The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“A what?”

“A stiletto.”

He was still, not a hair moving on his head, even though the canopy was flapping. “I think a predictable phenomenon is occurring in your life, Aaron. It’s the nature of evil.”

“The knife?”

“No. Evil is like a flame that has no substance of its own on which to feed. It needs to take up residence within us. You imagine yourself committing acts that are in reality the deeds of others.”

“But what if I harmed someone?”

“You didn’t. You never have. And you won’t, at least not deliberately.”

“Vick Atlas called.”

“I don’t want to hear about it. These people don’t exist. If they come around, we’ll have to make a choice.”

“Sir?” I said.

“Maybe it won’t come to that. You know what we need? A slice of that Hempstead watermelon at the stand on Westheimer.”

He put seventy-five cents on the table to cover the beer and the soft drink and the tip for the waiter. I had never seen my father walk away from a glass or bottle that contained alcohol.

Chapter

28

THE NEXT MORNING Saber moved back into his house. I was surprised. I had thought Mr. Bledsoe was an unforgiving and angry man. He was probably like most people, better than we think they are. It probably took a lot of courage for him to humble himself and go to work as a Jolly Jack ice cream cart driver, on a route in his own neighborhood, where people concluded he had been fired from his job at the rendering plant for drinking, which wasn’t true. Anyway, the Sabe motored into my driveway and parked under the porte cochere and announced he was through with Manny and Cholo and boosting cars and dropping goofballs and smoking Mexican laughing grass. I wasn’t quite sure Manny and Cholo were through with him, and I knew Grady Harrelson and Vick Atlas weren’t.

Saber’s return home presented another problem, too. Our enemies knew where he was.

“Where’d you get the mouse?” I asked.

The bruise was dark blue and purple, in the corner of his eye. “I had to straighten out Cholo.” He grinned, knowing how absurd he sounded.

“What’d they do with Grady’s car?”

“You got me. They’re out of their league and dumping in their pants. They wanted me to drive it to Mexico. How’s that for smarts? ‘Hello, señor, got anything to declare? Oh, almost one million dollars? Come on in.’?”

“Vick Atlas said he might do something awful to Major and the cats.”

“He’s been watching your house?”

“He or somebody else,” I said.

“That’s one guy who should be cut off at the knees. You told your folks?”

“My dad.”

“What’d he say?”

“That we might have to make some hard choices.”

“Come on, blow it off,” Saber said.

“I think I had a blackout and went to Bud Winslow’s house with a shiv.”

Saber squeezed his eyes shut as though trying not to hear me. “Let’s play miniature golf tonight. We got to get back to our old ways.”