The Night Shift(51)
Clint comes in from the back door. He’s sweating, his shirt damp over his ropey, muscled arms.
“The counselor is here.” He sticks out his hand. Clint isn’t a hugger. A firm shake is what makes a man, he’d once told Chris. And you’d better look ’em in the eye when you do it. Chris makes sure to do that whenever he greets Clint.
“I hear you’re building a shed,” says Chris.
“More like a guesthouse for when May kicks me out.”
“That’s gonna be sooner than you think if you don’t get upstairs and take a shower. Dinner’s in ten.”
Clint widens his eyes for Chris’s benefit, but he rushes out obediently. They all know who’s the boss.
Ten minutes later, on the dot, they sit at the small dining room table, joining hands.
Clint says, “Bless this family and thanks for this food and our health. Bless those less fortunate.” And that’s it. No scripture. No drawn-out version of grace. Straightforward, like Clint.
Ms. May scoops a giant portion of ziti onto Chris’s plate. And for the next few minutes, the only sound is silverware on china. Ms. May always brings out the good dishes for their weekly dinners.
“How’s work?” Clint asks. Standard Clint small-talk.
“I got assigned to a big case, actually,” Chris says. He decides it’s better if they hear it from him. Clint has never said so, but Chris surmises he’s not thrilled about Chris working on behalf of criminals.
“Good for you, dear,” Ms. May says. She doesn’t ask for elaboration, and normally that would be the end of the discussion. Dinnertime was for family talk, not work talk. But Chris needs to do this.
“I wanted to mention it, since you may see it on the news.” Chris forks at his plate.
Ms. May and Clint stop eating. Chris can feel their eyes on him. He keeps his eyes on his plate.
“You gonna keep us in suspense, son?” Clint says. It’s lighthearted, as if he senses trouble and wants to convey that it’s safe to continue. They’ve spent years helping rebuild Chris and have an uncanny ability to read him.
Ms. May reaches across the table and puts a hand on his.
“You saw they made an arrest in the ice cream shop case?” Chris asks.
Silence.
“I’m on the team assigned to represent the defendant. She’s a teenager, a kid.”
Clint makes a grunt. “I saw that. News said you may have your work cut out for you.”
Chris doesn’t reply.
“There’s usually more to it than what they say on TV,” Ms. May says.
Chris says, “People may say some unkind things about me and my colleagues. But I think it’s the right thing to do.” He’s not sure why he feels the need for the hard sell. “I just wanted you to hear about it from me.”
Chris expects them to ask questions: What will happen if they find out about your brother? Is there a chance your client will try to blame Vince for the crime? Are you sure this is good for your mental health, son?
Instead, Clint says, “I’ve only got one thing to say about it.” He holds Chris’s gaze, waiting an eternity to spit it out. “She’s damn lucky to have a skilled lawyer like you.”
Chris feels a fist in his throat.
“Amen to that,” Ms. May says. “Eat some more, dear, you’re looking too thin.”
CHAPTER 46
KELLER
They huddle near a stand of shrubs under the starless sky. Keller scrutinizes the entrance to Union Self-Storage through her binoculars. Atticus and Secret Service Agent James Nicoletti stand next to her. Nearby, parked on a dirt road off the highway, there’s a van with two more agents. A skeleton crew, but enough for tonight.
She hasn’t found Vince Whitaker, and the locals have made an arrest for the Dairy Creamery murders, but this could at least be a consolation prize: busting Rusty Whitaker on a federal rap. If they take down Rusty, who knows? Maybe the old bastard knows where his son is hiding and will give him up for a deal. If not, it will still be gratifying to throw the disgusting man in prison.
Keller looks over at Atticus and tries not to smile. He’s wearing all black and has his badge hanging around his neck by a chain. Attire inspired by TV cop shows.
Nico puts a hand on Atticus’s shoulder. “You okay, partner?”
Atticus nods, like, No big deal. I do this all the time.
Nico says, “Our intel is that he usually gets shipments at closing time. They finished unloading the containers at the port an hour ago, so hopefully we’ll be in business.”
The plan is simple. The team will stop the semi driving on the desolate patch of highway. They’ll threaten the driver with all kinds of trouble, then promise leniency if he lets them stow away in the truck and ride into the facility. Nico calls it a Trojan horse operation. Keller wants to be in the truck. But Nico shot that down. He joked that it was because she wouldn’t fit. But he clearly didn’t want to be liable if the pregnant lady got hurt.
Nico’s a good man, but like many men, he treats pregnant women like fragile flowers. They overlook the fact that, over the course of history, through famines, epidemics, and other extreme conditions, women survived longer and better than men. Having babies? A walk in the park next to what most men could endure. But whatever.