Fire Point by Sean Black Page B

Lock. Maybe this was another clue to why Marcus had turned out as he was. He was surrounded by parents who thought that money was a substitute for persuasion or good manners. People did what you wanted them to do. Then, of course, you got into the real world and discovered that life didn’t work like that. At least, not all the time.
    Stacy had told Lock that Marcus’s first attempts to woo her had revolved around a date she hadn’t realized was a date. That had been followed by a series of expensive gifts that had creeped her out rather than softening her. ‘It was as if he thought he could buy me,’ she had told Lock.
    ‘If you need an extra fee for tracking down my son and making sure he’s here and that he stays—’ Peter said.
    ‘He stays?’ Lock asked. ‘You planning an intervention or a kidnapping, Mr Blake?’
    ‘A friend I spoke to told me that sometimes people can be initially resistant to having a dialogue and confronting their issues.’
    Confronting their issues, thought Lock. Right now he was fantasizing about pulling his SIG and helping Peter Blake confront some of his. What the hell had happened to America that no one could speak plain English anymore? Instead they descended into psychobabble, with emphasis on the babble. ‘ If your son wants to sit down with you, that’s up to him. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’ Lock walked out of the room leaving Peter stumbling over a half-assed apology.
    In the hallway, he told Ty, ‘Five minutes we’re out of here.’
    ‘You got it,’ said Ty.
    Lock headed for the den. It was located near the back of the house and looked out over the pool, spa and barbecue area. Not that Teddy could see the view as he’d had heavy-duty blinds installed, along with the home-theatre system and another wet bar, with enough whisky to maintain the population of a small Irish island during a bad winter.
    He hadn’t even pushed open the door when he heard the shouting. It was a real old-school knock-down, drag-’em-out, no-blow-too-low domestic. He knocked at the door and waited.
    ‘Well, maybe if you could actually get it up once in a while instead of drinking yourself to death, I might not have had to file for divorce.’
    ‘Oh, fuck you, Tarian. You were sleeping around long before any of this.’
    ‘You’re so full of shit.’
    ‘What about that Pilates instructor then? The one with the lisp.’
    ‘He was from Barcelona. They all speak like that, you redneck asshole, and he was gay for your information.’
    Lock knocked again, this time louder. The shouting match seemed to die down. Finally, Teddy opened the door. Tarian was pacing the den behind him. She was crying. Lock did his best to remind himself that their marriage, or divorce, was none of his business.
    ‘I think we’ve done what we can here,’ he said to Teddy.
    ‘But we need you,’ said Teddy, as Tarian stalked over to them. ‘You can’t leave. Not without giving us some notice. I mean, what if someone comes to the house.’
    Lock looked at them both. At least he’d stopped them fighting. ‘Ty will be back tomorrow to suggest some updates to your security. If I find out anything more about your son, I’ll let you know. But there’s nothing more for me to do.’
    ‘What about the intervention?’ said Tarian. She seemed to be genuinely upset by Lock’s leaving. He wondered if it was personal.
    ‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ said Teddy. ‘An intervention. What we gonna do? All sit round the barbecue pit singing “Kumbaya” until the little psychopath finds the Lord?’
    Tarian drew back her hand to slap Teddy’s face. From pure reflex, Lock reached out and grabbed her wrist. He didn’t have time to think about. It was an action that was ingrained in him. Teddy took a step back, leaving Lock eye to eye with Tarian.
    ‘Can I let go now?’ he asked her.
    Her eyes were still moist from tears. There was something behind them too. Not rage. Despair, maybe. Or defeat. She was trying to do her best