This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,62
probably the best damn coffee I’ve ever tasted. If I cared about that right now.
Two hours later, and the rat still hasn’t come out of his hole.
I’m restless, and as I shift on the bench, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Taking it out, I’ve got a text from my brother. Did it work?
Groaning, I swipe open the phone and tap a reply. He still hasn’t appeared.
Are you texting with your fingers? Text with your thumbs, Grandpa.
Asshole. I don’t have time for this.
Stay calm. Inhale for five, exhale for six.
Shaking my head, I tap back, What kind of bullshit…
Basic meditation. Let me know when you’ve got it. Gran’s got the prayer chain going.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I glance towards the horizon. I never felt like the Big Guy was on my side, especially when I got thrown in fucking prison for a crime I didn’t commit.
Still…
“I could use a little help if you’re up there.”
Yeah, I prayed.
People walk past, checking their phones, walking their dogs, ignoring the tense guy sitting on a bench with his whole future hanging in the balance. It feels like an eternity has passed when the wiry asshole finally appears.
He’s at the counter again, and I’m on my feet, crossing the street. I don’t know if he’ll recognize me, and if he does, I don’t know what he might do. I’m prepared for anything. If he takes off running, I’ll run right after him. Then I’ll beat a confession out of him.
But hopefully it won’t come to that.
Smoothing my hands down the front of my jeans, I grab a paper mask and reach for the door of the shop. A little bell dings when I enter, and Clyde turns to look.
He’s different than he was two years ago. Back then he had dreads like all his friends, and he dressed in their standard attire. Now he’s in jeans and a button-up oxford, and his hair is a short, light-brown afro, kind of like that guy who painted on television when we were kids.
Happy little trees.
He’s still wearing those magic beads, and when our eyes meet, my question is answered. He recognizes me.
My jaw sets, and I step to the side just as he tries to dodge. This motherfucker’s trying to run. Don’t do it, asshole.
“Clyde Shaw?” I plaster a smile on my face, acting like I’m so glad to see him. In a twisted way I am. “I haven’t seen you in two years. How’ve you been?”
“I’m sorry.” He looks towards the guy at the counter, who’s watching like he doesn’t suspect a thing. “I was just leaving.”
“Hang on a minute. Surely you have time for an old friend.” Reaching out, I grab his bicep in a death grip.
His eyes flinch, but he knows he can’t outmatch me. Dumbass better not try. At this point, I would enjoy beating a confession out of him.
The only thing holding me back is I don’t want to jeopardize my future. Jesse is waiting for me. I want to believe somewhere Hope is waiting for me. I won’t sacrifice them for this piece of shit.
He cocks his head to the side. “Do I know you? I think you might have me mixed up with somebody else.”
“Let’s have a seat and talk about it.”
Still holding his arm, I lead him to the back of the café, to a booth in the corner where we can talk.
We’ve got the place to ourselves, and he slides across the red velvet cushions. I take the seat across from him, taking out my phone and acting like I’m checking for a text. Instead, I touch the video button like Scout told me to do, say a quick prayer I turned it on, not off, and place it between us on the table.
“I don’t have much time.”
“You’ve got time for me.” I’m so casual. “Clyde Shaw, right?”
“That’s my name.”
“The Clyde Shaw who lived at Frederick and Clayton?” I have to establish his identity on the record.
“I lived there. It was a dump, so I moved. What of it?”
“You contacted my father, William Dunne two years ago about buying health supplements, specifically shilajit, to sell in our gym. You offered to be our supplier. Do you remember that?”
“I had several clients back then. You’re wasting your time, Mr. Dunne. I stopped selling supplements two years ago.”
“How come?”
“No money in it. That particular product was hard to get, and the profits were too small.” He’s looking around the room like he’s planning to bolt. “So I’m