“The garage is my business,” he said. “If I took a little money to bet on the races, I don’t see that it’s police business.”
“Gambling?” Fat Cop said. “I didn’t take you to be a guy with a gambling problem, Mr. Friesen.” His face was blank, his voice disbelieving.
Nate stared at him. “You want to know? Look. Here.” He reached past his crutches and patted his pockets, pulling out three betting slips. “I was at the fucking bookie’s, trying to win back the money I lost the last time I went. Are you happy now? Are we finished here? My daughter is waiting outside, and I’d like to go home.”
My stomach burned. Summer. She was outside. She knew about this. About everything. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to puke from the shame.
Fat Cop looked at his notes again. “You go see your daughter,” he said to Nate. “Mr. Riordan here will be out in a minute.”
Nate gave him a look of pure fury, but there was nothing he could do, and he knew it. He stumped out while I sat very still at the table, wondering what this was. Wondering what was next.
Silence fell in the room after the door slammed. The two cops looked at me. I looked back.
“Listen, Riordan,” Fat Cop said. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” He stepped closer to me, and I could clearly see the stick he carried on his belt, the holster of his gun. “I don’t care what your employer says. You’re a con. Do you understand? We own you. Everything you do, everywhere you go, we own you. You need to get used to it.”
I swallowed and stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.
“You’ll have to watch your step, Riordan,” the cop continued. “No one wants you in their community. No one wants you working for them. No one wants you renting an apartment in their building. You’re shit everywhere you go, and you always will be. That’s why we’re watching. You get a little too aggressive with a girl in a bar on a Saturday night? You’re done. You hang around a kids’ playground a little too long? You’re done. You drink a beer, then drive to the corner store? You’re done. You smoke some weed at a party, put some in your pocket? You are done. Do you hear me? You cannot make one false move, you piece of shit, or you are fucking done .”
My eyes burned, but still I did not look at him.
“So this con game you’ve got going with your employer,” Fat Cop said, “is a losing game. Don’t make the mistake of walking out of here thinking that you won anything. Every game you play from now until the end of your life, you are the loser. That’s what happens when you spend six years inside. You lose.” He waited for me to say something, but finally he sighed. “Get out of here.”
I pushed my chair back and stood up. I walked to the door without looking at either of them, because if I’d looked at either of them I would have started swinging, and that was just what they wanted. For the lowlife con to hit a cop. That would have made their day.
Nate was in the corridor, waiting for me. He’d put the betting slips back in his pocket. “You okay?” he said roughly.
I looked at him, then I started walking. I heard his crutches thumping behind me.
“You didn’t blow that money at the races,” I managed in a low voice. “You don’t gamble.”
“I can explain,” Nate said. “Just don’t tell Summer. That’s all I ask. Don’t tell her.”
That was great. That was just fucking great. He was lying to me. I was lying to him. And now we were both lying to Summer.
She was in the front vestibule of the station, wearing a pretty, tailored skirt and blouse, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She was dressed for the shop. She’d come from there when she heard. She turned to us, her face twisted in worry and pain.
“Bram?” she said.
I looked at her, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t think of anything to say to either of them. I thought I might never say anything again.
One
“Gambling?” Fat Cop said. “I didn’t take you to be a guy with a gambling problem, Mr. Friesen.” His face was blank, his voice disbelieving.
Nate stared at him. “You want to know? Look. Here.” He reached past his crutches and patted his pockets, pulling out three betting slips. “I was at the fucking bookie’s, trying to win back the money I lost the last time I went. Are you happy now? Are we finished here? My daughter is waiting outside, and I’d like to go home.”
My stomach burned. Summer. She was outside. She knew about this. About everything. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to puke from the shame.
Fat Cop looked at his notes again. “You go see your daughter,” he said to Nate. “Mr. Riordan here will be out in a minute.”
Nate gave him a look of pure fury, but there was nothing he could do, and he knew it. He stumped out while I sat very still at the table, wondering what this was. Wondering what was next.
Silence fell in the room after the door slammed. The two cops looked at me. I looked back.
“Listen, Riordan,” Fat Cop said. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” He stepped closer to me, and I could clearly see the stick he carried on his belt, the holster of his gun. “I don’t care what your employer says. You’re a con. Do you understand? We own you. Everything you do, everywhere you go, we own you. You need to get used to it.”
I swallowed and stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.
“You’ll have to watch your step, Riordan,” the cop continued. “No one wants you in their community. No one wants you working for them. No one wants you renting an apartment in their building. You’re shit everywhere you go, and you always will be. That’s why we’re watching. You get a little too aggressive with a girl in a bar on a Saturday night? You’re done. You hang around a kids’ playground a little too long? You’re done. You drink a beer, then drive to the corner store? You’re done. You smoke some weed at a party, put some in your pocket? You are done. Do you hear me? You cannot make one false move, you piece of shit, or you are fucking done .”
My eyes burned, but still I did not look at him.
“So this con game you’ve got going with your employer,” Fat Cop said, “is a losing game. Don’t make the mistake of walking out of here thinking that you won anything. Every game you play from now until the end of your life, you are the loser. That’s what happens when you spend six years inside. You lose.” He waited for me to say something, but finally he sighed. “Get out of here.”
I pushed my chair back and stood up. I walked to the door without looking at either of them, because if I’d looked at either of them I would have started swinging, and that was just what they wanted. For the lowlife con to hit a cop. That would have made their day.
Nate was in the corridor, waiting for me. He’d put the betting slips back in his pocket. “You okay?” he said roughly.
I looked at him, then I started walking. I heard his crutches thumping behind me.
“You didn’t blow that money at the races,” I managed in a low voice. “You don’t gamble.”
“I can explain,” Nate said. “Just don’t tell Summer. That’s all I ask. Don’t tell her.”
That was great. That was just fucking great. He was lying to me. I was lying to him. And now we were both lying to Summer.
She was in the front vestibule of the station, wearing a pretty, tailored skirt and blouse, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She was dressed for the shop. She’d come from there when she heard. She turned to us, her face twisted in worry and pain.
“Bram?” she said.
I looked at her, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t think of anything to say to either of them. I thought I might never say anything again.
One
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