in damage control and a load of bullshit is about to fall from his mouth.
“Where did you get this?” His voice is even, but I can see the vein throbbing above his temple.
“A friend found it in an archive of deleted photographs on your computer,” I say, turning the photograph toward me so I can look at it, even though I know exactly what it shows – my father sitting in a plush leather booth at some club with a cigar in his mouth and a woman on his lap wearing a dress so tight I can see her religion. He leans in to talk to a man with a hooked nose and eagle eyes that match his brown designer suit, while another scantily-clad woman drapes herself across his shoulders. I tap the other man in the picture. “My friend knows this guy’s name – Brutus August. Apparently, he was high up in the August crime family when this photo was taken five years ago. Care to explain why you’re buddies with a crime boss?”
“Son, you need to tell your friend to stop digging around in the past.” Dad leans in close, the corners of his mouth pulling back into a smile that’s more of a snarl. The skin on my neck prickles. I know this version of my father, and I hate him. “If that picture comes out in the media or makes it into my appeal, I’m up shit creek without a paddle.”
I lean forward and slam the picture against the glass. “I’m trying to help you. But I need you to tell me the truth.”
Dad leans back in his chair. That cold smile never leaves his lips as he taps the edge of the counter. He makes me wait for several moments before he answers. “That man was my contact. He put me in touch with the right people in my line of work. Interested buyers and such.”
“Buyers for body parts on the black market.”
“Jesus H Christ, son. We’re not rehashing this unsavory business—”
“We’re just talking. So this guy was your hookup in the underworld?”
It’s a long time before Dad nods. “In exchange for introductions, he sometimes asked a favor in return. A coffin to be delivered to a secret location at a moment’s notice. A request that I vacate the crematorium for a night and leave the key under the rug for him. Letting his people hide things at the bottom of open graves before a funeral service… that sort of thing…”
I swallow. He’s talking about making bodies disappear. This is… this is even more fucked up than I imagined. I hold up another picture. “What about this guy? Do you know him?”
Dad peers at the picture. He’s trying to look casual, but that vein above his eye throbs and his agitation taints the air. “Him I met a couple of times. That’s his club we’re at in the first picture. You stay well away from him, boy. That’s an order. That man is unhinged.”
I slide the photographs back into my pocket. “That’s going to be difficult. He’s Mom’s new fiancé.”
Outside, I fling open my car door and sink into the seat. My whole body shakes. It takes several deep breaths before I can grip the steering wheel and back out of the prison.
A few blocks from the prison, I slide into the parking lot of a shitty diner on the edge of a small wooded park. George leaps from the bushes and throws herself into the car like she’s the star in a spy film. Her eyes shine with excitement as she picks leaves and twigs from her blue pixie hair. “You look white as a sheet. What happened in there?”
I pull out of the lot and head toward the freeway. I have to swallow three times before I can answer. “I told him Nero Lucian was engaged to Mom and he went crazy. He pounded the glass and smashed the phone into the wall and said the most horrible things. The guards had to drag him away.”
The shaking starts again. I jam my elbows into my sides in an attempt to control it. George tilts her head to the side. The empathy pooling in her eyes is real, and that matters to me more than I can say. “I’m sorry, Eli.”
“Yeah.” My fingers grip the wheel so hard my knuckles are turning white. “Me too.”
George taps my shoulder. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What did your dad say about the other photograph?”