Rating: R - This story contains violence, consensual sex between a man and a woman and rough language. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.
Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless, Susan Ellis, Willy Kaa, Andy Deakin, and Dave and Jo Bruford belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement. The rest of the characters in this story are from my previous Lawless stories or my imagination and are copyrighted by me.
Author's Note: While this story is not a direct sequel to Lawless, the NZ Tele-film, it is somewhat of a sequel to the series of stories I've written and it does contain characters from and references to those previous stories. While it is not necessary to have read them to follow this, it will add to the reader's enjoyment if they are read first.
'I have a son,' John Lawless thought almost afraid to believe it. He knew it was not only an extraordinary blessing but an awe-inspiring responsibility as well. He glanced in the mirror. His hair was long, down past his shoulders and damp from his shower it curled wildly around his head. His goatee was thick and black, and while there was no trace of gray in it, there was gray in the hair on his head and in his sideburns. He scrutinized his body. For a man of thirty-three years he was in good shape, although he had more than the requisite number of scars as befitted a former cop and present PI. He worked out every day or almost everyday, wanting to stay fit, needing to for his work. Still, as he studied himself he felt as if the way he looked didn't present a fatherly image. Not that he was exactly sure what a fatherly image was; only that he didn't think he was one.
He shrugged and turned from the mirror. He dropped his towel, pulled on a pair of black briefs, and then looked in the wardrobe. There it was the black suit. He couldn't believe he had actually promised Frances he would wear it. When he'd rung her thirty minutes before to confirm their plans, she had insisted that he "dress."
He sighed and began to do so. He pulled on the black trousers, put on his father's Manaia, buttoned down the crisp white shirt, tied the red tie and put on the suit jacket. He turned back to the mirror. With another sigh he pulled his hair into a ponytail and then added his earring. Now for the shoes. He had three choices, brown cowboy boots, cross trainers, or the tight black shoes that went with the suit. He slipped his stocking feet into the black shoes.
Although he would never acknowledge it, John looked good in the suit. John, though he couldn't see it, at that moment even looked fatherly. There were times in his life, this being one of them, when John couldn't see himself at all. For the past few years, John Lawless had been on a journey. It hadn't started out that way, but like so many things in life that's what it had become. He had come to Auckland thinking he knew who and what he was and had discovered that he knew nothing at all.
Detective Constable John Lawless had for eighteen months, become Johnny Wilson, cabby and minor drug dealer. He'd been an undercover nark and fallen into the life so well, that for a time, he'd lost track of who he was. When his career in law enforcement had fallen apart he'd gone back to being plain John Lawless and eventually become a private investigator. Along the way he'd shed a good part of his original "identity" and started all over again. He'd also shed a wife and a lot of preconceived notions. He had two friends from his old life Dave and Andy. They had stood by him through some horrendous experiences.
Willy he'd met while undercover and they'd gone through a lot together. Willy was more like a brother than a friend. There was Frances as well. His friends, particularly Willy and Frances formed an ersatz family. Lastly Shay had reentered his life and along with her the incredible boon of a half grown son.
For most of his thirty-three years, John Lawless had made it a point never to look back. He'd always looked forward, down the road, never examining the past. Now he had no choice. He had found his father's family. They had been invisible for the first thirty-three years of his life but the ones he'd met recently had made him welcome. Still there were many left to meet, including his grandfather, who according to Mama Abba was still of the same non-reconciling mind. Added to this mix was a thirteen-year-old son, Eric, who had no clue that John was his father. Now it was more important than ever that John come to grips with who he was and who he was going to be so that he could share that with his child. He knew his life was changing yet again and this time he had to be careful. There was more than himself to consider, he couldn't continue to run around taking risks, more was at stake here than just his needs.
John paused once more to look in the mirror as he picked up his wallet and keys. He shook his head at the image he projected and left the house to go pick up Frances.
John knocked hesitantly on France's front door. He heard footsteps clicking along the floor and then she pulled the door open. His mouth dropped along with his jaw. This couldn't be Frances, was his first thought.
