Carlotta pushed to her feet and dropped the newspaper into a chair, then marched out of the room toward her bedroom.
Tick watched her leave and sucked his teeth. “Your sister’s got a smokin’ bod.”
“Watch your mouth,” Wesley said, clenching his fists.
The big man looked at him and laughed. “I guess if my sister looked like that, I’d be stupid about it, too.” Then the man sobered. “But you are stupid if you think that Father Thom won’t go after her if you’re late again. Remember that real hard, little man.”
Wesley opened his mouth to say something foul but stopped himself when he heard Carlotta’s footsteps. “Here’s the other six hundred forty,” she said, extending a stack of cash to Tick, her expression tight. “Now, please leave.”
The big man took his time counting the money, then shoved it into his pocket and smiled. “See how easy that was? Do this every week and pretty soon, you’ll be debt free, just like all those commercials on TV promise.”
“Get out,” Carlotta said through clenched teeth. “Or I’ll call the police.”
Tick laughed. “Yeah…right.” Then he looked at Wesley. “Remember what I said, little man.”
Wesley’s throat burned with bile as he watched the man walk heavily toward the door. At the last second, Tick turned his head and glanced at the aluminum Christmas tree in the corner of the room.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” he said sarcastically before banging the door shut behind him.
They were both quiet for a few seconds. He almost couldn’t bear to look at his sister. When he did, her eyes were stormy, her arms crossed, her back rigid.
He gave her his best little-brother smile. “Where did you get the money?”
“A cash advance on my credit card,” she said quietly. “My last credit card.”
“Well…thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry that had to happen here. I was going to take care of it—”
“Shut up, Wesley!”
He blinked.
“You. Have. To. Get. A. Job.”
“I’m supposed to upgrade two of the Sheltons’ computers this week.”
“I mean a real job,” she said, walking toward him slowly, stabbing her finger in the air, “with a paycheck and maybe even something as radical as health benefits. And you’re not allowed to work on computers, remember? You’re on probation for computer tampering! And that toad Lucas told me that if you violate your probation, he’d nail your ass to the wall. Is that what you want, Wesley? To go to jail?”
“Relax, sis,” he said, raising his hands and backing toward the door.
“Relax?” Her dark eyebrows drew together and her finger started to shake. “Listen to me, Wesley, and listen good. The free ride is over. Get a job and start taking responsibility for your debt, or—” Her throat constricted. “Or get out.”
Wesley reeled as if she’d slapped him. He blinked rapidly as she picked up her purse and walked past him and out the front door. He heard the dull hum of the garage door going up, and the growl of her car starting. When the garage door came back down, he exhaled.
Maybe it would be better if he slept on Chance’s couch for a while. Maybe Carlotta would be better off without him. And maybe it would give him the space he needed to look into his dad’s case.
He returned to his room and tossed a few things into a duffel bag. Chance wouldn’t mind him crashing there for a while—his friend was stoned most of the time anyway. Einstein would be fine for a few days. Outside on the stoop, he locked the door and was heading down the sidewalk toward the Marta train station when a black Cadillac pulled up to the curb and the passenger-side window zoomed down. A man’s face came into view, and Wesley’s knees weakened.
“Hey, Wesley, where you going?”
Wesley shouldered his duffel bag higher. “Nowhere, Mouse.”
“Really? Looks to me like you’re trying to skip town.”
“Nah, Mouse, I was just going to visit a friend.”
“You missed your last payment,” the man said pleasantly.
“I know. I ran into some trouble with the police.”
“I read the papers,” Mouse said. “Thought I’d give you a chance to get square with The Carver before you go to jail.”
It occurred to Wesley that it was probably The Carver’s guy who’d jumped him in the courthouse john. “I got probation,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.
“Good for you,” Mouse said. “So you’re going to make your next payment on time?”
“Sure thing.”
“Terrific,” Mouse said, nodding amiably. “Because I wouldn’t want to report back that you got the money to pay that crook Father Thom and not us.”
Wesley considered lying but decided to remain silent.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Mouse nodded toward the town house. “We know where you live.”
The car window buzzed up and the car pulled away from the curb. Panic curdled in Wesley’s stomach as he stood watching the taillights, weighing his options. Stay and continue to expose Carlotta to the dangerous men he’d gotten himself involved with…or go and leave her at home alone where she might be even more vulnerable.
8
“Thanks for shopping with us,” Carlotta said, forcing a smile for the guy who had made countless innuendos while selecting a skimpy red teddy.
He took the shopping bag and grinned, still leaning on the checkout counter. “I’d like to call you sometime.”
She swallowed her distaste and nodded toward the bag. “I assumed this was a gift for your girlfriend.”
“No, my mother.”
“You bought your mother a red teddy?”
He laughed but didn’t have the decency to look sheepish. “You got me there. Okay, it’s for my girlfriend…but it’s a breakup gift.”
“Ah. Well, thanks anyway, but I’m not available.”
He stared at her chest and made a rueful noise. “Too bad.”
“Yes, well, have a nice day.”
He took his time peeling away from the counter, looking back as if he just knew she was going to change her mind. Carlotta averted her gaze and busied herself straightening the counter. What an oaf. Were there any good men left in the world? She smirked, thinking of her friends’ comments about her aversion to men. Would she recognize a good man if he crossed her path?
Then she sighed. Even if a great guy dropped into her life, who would want to sign up to share her problems? Fugitive parents, a delinquent brother, a mountain of debt—it didn’t exactly make her the most eligible woman in Atlanta, not unless the guy had a laundry list of his own problems.
Take Detective Jack Terry, for instance. The man wasn’t bad-looking if one could look past his ghastly taste in clothes. But even dressed in a Paul Smith suit, Jack Terry would still be a swaggering, arrogant, annoying pain in the ass. Oh, sure, he’d tried to help Wesley yesterday in the men’s room, but now she knew it was only because her father’s case had been reopened and he was trying to cozy up to them for information.
In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. Since there weren’t any unattended customers in sight, she pulled out the phone, hoping it was Wesley. She felt