He arched an eyebrow, letting me know there was no other kind of cut.
My mouth fell open. “Holy shit. Who would...” Then it hit me. “Fuck. Do you think it was your dad?”
That idea made him pull back in surprise. He flashed me a strange look. “No.” Then he shook his head and made a face as if to reassure himself his answer was still no. “Why would it be him? We already had our confrontation. All he wanted from me was his stash, which I didn’t have. So I doubt I’ll ever hear from him again.”
I sighed. “Your testimony put him in jail, Asher. For years.”
“Yeah, right. My testimony did shit. There was enough proof and evidence to put him away without me ever taking the stand.”
That made me frown in confusion as I put the car into gear, leaving his lovely dead beast behind. “Then why did you have to testify at all?” Seemed like a lot of undue stress to put on a kid.
He shrugged and turned to stare out the side window. “I don’t know. Guess the lawyers thought my seven-year-old self wasn’t traumatized enough after I saw my mother murdered.”
“Bastards,” I hissed with agreement.
“It certainly wasn’t reason enough for the old man to carry a sixteen-year vendetta against me.”
I bit my lip, taking that option into consideration. Then I remembered, we were sitting at the opening of the parking lot because I had no idea where he lived. “Which way?”
He glanced up. “Oh, sorry. This way. Then hang a left when we get to Grand.”
I nodded and turned onto the street. “Then who do you think did it?” I pressed. “Because, you know, fuel lines don’t just go cutting themselves open. Someone obviously has it out for you.”
He arched an unimpressed eyebrow my way. “So they went after my fuel line? That’s like...a thirty-dollar fix,
and the worst that could’ve possibly happened to me from this is that my bike wouldn’t start, which...it didn’t. If someone really had it out for me, they could’ve done so much worse. This was probably just one of the guys fucking with me.”
I made a face. “That’s not a very funny joke.”
He blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed at his hair before admitting, “Yeah, I’m not laughing about it either. Go north here.”
I turned, frowning at his directions. We were not heading toward any kind of residential area. The only thing in these parts was a couple of dying factories and condemned-looking warehouses.
Just where the heck did he live?
When he said, “Turn here,” I faltered.
“That’s an alley,” I argued.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Finally, I turned, shaking my head slowly. “You live in an alley?”
“I rent the basement of this place. And the only entrance is in this alley.”
“Creepy,” I murmured, squinting out my window at the total darkness surrounding Asher’s home.
“Right here,” he said, and I stopped, then killed the engine. He sent me an amused glance. “Seriously, man. I’m fine. You don’t have to walk me to my door. My old man isn’t creeping in a corner, waiting to off me.”
“We’ll just see about that,” I answered, taking off my seat belt and opening my door.
“Whatever,” Asher answered, sighing in defeat. “You can come on down if you want. There’s not much to look at, though.”
My curiosity about this basement apartment of his, plus my worry over his cut fuel line, prompted me to follow him through the dark to a rusted metal door. A streetlight at the opening of the alley showed how dented in the entrance looked, as if multiple people had tried to kick it in, multiple times.
“Watch your step. There’s no light in the staircase.” After he swung the door open, he disappeared inside. I took a breath, and glanced in to see a soft glow from the other end, helping to light my way some, so I cautiously stepped down. The steps were steeper than I was expecting and made from a wood that liked to creak and groan, but from the way Asher was plowing down them, they must be sturdy. Once he reached the ground floor, he turned on another light in his apartment and called, “Better?”
“Yeah. Gracias.”