olivia's dark windows next door.
Derek wants a villain, but I'm just not sure he's pointed at the right one.