but you’ve got to understand, your father owes me money. Money he hasn’t paid me, and I need to clear that up.”
“My dad’s not home.”
“I understand that. And I know your mom probably is, and I know that scares you, so I’ll let you know up front that we’re not here for her. Now you’ve got two choices here, kid. You either let me in, I’m gone in fifteen minutes, and your mother never has to see me, or I kick in the door, wake your mother, and things might get a lot crazier. That make sense to you?”
Dave nodded. He lifted the chain and waited for the door to burst open, but that didn’t happen. The man gave Dave a moment to step back before coming inside.
Both men wore dark jackets and jeans. The man who did most of the talking maintained eye contact with Dave while the other one lit a cigarette.
“Here’s how it’s going to work. Your father, the piece of shit that he is, owes me two thousand dollars. Two thousand that he refuses to pay me, so I’m going to take two thousand dollars worth of stuff out of his home. Now, you’re a good kid. You’ve got spunk, and this isn’t your fault. If someone came into my home and did this to my kid. I’d kill them, but where’s your dad? Hiding out somewhere over two grand while his kid has to deal with this. This isn’t your fault, so I’m going to do you a favour. I’m going to let you choose two things in here that you don’t want me to take.”
Dave wanted to cry. He could feel his eyes squinting, his lips pouting, but nothing ran wet. He thought of his baseball glove, the T.V., and his hockey equipment. Then he thought of his mom’s jewellery box, the ring she’d showed him that her mother had given her and the copper brooch that had been in the family for over a hundred years.
“Anything on the first floor. Just please don’t go upstairs, I don’t want my mom to see this.”
The man looked at him before turning to his partner. “Looks a lot like Terry, doesn’t he?”
“Fucker could be his brother,” the man with the toque said as a cloud of smoke drifted from his mouth. He walked to the T.V., unplugged it and picked it up with a groan.
Dave didn’t look, he just sat at the foot of the stairs.
The man who did the talking pointed to the T.V. “Do you have another T.V. anywhere?”
Dave shook his head. The man gestured to his partner, who struggled with the T.V.’s weight.
“Leave the T.V.”
“What?”
“Put the T.V. back.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“I’m serious. Put the T.V. back.”
“You’re telling me because this little shit looks like your son, you’re going to leave a T.V. like this?”
The nicer man’s eyes burned so intensely that he didn’t have to respond, and fifteen minutes later they were gone, just as he’d promised. Dave checked on his mother, and it was clear she had no idea what had happened. He wondered whether or not some of the noises had penetrated her psyche and caused a nightmare, or if she had simply slept the dead sleep of pills.
Dave didn’t go back to sleep that night. He just pulled the covers over his head, thankful to lose only the stereo, a crystal lamp, a leather chair and a set of golf clubs. If he’d had red hair instead of brown, or blue eyes instead of hazel, the house would have lost a lot more. If he didn’t look so much like the man’s son, his mother could have been hurt. But he did, and even though he spent the rest of the night awake from the adrenaline flowing through him, he did so grateful for his brown hair and hazel eyes.
Nine
Dave checked his voicemail for the first time in days to find a reminder about overdue movies he’d rented, two pre-recorded sales pitches for a chance to win a cruise, and a message that actually caught his attention.
Hello, I’m calling for Dave Bolden. My name is Phil Bryer. I’m Mr. Richter’s attorney. Please call me at your earliest convenience. My number is…
Dave didn’t listen past “attorney”. Attorney meant an
“My dad’s not home.”
“I understand that. And I know your mom probably is, and I know that scares you, so I’ll let you know up front that we’re not here for her. Now you’ve got two choices here, kid. You either let me in, I’m gone in fifteen minutes, and your mother never has to see me, or I kick in the door, wake your mother, and things might get a lot crazier. That make sense to you?”
Dave nodded. He lifted the chain and waited for the door to burst open, but that didn’t happen. The man gave Dave a moment to step back before coming inside.
Both men wore dark jackets and jeans. The man who did most of the talking maintained eye contact with Dave while the other one lit a cigarette.
“Here’s how it’s going to work. Your father, the piece of shit that he is, owes me two thousand dollars. Two thousand that he refuses to pay me, so I’m going to take two thousand dollars worth of stuff out of his home. Now, you’re a good kid. You’ve got spunk, and this isn’t your fault. If someone came into my home and did this to my kid. I’d kill them, but where’s your dad? Hiding out somewhere over two grand while his kid has to deal with this. This isn’t your fault, so I’m going to do you a favour. I’m going to let you choose two things in here that you don’t want me to take.”
Dave wanted to cry. He could feel his eyes squinting, his lips pouting, but nothing ran wet. He thought of his baseball glove, the T.V., and his hockey equipment. Then he thought of his mom’s jewellery box, the ring she’d showed him that her mother had given her and the copper brooch that had been in the family for over a hundred years.
“Anything on the first floor. Just please don’t go upstairs, I don’t want my mom to see this.”
The man looked at him before turning to his partner. “Looks a lot like Terry, doesn’t he?”
“Fucker could be his brother,” the man with the toque said as a cloud of smoke drifted from his mouth. He walked to the T.V., unplugged it and picked it up with a groan.
Dave didn’t look, he just sat at the foot of the stairs.
The man who did the talking pointed to the T.V. “Do you have another T.V. anywhere?”
Dave shook his head. The man gestured to his partner, who struggled with the T.V.’s weight.
“Leave the T.V.”
“What?”
“Put the T.V. back.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“I’m serious. Put the T.V. back.”
“You’re telling me because this little shit looks like your son, you’re going to leave a T.V. like this?”
The nicer man’s eyes burned so intensely that he didn’t have to respond, and fifteen minutes later they were gone, just as he’d promised. Dave checked on his mother, and it was clear she had no idea what had happened. He wondered whether or not some of the noises had penetrated her psyche and caused a nightmare, or if she had simply slept the dead sleep of pills.
Dave didn’t go back to sleep that night. He just pulled the covers over his head, thankful to lose only the stereo, a crystal lamp, a leather chair and a set of golf clubs. If he’d had red hair instead of brown, or blue eyes instead of hazel, the house would have lost a lot more. If he didn’t look so much like the man’s son, his mother could have been hurt. But he did, and even though he spent the rest of the night awake from the adrenaline flowing through him, he did so grateful for his brown hair and hazel eyes.
Nine
Dave checked his voicemail for the first time in days to find a reminder about overdue movies he’d rented, two pre-recorded sales pitches for a chance to win a cruise, and a message that actually caught his attention.
Hello, I’m calling for Dave Bolden. My name is Phil Bryer. I’m Mr. Richter’s attorney. Please call me at your earliest convenience. My number is…
Dave didn’t listen past “attorney”. Attorney meant an
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