Chapter 20 #2
Mack pulls out his cell phone and taps out a message. "I'll have Zig take a closer look at Daniel. Shouldn't be too hard--he's a parolee. He'll have a registered address and a place of work, just like Alex has to."
I frown when I think about the big red date on the calendar--Alex's parole officer is set to visit in two weeks. Will Alex be home by then?
I grab one of the egg rolls and dunk it in the sauce before biting into it. It's cooled a little, but it's still pretty hot. It's good, though. I guess I’m a stress eater--I never would have thought Chinese food would taste so good at ten in the morning when it's hot out.
"He says he'll have the whole thing for us in about an hour. It would be sooner, but he's working on something for his actual job," Mack says, typing another text.
A wave of guilt crashes down on me. I wince. "Can I pay him for the work he's doing?"
Mack shakes his head and exhales sharply through his nose. "He owes me a favor. A big one. This whole thing might get him a quarter of the way there."
I smile. "What did you do, save him from a well or something?"
Mack grins at me. "Why a well?"
"I don't know. First thing I thought of." I finish off my egg roll and eye the crab rangoons.
"I sold him my bike."
"Kind of sounds like he did you a favor by buying it." I arch an eyebrow.
"I didn't want to sell her, ever. But he begged and pleaded and wouldn't shut up until I agreed."
"Sounds like he was willing to pay a high price for it, too."
Mack shrugs. "Still did him a favor."
My phone rings and I fumble to answer it without looking, my heart in my throat. "Hello?"
"Gabriella?" Mr. Franklin’s familiar nasal tone has dread spiraling through my stomach, has me instinctively glancing around for the nearest place to tuck myself away so I won't be overheard having this conversation. But I’m sitting with Mack at the table; there’s nowhere to go.
"This is she," I say, even though he knows this is my private cell phone. There's rarely anything to be gained from being rude--my mom and grandma both taught me that.
"This is Mr. Franklin, your brother's parole officer." He's breathing deeply in my ear like he's walking somewhere fast.
"Yes, sir. How can I help you?" I keep my tone professional, even as I'm panicking.
This is the call I've been dreading ever since Alex went missing. I'm the first person the parole officer would call, after all. I keep waiting to hear the terrible words: your brother has failed to report in a timely manner; his parole has been revoked.
Instead, Mr. Franklin wheezes, "I wanted to confirm that as part of your brother's parole, I will be visiting your property in three weeks, on the twenty-seventh. It would be best if you were present to answer any questions I might have."
"I am planning on being there," I say.
He starts speaking over me before I'm finished talking. "And I must remind you that you must ask me for permission before you have any overnight guests."
"I thought that rule was just for Alex." My forehead crinkles. Mack has been staying with me for a couple of nights, but I'm not the one on parole.
"That rule is for the property. You do live on the property, don't you, Miss Ramos?"
What a patronizing dick. He knows I do--it's my property.
With effort, I keep my temper. "Yes."
"Then you'll need to have my approval before inviting anyone to stay overnight on the property. It would be very disappointing if you've been in violation of the parole guidelines. Have you been in violation of this rule?"
"No," I lie.
I want to argue with him and tell him that I shouldn't be held to the same penalty as Alex. As it is, I hate having this creepy guy walking around my house once a month. I don't like the proprietary way he looks at me. I don't like how familiar he acts. I'm not the one who went to prison.
"And do you have anyone you'd like to get my approval for, to spend the night in the future?"
I can almost see his sneering face.
"Not at this time."
"Excellent. Let me know if that changes."
"Mm-hmm." I clear my throat. "Was there anything else, Mr. Franklin? Otherwise, I should be getting back to work."
"That's all. You have a real nice day, Gabriella."
"You too." I hang up with shaking fingers. I can't tell if I'm more angry or scared.
I was so involved with the terror and disgust of speaking to the man that I momentarily forgot that Mack’s across from me. When I look up, he’s staring at me, his jaw ticcing at the corners.
“That was my brother’s parole officer,” I say lamely. I notice Mack’s eyes are focused on my trembling fingers, so I press them to the tabletop.
“So I heard.” Mack’s voice reminds me of Mooch when he does his scary little trick--it’s nearly a growl, it’s so deep, and there’s a warning edge to it.
“Then you heard the part about how I can’t have overnight guests?”
I sigh, my shoulders sagging. Even though I was irritated Mack came to stay unannounced, it’s been really nice having him there. With him there, I’m not laying awake worrying that those men are creeping up to my windows; I’m only laying awake worrying about Alex.
“I heard.” Mack dips a crab rangoon in a orange sauce and pops it in his mouth.
“I guess you’ll have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But the rules--”
Mack puts his hand gently over mine. “You don't have to worry about that right now. You have other things to think about. You let me worry about Mr. Franklin and his rules. You focus on finding Alex, ok?”
“Ok.”
I press my lips together to keep my chin from wobbling out of gratitude.
Despite how hard it is for me to let go of control, it feels so good to believe that Mack is taking on some of my worries for me.
It’s like having a knot in your back muscle--at first it really hurts to have someone stick their thumb into it, but then it releases and feels amazing.
“Of course, right now you have more pressing issues that that, even.”
“What?”
He points. “If you don't start eating some of these rangoons, they’re going to disappear.”