“There’s no point in asking you not to get carried away, is there?”
He grinned and shook his head. “None whatsoever.”
“Thought so.” I kissed his cheek, then settled into his arms and said, “Thank you again, Micah, for everything you’ve done for me. I want you to know I truly appreciate it. I just wish I could do more for you in return.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated. That’s really all I need.”
It seemed like so little to ask for.
Chapter 7
The following week I finally met Micah’s probation officer, who’d recently completed my background check. Peter Boseman was a tall, heavyset Black man in his late forties with a shaved head and a permanent scowl, and he scrutinized me like I was smuggling fifty kilos of cocaine in my underwear.
“You can go ahead and quit staring down my assistant, Boseman,” Micah said. “He’s not the criminal here. I am.”
I sighed at that as I got up from behind the desk in Micah’s home office. I’d been helping him clean and get it organized, which was good timing. It probably seemed like I really was his personal assistant, though the PO still looked suspicious. Maybe he always looked that way, though.
I started to leave the office so they could have their meeting, but then I turned back to Boseman and said, “Can you explain something to me?” I took his icy stare as a yes. “I’ve been doing some research on house arrest, and I found out in most cases the probationer is allowed to leave the house for certain things. Usually it’s for work or school, but it can also be for stuff like doctor appointments or even errands. So, why is Micah stuck here twenty-four-seven?”
Boseman’s icy stare grew even icier. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “He doesn’t have a job to go to, his appointments can happen over Zoom, and anything he needs can be delivered. Given that, there’s no reason for him to leave.” His voice was low and gravelly.
“Does that seem fair to you?”
“Yes.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What about his mental health? It’s not good for someone to be stuck at home day in and day out.”
Boseman held my gaze without so much as a blink. “While it’d obviously be a hardship for anyone to be confined to a giant mansion with a bowling alley, home theater, game room, and gym, I somehow think Mazari will be alright.” His sarcasm game was on point, I’d give him that.
I tried one last time. “But you could sign off on, let’s say, a daily walk around the block, right? I’m pretty sure you have the authority to do that.”
“I could, but I won’t.”
I tried to match my scowl to his. “Well, thank god the citizens of San Francisco have you to protect them from the horrors of this hardened criminal getting some fresh air and exercise. Hide the women and children, it’s a dude who got into a bar fight! Raise the drawbridge! Circle the wagons!” Okay, I’d mixed the hell out of that metaphor, but whatever.
Micah had taken a seat behind the desk and was watching this exchange with an amused expression. At that point, he decided to intervene with, “Thanks for trying, Jasper, but Boseman’s not going to budge. Believe me, I’ve tried. Could you do me a favor and check to see if I turned off the oven?”
Message received, he wanted me to go away so he could get the meeting over with. I nodded, then frowned at Boseman before leaving the office.
That exchange had left me irritated, so I channeled it into cleaning the kitchen. Half an hour later, all the counters were wiped down, the dishwasher was running, and I’d finished mopping the floor. Micah always reminded me cleaning wasn’t my job, but it was a good distraction.
I went on a search and eventually found him in the bar with a bottle of whiskey. It was surprising to see him drinking before noon. “I guess I don’t have to ask how it went,” I said.
“Boseman thinks he’s an amateur psychologist. I don’t have a lot of experience with probation officers, but I’m pretty sure he’s overstepping with some of this shit.” He drained his glass, then refilled it and continued, “He keeps harping on reconnecting with people from my past, including my brother. Arlen hates me, so what am I supposed to do, beg him to be a part of my life?”
“Did you tell Boseman to fuck off? That really doesn’t seem like it’s any of his business.”
“I wish. I did tell him to watch the award-winning 2009 documentary on the demise of our band, which called our relationship one of the most toxic ever witnessed and compared Arlen and me to Cain and Abel. It should tell him all he needs to know about why I’m not about to reach out to my brother.”