Read Online Rolling Thunder by Chris Grabenstein - Free Book Online Page B

is she, you sanctimonious sack of shit?”
    â€œI’ll ask you once more to refrain from using foul language.”
    â€œFine. But first—you tell me where the hell your mother is hiding.”
    â€œAs I stated previously,” says Ceepak, striding forward, not at all afraid of the golf club quivering in his old man’s hand, “she is where you will never find her.”
    â€œShe has my fucking money! Three million dollars!”
    â€œYou are mistaken. Aunt Jennifer willed that money, in no uncertain terms, to Mom, and Mom alone.”
    â€œWhat’s hers is mine.”
    â€œSo you keep saying. However, according to the divorce papers—”
    â€œWe’re Catholic, Johnny.”
    â€œWhile you were in prison, she had your marriage annulled by a church tribunal.”
    â€œShe can’t do that.”
    â€œShe did.” He hands his father a piece of paper.
    Mr. Ceepak takes it. “What the fuck is this?”
    â€œA restraining order.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œIt’s a civil order that provides protection from harm by a family member or a psycho stalker,” I chime in, because Sam chirped it to me the other night while she was cramming for her LSATs.
    â€œYou,” Ceepak says to his father, “are not to have any further contact with me or my family, in person, by phone, at home, work or anywhere I or my wife and stepson happen to be.”
    â€œFuck that—”
    â€œTrust me, sir—if you violate this order, you will be incarcerated.”
    â€œHey, he’s violating it now!” This from Skippy. “You want me to cuff him? I have handcuffs.”
    He does? Did he save a pair as a souvenir when he was an auxiliary cop?
    â€œMy guns are at home but I have a wood back here.” Skippy lets go of the cat, who jumps into a fuzzy doughnut-shaped bed as Skippy bends down to grab a driver with a humongous head, which, I guess is what Putt-Putt owners use for self-defense instead of the more traditional mom-and-pop grocery store baseball bat.
    â€œStand down, Mr. O’Malley,” says Ceepak.
    â€œTen–four,” says Skippy who seems to be enjoying playing cop-for-a-day.
    Mr. Ceepak is staring at the sheet of paper his son just handed him. Trying to focus his bleary eyes. Moving his lips as he reads what is written there.
    â€œHow long you been planning this?”
    â€œEver since I heard from Lisa Porter Burt, the prosecuting attorney in Ohio. She informed me that you were angling for early release under the auspices of the new state law.”
    â€œBe prepared, huh?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œFucking overgrown Boy Scout. This piece of paper is bullshit.”
    â€œI assure you, sir, it is not.”
    â€œReally? Okay, jarhead. How’d you find a goddamn judge on a Sunday morning?”
    â€œThis is what is known in New Jersey as an emergency restraining order. They may be obtained at any police station in the state.”
    Like the one where Ceepak and I work.
    â€œTomorrow, Judge Mindy Rasmussen will issue a temporary restraining order that will remain in effect for ten days or until our court hearing, whichever comes first. You, of course, will be invited to attend the hearing to tell your side of the story.”
    â€œOh, I’ll tell ’em, Johnny. I’ll tell the world what a lousy excuse for a son you turned out to be. A goddamn disappointment. I’ll tell that judge how you signed up for the fucking army instead of coming to work for me. Thought you were too good to be a roofer.”
    â€œTell Judge Rasmussen anything you like. However, right now, you are in clear violation of the restraining order. If you do not vacate these premises immediately, it will be my duty as a duly sworn law enforcement officer to arrest you.”
    Ceepak’s duty, my pleasure.
    Mr. Ceepak stuffs his legal documents into his back pocket. “This ain’t over, Johnny.”
    â€œOf