The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

She picked up her hot dog and bit off a huge hunk of sausage and bread and onions, catching the drippings on the back of her hand. “He was a psychopath. Which returns us to the subject at hand.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it in that context.”

“You fucked yourself, kiddo. Now let’s see if we can unfuck you. Our problem is not Vick Shit-for-Brains. It’s his father, Jaime Atlas. Do not get the idea that he’s a devoted father who wants to get even for his son. Shit-for-Brains is Jaime’s possession, and you and your buddy threw a brick through a windshield into his face.”

“I didn’t throw anything.”

“Your friend did?”

“Why did you bring me here, Miss Cisco?”

“Tell your friend to turn himself in. In the meantime, think about the army. Your parents can sign for you. When you finish your enlistment, this will probably be forgotten.”

She wiped her fingers with a paper napkin. A campus security car pulled up next to us; behind the wheel was a guy wearing aviator shades and a cap with a lacquered bill. “You cain’t park here without a sticker, ma’am.”

“I’m moving in just a minute, Officer.”

“You have to move now, ma’am.”

She shot him the finger without looking at him, then started the engine and drove out to the street and parked under a live oak.

“Is that how you deal with everybody?” I asked.

“Shut up. Do you know what ‘in the life’ means?”

“No.”

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. I should let you drown. I feel like throwing an anchor chain around your neck myself.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, either.”

She looked straight ahead and blew out her breath. “Grady Harrelson’s father is a silent partner with some nasty people. Jaime Atlas will get his pound of flesh, or he will no longer be doing business with Clint Harrelson. It’s you or your friend. But th

ere’re no guarantees on that. It could be both of you.”

“I can’t change that.”

She pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. I moved my head away from her hand.

“I go out of the way for you, and that’s how you feel?” she said. “You’re a strange kid. Maybe you’re a lost cause, not worth the effort. What’s your opinion?”

“I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

“Tell that to the people who voted for Hitler.”

She put on her shades and started the engine, then clicked on the radio. I thought she might play some music. She turned the dial to the stock market report and didn’t speak on the way back to the filling station. When I got out, I turned around and thanked her. She drove away without replying.

I WENT HOME AT three P.M. and bathed and changed clothes. I was about to go to Valerie’s house when my father pulled into the driveway and parked in the porte cochere. He got out of the car with a paper bag in his hand.

I met him outside. “You’re home a little early.”

“Where’s your mother?” he said.

“At the grocery.”

“If you have a minute, come in the backyard.”

He opened the gate and sat down on the back steps and waited for me to sit down with him; the bag rested on his knees.