Blood Game by Ed Gorman Page A

they’re on fire.”
    â€œNo, I’ve never seen them.”
    â€œOr a dairy farm in New Hampshire? The grass gets so green that the black and white cows really stand out against it on a sunny day. And it’s so peaceful in the shade—”
    â€œWhat the hell are you trying to do?”
    â€œJust passing the time.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.”
    Guild sighed. “If you were my boy, you wouldn’t be guarding the money, and that’s for goddamn sure.” He was angry at the three of them—at Stoddard for using his son this way, at his son for being used, and at himself because he could not seem to let things lie where they were.
    â€œI’m not your son and I’m tired of your running down my dad. I should tell him some of the things you’ve said.”
    He had pushed too far. He had lost the boy. He could not help the kid now because the kid wouldn’t let him.
    He said, “You should ask for a cut.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou should ask your old man for a percentage of the take.”
    â€œI know you’re trying to help, Leo, and I appreciate it, but you’re really talking crazy.”
    â€œYou work hard, kid. You deserve a percentage. That way when you’re finally ready to leave—”
    â€œYou’re getting kind of one note.”
    Guild stared at him. “You deserve a life of your own, Stephen. You really do.”
    Stephen walked to the door. “I’m going to go get some lemonade. You want a glass?”
    â€œThat would be fine.”
    â€œBig glass or small glass?”
    â€œBig glass.”
    â€œI know you’re just trying to help.”
    â€œI don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”
    â€œHe isn’t as bad as you claim.”
    â€œMaybe not.”
    â€œHe’s my father. He raised me.”
    â€œI know.”
    Stephen said, “I’m going to stay with him till he dies, Leo, and that’s the way things are.” He spoke with a quiet determination that was all the more convincing for its lack of bluster.
    He nodded and left.

Chapter Nineteen
    Her four-year-old son said, “You will go far away?”
    â€œNot far away.”
    â€œYou will go with Victor?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t like Victor.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œMaria, she is scared.”
    â€œI know she is scared.”
    â€œAnd I’m scared, too.”
    â€œI will not go far away, and I will return often.”
    â€œYou promise?”
    â€œI promise.”
    They stood in the center of the living room. The place looked better than it had in months. Victor had given her money to fix the place up. There was a new yellow spread for the couch, and two of the windows were fixed with new panes of glass. Where there had been a picture of the Virgin there was now a photograph of Victor. He had asked for it to be this way. Teresa had brooded about this for several days. Something about the Virgin made Victor uncomfortable. When she’d asked him what, he’d said, “It makes you look like a cheap Mexican. All these religious things on the walls.” But of course Victor made her uncomfortable about many things. He had struck her several times with exceeding force, and sometimes when his teeth nibbled on her during lovemaking he seemed to take undue pleasure from the pain he inflicted.
    Now her mother appeared in the doorway.
    Her son ran to the older woman and hugged his grandma’s thigh. He began sobbing immediately. “She is going to go, Grandma. She is going to go.”
    â€œYou be a good boy and go play outside,” the grandmother said softly. She knelt down to wipe away the boy’s tears. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and then patted him on the bottom and sent him on his way outside.
    In the doorway the boy looked back at his mother.
    Teresa raised her hand and waved good-bye.
    The boy stood staring at her as if it would be the last