First Family (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 4)

Michelle’s empty stomach rumbled. “Do they serve dinner there?”

“It’s on me.”

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

CHAPTER 60

WITH DARYL’S HELP Quarry strung the cables up and down the mineshafts at strategic points, finishing off at the entrance.

As they worked away Daryl said, “You looking pretty happy.”

“Tippi’s back home so why wouldn’t I be?”

“She’s not really home, Daddy, she’s—”

Daryl didn’t finish because his father’s forearm was across his windpipe.

Daryl could feel the hot, stinging breath of his old man. “Now why don’t you think real long and hard about what you were about to say, boy. And then why don’t you keep your damn mouth shut!”

Quarry pushed his son away. Daryl bounced off the hard rock. But instead of going meekly away he lunged at his father and drove him up against the wall. Quarry wedged an arm under his son’s thick neck and, using the wall of rock for leverage, forced him off. The two struggled over the uneven ground, each trying to get the upper hand as their breaths shot out of their mouths and the sweat stained their armpits despite the chill.

Daryl stumbled backward but then regained his balance. He charged forward again, wrapping his arms around his father’s middle and lifting him off the ground and slamming him up against the rock.

All the air went out of Quarry’s lungs, and his front teeth popped through his bottom lip with the impact. But when Daryl dropped him he found the strength to launch a knee into his son

’s gut, and then follow

that with a powerful roundhouse to the face, putting his whole body into it. Daryl fell back on his butt, his cheek ripped, his mouth bleeding.

Quarry almost toppled over with the force of his blow. He half spun around and squatted in the dirt, hacking and spitting up blood. “You couldn’t kick my ass even if I was in a damn wheelchair sucking on oatmeal through a straw,” he yelled.

Daryl eyed the stick of dynamite bound to a long cable lying on the floor of the mine. “You gonna blow me up too, old man?”

“Blow us all up if I have to, dammit!”

“I ain’t spending my whole life doing what you tell me to do.”

“You ain’t got no life but for me. The Army come looking for your ass and who saved it? Me! And then you screwed up with the woman. And you kept screwing up. Shoulda shot you back then.”

“Why didn’t you then, old man? Why!” shouted Daryl as he balled his fists and tears slid down his face to mix with the blood there.

“Killed Kurt.”

“And you ain’t had no right to do that! I was the one what killed that woman. Not Kurt.”

“I shoulda shot you instead,” Quarry said again, spitting up bits of his torn lip.

“So why didn’t you, Daddy! Why didn’t you kill me?”

Quarry wasn’t looking at him now. He put a hand up against the wall to steady himself, his breaths coming in short gasps.

“’Cause I need you, that’s why,” he said in a quieter voice. He bent down and offered Daryl a hand up. His son didn’t take it.

“I need you, Daryl. I need you, boy.” Quarry stayed bent over, his feet stumbling across the floor of the mine. Quarry looked over at his son and imagined him as a young, adoring boy with big blue eyes and a lopsided grin. Tell me what needs doing, Daddy.

When his eyes cleared, all he saw was a large, thickset, angry man struggling slowly to his feet.

“I need you, boy,” Quarry said again, offering his hand again. “Please.”