Max studied his face, scanning for sarcasm. Ellis didn’t dare flinch. “As I was saying,” Max went on. “If you happened to dig up something interesting, I think we ought to discuss it. Off the record, as it were.”
It was clear that little in Max’s life was meant for the record.
“Eh, Mr. Trevino,” a man called over, having emerged from the kitchen. He had to be three hundred pounds, an equal mix of fat and muscle, and was wiping his hands on a towel. Its red smears were decidedly not from tomato sauce. Ellis tried not to picture the condition of the face, or whole body, that had taken the pounding. “I think we’re done in here. Need anything else?”
“Not sure yet,” Max said. “How ’bout you stick around a while?”
“Happy to.” The mountainous goon flicked a glance toward Ellis. “I’ll just be tidying up,” he said before disappearing through the swinging door. If not for more moans from the kitchen, the comment would have sounded like code for the disposal of a stiff.
A task possibly still on the agenda if Ellis wasn’t careful.
Max returned his focus to the table. “So?” he prompted, picking up where they’d left off.
Ellis steadied his hands, his breathing. Any hint of dishonesty could prove detrimental. Not just to him and his parents, but even to Lily, whom he suddenly feared he might never see again. “Sir, I’ve got nothing but good intentions involving your family.”
Though darkly quiet as he smoked, Max was listening.
Ellis kept mindful of the man’s time and values and mentally scrambled to simplify the summary. “There were two kids, you see, with a sign. But the picture I took, it was only for a feature.” He moved right along to an unplanned sale that divided a family. No need for dates or names or any other detail that weighed down the basics. Then he leapt to his worries over a mother, now cured but alone, and the well-being of the children. “Your sister too,” he was quick to add.
Max had gone still. It was difficult to tell if he was glowering or contemplating. “What exactly do you think you know about her?”
If nothing else, Ellis knew this for certain: he was treading on tenuous ground.
He took an extra moment, cautiously navigating the exchange. He was about to reply when Max said, “Sal?”
In an instant, the driver gripped Ellis by the front collar of his shirt. Ellis reflexively tried to resist, the pressure of the man’s knuckles tight against his throat.
“Mr. Trevino asked you a question,” Sal told him.
Weaseling out with a softened, bullshit answer about Max’s sister was the most obvious move. It was Ellis’s best shot at getting out of here in one piece, literally. But his instincts—or maybe dumb hope—said Max harbored similar concerns. That this, more than any alleged article, was the reason for this meeting.
“I’m no expert,” Ellis said, his voice strained from Sal’s hold, “but I’ll share what I got.”
After a pause, Max’s solitary nod cued Sal to back off. Ellis caught his breath and scraped his words together in a hurry. While aware of the risks of being flat-out wrong, he would dare to be candid.
Max took occasional slow puffs as Ellis spilled what he’d gathered. He recounted the troubling observations he’d seen and heard, the growing signs of delusion. The threats to Ellis, no matter how depraved, would mean little in this place. So rather, he spoke of Ruby’s inherited clothes and name, of the cruel letters and lies, of a brother secretly ripped away. He described the many hours of punishments for hindering the resurrection of a daughter—a niece—who, in reality, was gone.
By the time Ellis finished, Max was fingering his cutter, its circular opening the size of a man’s thumb. Piling on more arguments would be a gamble. There was a fine line between supplying information and dictating an opinion.
In the end, Ellis took the chance. “Quite simply, sir, I’d say you’ve got two choices. Your sister loses the girl…or, before long, you lose your sister.”
Max’s fingers slowed. The corners of his eyes tightened the slightest amount. The wait that followed brought no reassurance.
At last, he replied with finality, “A man’s gotta do what’s best for his family.”
The ambiguity of what that meant held Ellis in place. Behind him, the squeak of a shoe indicated Sal was again moving closer. No doubt he was itching to resume one of the grimmer perks of his job.
“Tomorrow morning—eight sharp,” Max stated. “You meet me