Read Online Maximum Security by Rose Connors - Free Book Online Page B

Harry. If he hadn’t pulled the kitchen door shut behind him, we’d both go over like dominoes onto the back deck.

    “Luke,” Ralph yells into the living room, “come get the damned dog. He’s out of control.” Ralph doesn’t like Danny Boy, never has. Danny Boy doesn’t lose any sleep over it, though. He doesn’t think much of Ralph, either. And, as far as Danny Boy is concerned, he’s the one with seniority around here. Ralph is the newcomer.

    Luke strolls into the kitchen, laughing, but doesn’t bother to restrain the dog. There’s no reason to, of course, except in Ralph’s head. Instead, Luke stoops to give me a kiss. At six feet three, he’s got a solid nine inches on me. He gets his height from his father but most of his other traits—fair skin, dark blue eyes, and black hair—from me. He trades arm punches with Harry. Hard ones.

    “Who the hell is he?” Ralph points at Harry, but asks me the question, as if he’s inquiring about a figure in a wax museum.

    “Ralph Ellis,” I say, “meet Harry Madigan.”

    Harry extends a hand, but Ralph hesitates. After a moment, he shakes it gingerly, as if Harry might detonate on contact.

    “Ralph,” Harry says, “how are you?”

    Ralph doesn’t answer. Instead he looks Harry up and down, assessing him, and then turns back to me. “What the hell is going on with the truck?”

    Here we go. “It needs work,” I tell him, hoping to short-circuit this discussion.

    “I know that.” Ralph raises his hands to the heavens, the way he always does when he wants to be sure I know he’s at the end of his rope.

    “Dad,” Luke says, “give it a rest. It’s not that big a deal.”

    But for Ralph, Luke’s pickup truck is a big deal, even when it’s operational. Ralph purchases nothing but the best. He can. He doesn’t believe in used anything. Why would he? He’s been mad at Luke, and ballistic at me, since we bought a used truck last Christmas. Funny, though, he hasn’t offered to replace it.

    “What’s this about Luke working at the goddamned garage?” he demands.

    I had been hoping Luke wouldn’t mention that particular plan to his father. One look at Luke tells me he’s sorry he did. “Rematch?” he asks Harry. Luke is feeling the heat and he wants to get out of the kitchen. I don’t blame him. I’d like to get out of here too.

    “You’re a glutton for punishment, kiddo,” Harry says, looking a little relieved himself. The two of them escape into the living room, Danny Boy right behind them, to set up the chessboard.

    “He’s working at the garage ?” Ralph repeats the word as if it’s profane.

    “For a day,” I tell him. “He’ll help Peter with the truck on Monday and Peter will cut him some slack on the bill.”

    Peter Schaeffer is our mechanic and he’s the only reason my Thunderbird is still on the road. I’m hoping he’ll perform similar miracles on Luke’s truck. Peter and Luke have always gotten along well—they’re both car fanatics. And for some reason, that fact has always irritated Ralph.

    “Not just for a day,” he says. “They can’t get it all done in one day. Luke’s working there Tuesday too. Monday and Tuesday. Skipping classes both days.”

    Now that’s a portion of the plan I hadn’t heard yet.

    “So my son’s not a college student,” Ralph continues. “He’s a grease monkey.”

    I can see into the living room over Ralph’s shoulder. Luke jumps up from the couch when he hears his father’s words and dashes to the center of the room. He bends in half and scoots around in circles, alternately scratching his head and armpits, then dragging his knuckles on the floor. Harry falls back against the cushions and stomps his boots on the braided rug. He’s having a laughing fit, not making a sound.

    It takes every shred of willpower I can muster to keep a straight face. “A grease monkey,” I repeat. I look back at Ralph with what I hope is a somber expression. Any trace of