Frances grinned at John's astonishment. Her black hair was loose and waved softly around her face. She had put on mascara, eye shadow, blusher and lipstick. She wore, not her usual twin set or jumper, but instead a soft silky dress the same shade of green as her eyes. She had on nylons instead of lisle stockings and she wore matching heels. She was not, nor would she ever be, model thin or model pretty, but she knew she looked nice. She was delighted that she had surprised him. Dressing up had distracted her from the guilt she was feeling. The act of concentrating on things she rarely did a welcome respite from her thoughts.
"You look . . ." John stuttered. He closed his mouth, swallowed once and tried again. "You look great," he finally managed to say. All the while he was getting the words out he watched her amusement grow. Sometimes being around Frances made him revert to a stammering twelve-year-old complete with blushes and insecurities.
She laughed pleased that he was discomforted in a good way. "You clean up nicely," she retorted.
John laughed with her. He offered her his arm and escorted her to the car. It was a short drive to the Rubicund. After John and Frances had settled in at their table and ordered, John asked, "How are you today?"
Frances knew what he was really asking. "Well," she confirmed slowly, "I'm coping. I can't say I don't feel responsible, because I do. If we hadn't gone after the truth, Fulton would still be alive."
He eyed her speculatively. He could see, despite the extraordinary effort she'd gone to, to hide it, that she was still very upset. Her pain was apparent in the set of her mouth and the way her hands twisted in her lap. "I know how you feel, believe me, I KNOW. But Frances, you really and truly are not at fault. Fulton was dead inside already. His years of hiding the truth from everyone took an enormous toll on him. I believe that our going there, our confronting him, did him a favor."
"Did him a favor?" she echoed doubtfully. "How can you say that?"
"Frances," John explained slowly, "he was just waiting. The journal was ready. The letter was written. There wasn't enough time for him to write that letter before he killed himself. So really, all our going there did was give him the courage to do what he wanted to do."
She thought about that for a long moment. Was John right? She studied his eyes. He seemed very sure of himself, very confident that his view was the correct one. Unfortunately, she knew John had had a great deal of experience in dealing with things like this. Guilt and death seemed to be such a large part of his life. He'd had more than his fair share of loss. She shrugged and decided to think about something else.
She liked the way he looked in his suit, although he was clearly uncomfortable in it. Still, there was something different about him. Something . . . then she realized what it was. John had been smiling. Not grinning, as he often did, but he had actually smiled several times, as if he was happy about something. "John," she asked tentatively, "what did you do last night after you left me at home?"
His face grew guarded as if he had a secret. "Why do you think I did anything?" he asked.
Now she KNEW he was hiding something. "You are the worst liar," she told him. "So? What did you do?"
He shook his head. "I can't fool you, can I?" He paused and considered whether he should tell her. He knew she would keep the secret and it would probably do him good to share it. "I went to see Eric to find out why he wasn't in school. Do you remember my mentioning Shay to you? The old girlfriend?" Frances nodded. "Well as it turns out she's Eric's Mum."
"Eric's Mum?" she mused reflectively. She thought about that poor sad boy who never seemed to smile and who eerily reminded her of John. Then she understood and wondered why she'd never seen it before. She'd seen them together numerous times. "Oh my god," she swore. "Eric?"
He nodded. In a way, he was relieved that he didn't have to say the words. "I had no idea. I was shocked when I found out. Frances, I would never have willingly . . . I mean, I'm NOT like that."
She nodded. "I know you wouldn't have abandoned her. Or evaded your responsibility. So he's your son, is he?"
John nodded. It felt odd and wonderful to hear someone say that. "Yes. He doesn't know though. He thinks it was her ex."
"I see," Frances murmured. That went a long way to explaining some things that had always puzzled her about Eric and Eric's family. "What are you going to do now?"
"Well, last night I took him out for a feed and to a flick. We had a good time. Shay thinks that I shouldn't do anything different. Just keep trying to build a relationship as his coach and friend. But I dunno. He's my son," he added, his voice full of amazement.
"Well," Frances considered thoughtfully, "Shay has a point. Eric has been through a lot in his short life. It won't be easy for him to learn the truth. What's more, no matter how you feel about it, how happy you might be, a child is an enormous amount of responsibility. Shay's been carrying that burden for thirteen years. She's used to it. Taking it slow is probably the wisest course for all of you."
Although John knew she was probably correct, it's still didn't sit right. "Frances," he demurred sadly. "I've already missed so much. I don't want to . . . miss anymore. I want . . ."
