“The one who attacked me with a pool cue.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Clete said. “Kev, did I ever jam you?”
Penny seemed to consider. “No. What about it?”
“I need your help. I’m being honest, here.”
“I got company right now.”
“I can see that. She’ll understand. Right, lady? Can I borrow Kevin for a couple of minutes?”
“You finally fry your mush?” Penny said.
“You got around in Miami. You knew everybody in the life.”
“That was then.”
“You know who my daughter is?”
“No, I don’t know who your daughter is. I don’t give a shit, either.”
“Her name is Gretchen Horowitz.”
“The fuck.”
“That’s straight up. She’s in Syria making a documentary about the refugees.”
“The Gretchen Horowitz I knew blew heads for the greaseballs.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
Penny pushed the woman back inside and closed the door behind him. “What’s the angle?”
“No angle. Your son is going to be with you shortly. We come from the same background, Kev. People knocked us around. When we grow older, we want to get even. Then we see somebody who
reminds us of ourselves, and we get mad at them because we think they caused the injuries we had to suffer.”
Penny stepped closer to Clete, his nostrils flaring. His eyes were red-rimmed and seemed receded beyond the sockets, as though he lived inside a husk. “You think I’m gonna welcome my kid home by beating him up?”
“You hurt him pretty bad before. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
“I’ve been to anger management class.”
“That’s like managing bone cancer. The people who peddle that stuff are douchebags. It’s like listening to Pee-wee Herman talk about weight lifting.”
“This from you?” Penny said.
“Yeah, because I’m the dumb asshole who messed up his daughter and made an assassin out of her. I owe her a debt. That’s why I’m trying to tell you. Get on the square and do right by your kid.”
“I’m gonna take to him to Disney World and Six Flags. I’ve got a job driving over the road. Maybe I’ll take him on the road with me.”
What about his schooling? Clete thought. What about the loss of friends his own age? What about the fear that probably lived in him every mile on the road? But Clete knew the situation was hopeless. The boy’s fate was probably sealed; the blows to the face and head and back would start a short while after the boy came home.
“Who’s the woman in the trailer?” Clete said.
“Miss Prime Cut. You want sloppy seconds? She wouldn’t mind.”
Penny wasn’t being sardonic or ironic. He was serious. Clete felt a rubber band pop behind his eyes. “I don’t think we’re communicating. My vocabulary isn’t up to the job sometimes. Where’d you grow up? Where’d you go to school?”