Hot Pink by Adam Levin Page A

just the ma’s boyfriend, I think—”
    â€œClifford!” my ma said.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œYou were high on that Dirt Shooter is why you did what you did.”
    â€œI was what on a shooter? I was what?” I said.
    â€œYou were high. They saw it right next to you.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re saying to me,” I said. “I don’t do drugs. I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up, there was all this ruckus, and my friend needed help—that’s what it looked like—so I went and got the dog to help out my friend.”
    â€œYou were asleep?” my dad said. “On the couch next to Franco at eleven in the morning?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “We were watching Three Stooges . I hate those guys. You do too. They’re annoying.”
    â€œThat’s true,” my dad said.
    â€œI don’t know why Franco likes that show. It put me to sleep.”
    â€œYou weren’t on Dirt Shooter?”
    â€œWhat is Dirt Shooter, Ma?” I said. “I don’t know what that is.”
    â€œI told you he’d never do that Dirt Shooter, Gloria. That was all Franco—I knew it… But you don’t hang out in that fucken garage anymore, Cliff, with that wop.”
    â€œWhy not?” I said.
    â€œYou know why not,” he said.
    I didn’t even really want to was the thing—all of a sudden, I was pretty sick of Franco—but I didn’t like getting told not to, either. Plus I thought I’d seem guilty if I just said okay.
    â€œWell who’s that guy you came into the station with?” I said.
    â€œThat’s an old friend.”
    â€œAn old friend who?”
    â€œWhat’s the tone?” said my dad. “His name’s Mikey Podesta. He’s our alderman. I’d have liked to introduce you if the circumstances were different.”
    â€œWhy’d Mikey Podesta the alderman go to the station with you?”
    â€œHe didn’t,” my dad said. “He met us at the station. He’s the one who told us you were there to begin with, and he met us out front.”
    â€œHow’d he know where I was?”
    â€œThe cops called him up.”
    â€œThe cops called him ?”
    â€œYeah,” said my dad. “What’s so hard to understand?”
    â€œWhy’d they call him ?”
    â€œHe’s an old friend of mine.”
    â€œHow do they know who your friends are?”
    â€œThey know who his friends are.”
    â€œWhy do they care who he’s friends with?” I said.
    â€œCause he’s the alderman,” my dad said.
    â€œWhy’s he a friend of yours?”
    â€œWhat kind of question is that? What’s with all the questions, Cliff?”
    â€œWhy do the cops know who you are?”
    â€œI don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œBefore, when they heard my name, one of them said, ‘This is the pilot’s son.’ How do they know who you are? That’s weird.”
    â€œWeird? Nothing’s weird, Cliff,” my ma said. “Your father’s a pillar.”
    â€œA pillar?” I said.
    â€œA pillar of the community,” she said.
    â€œA pillar of the community.”
    â€œI’m a pilot!” my dad said.
    We got to our house. The pillar parked the car and turned around to face me.
    â€œYou’re not on drugs, right?”
    â€œI’m not,” I said.
    â€œYou just thought your friend was in trouble, so you helped him.”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Just like I told you.”
    He studied my eyes, then he said, “I believe you. It’s been a rough morning, huh?”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œWhy don’t I take you out for lunch and an ice cream or something.”
    â€œYeah,” my ma said. “You two should spend some time. Your dad’s flying again on Monday.”
    â€œHow about maybe later,” I said. “I