"It doesn't matter what you want," Frances interjected. "What matters, what should always matter from now on is what's best for Eric. You've never been a parent before. For that matter neither have I, but I do know from having seen a great many parents over the years that the best ones always put the child first. What Eric needs right now is not a father or at least," Frances temporized. "Not you as a father." She paused and studied John's eyes. "Where does this leave you and Shay?"
John shook his head. "No where. Not right now. I'm furious with her. She had no right to keep this from me."
Frances tapped her fingers on the table. "I'm sure, by her lights, that she thought she did. I have met her, you know. She doesn't strike me as a vengeful or malicious woman. I'm sure that for whatever reason she kept this from you it was because she thought it was for the best."
John shrugged. "That's what SHE said. She said she thought I was too immature to handle it. That I would feel compelled to make some choices on behalf of the child that I would come to regret. She could be right, but we'll never know because I never had the chance. I feel cheated, Frances. And angry."
She nodded thoughtfully. Her eyes narrowed as she acknowledged, "Very natural, John. And it does you credit, but surely you can see her side of it."
"I suppose," he agreed doubtfully. "But it doesn't make it any easier on me. I want to know my son. I want my son to know me. To know his family. Which reminds me, did I tell you about my trip up North?"
Frances shook her head. As John explained about his father's side of the family and showed her the Manaia his paternal grandmother had given him, she was astonished at the change that came over his features. She guessed this was what he looked like when Caro was alive. As John described meeting Mama Abba as well as his aunts, uncles and cousins, Frances watched his face light with joy. It was a blessing to see it. She got a glimpse of the huge potential John had for love and happiness and it made her want that for him.
"John," Frances declared softly. "That's an incredible story. I can see how much you want to share all of that with Eric. But you need to think about the best way to do it. The best way for him. Because even if Eric does grow to care for you, he will still feel betrayed by both you and his Mum when he finds out. It won't make a difference how much you love him, how much Shay loves him, all that will matter is that it was kept from him. So, if you're asking my advice," she saw his grimace and smiled. "My advice is to listen to Shay. She knows her son better than you do. I know this makes you angry, but she's been responsible for him for all of his life. She loves him and she would never do anything to hurt him. So go slow."
John listened to her advice and heard the truth in it. "It's just so hard," he grumbled.
Frances reached across the table and patted his hand. "I know," she conceded. "But you can do it. And in the long run it will be worth it."
Willy swaggered into the crowded local in a very good mood, glanced around but didn't see anyone he knew. He figured sooner or later, there'd be someone to hang with so he sauntered over to the bar, slid onto a stool and ordered a beer. Willy nodded to the barkeep, strolled over to the jukebox, put in some coins and pressed the button for one of his favorite tunes. Then as he turned to go back to the bar, as the eerie echoing keyboard rush, the driving guitar, of Manfred Mann's cover of Springsteen's, "For You," began to fill the room, he saw her.
She was four stools over from his place and laughing. She had long brown hair that hung down her back. In profile she looked choice. She was with a group of people he didn't know. They were all well dressed. Much better dressed than anyone else in the pub. Certainly the blokes in their shiny trousers and button-down shirts looked more upscale then he did. As he stood, slack-jawed and gawking, she turned, saw him staring, her lips twitched into a smile and then she turned back to her friends.
He shut his mouth feeling as if he had been hit by a thunderbolt and glanced down at himself. He wore black boots, black jeans, a black T-shirt and a black vest. He liked black and it suited. Never usually bothered him but as he watched the brunette talking and laughing with her friends, he felt suddenly uncomfortable. He returned to the bar and ordered a shot.
When John showed up an hour later, Willy had worked himself into a rare sulk. It didn't help that John was still dressed in his suit. "What's this, then?" Willy asked. "Think you're too good for me now?"
John immediately guessed that something was troubling Willy. "I took Frances to tea at the Rubicund. She insisted I dress up. You think I'd put this on for fun?"
"You look like a . . ." Willy began. He paused as if he couldn't think of an insulting word that was bad enough to say. He shrugged. "If you're not too embarrassed to be seen associating with me pull up a stool."
John slid on to a stool next to him and asked, "What's wrong? And don't give me any more shit about my clothes."
Willy lit a cigarette, took a sip of beer and shrugged again. He studied his friend's face for moment and then grumbled, "I dunno. It's been one of those days."
"You miss her," John deduced. "I miss her too. What reminded you today?"
Willy gestured toward where the brunette and her friends were still laughing. He realized suddenly that the brunette did remind him just a little bit of his deceased sister.
John glanced over at the woman who had captured Willy's attention. She looked nothing like Caro, but the sound of her laughter ringing like a bell had a familiarity to it. The woman was quite attractive. John turned back to face his friend. "I'm sorry," John condoled. "But getting drunk isn't going to help."
"Piss off," Willy growled. "I'm getting tired of your hypocritical crap. When it was me saying that, you didn't listen, so why should I?"
John swallowed back the angry retort that occurred to him. Unfortunately, Willy had a point. When he'd been the one drinking too much and fighting, Willy had tried everything to get him to stop. Nothing had worked, nothing until John had found Frances and through her Eric. What could he say? "I'm sorry, bro. What can I do?"
Suddenly Willy wanted no part of John. He'd seen his friend change over the last few months. He knew that somehow John had found a way to grieve and to deal with his pain. He didn't begrudge him the relief, but he wasn't John. He couldn't deal that way. His way was different. John dealt with his feelings head-on in a straight-line. Coping with each one as it hit him. Willy's grief was a floating island. Every so often, as he roamed the ocean of his life he would hit the landmass and be deluged. Half the time he forgot Caro was dead. Then suddenly, he'd see something or hear something and he'd be forcefully reminded. Then his pain and anger; his guilt would overwhelm him. He didn't know which of them hurt more, he only knew that right now, he did and he wanted no part of John. "Go home," Willy snarled. "I can take care of myself."
John studied him. He'd seen Willy do this before, this grief stricken tango where he'd lash out at all those around him who cared. As if in his grief, he wasn't worthy of their affection. It seemed the only way for Willy to deal with his pain was to get mean. John wasn't in the mood to deal with it and he knew that Willy really didn't want him to. "Okay bro," John agreed as he rose from the stool. "You got your wish. I'm out of here."
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Willy mumbled under his breath as John left. Willy lit another cigarette and ordered another shot. Paulie showed up a few minutes later and wanted to shoot some pool. Willy agreed. They were halfway through a rack when they were interrupted.
The brunette Willy had noticed earlier sashayed over to where they played and asked, "Can I play the winner?"
Willy studied her. In the light by the pool table, he could see her brown hair had red highlights. She had violet eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a rosebud mouth. Her chin was kind of squared off and up close, she was even more choice. She was dressed in some female business suit, a violet color that matched her eyes. She looked classy and elegant and she wanted to shoot pool? He leered, "That would be me."
"Would it now?" she murmured softly. "From the looks of the table, I think it would be him." She gestured at Paulie.
"How about we play partners then?" Willy suggested. He introduced himself as he stuck out his hand.
"Tamara," she admitted. She took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. She looked him straight in the eye and added, "I'm really good at this."
Willy grinned and boasted, "So am I."
Paulie watching them do the mating dance mumbled, "Know what? I'm knackered. Why don't you two just play?"
Willy pulled his gaze away from Tamara with an effort and gave Paulie a grateful look as he vanished. Willy re-racked the balls. "Ladies first," he proposed.
Tamara nodded and went over to the rack of pool cues. She picked up first one, then another. She ran her fingers up and down the length of each cue stick, caressing them as if they were a man. At least, that was how it looked to Willy.
Finally, she picked out a cue and bent over the table. Willy's eyes were glued to her chest. He hadn't realized that she had some buttons unbuttoned and now he could see some choice cleavage. She bent down further to take her shot. The two ball went in. "Solids," she declared as she straightened up to scrutinize the table.
She took another shot from the same angle and gave Willy an additional view of her breasts. Willy licked his lips as she sunk that ball too. She straightened up, again studied the table and this time her best shot seemed to be by Willy. She strolled slowly toward him stopping right next to him. His eyes were still glued to her chest.
"Excuse me," she murmured.
He didn't seem to hear her.
"You're in my space," she claimed a bit louder.
Still he didn't respond. She raised a hand and tilted his chin up, so that his eyes were forced to meet hers. "See something you like?" she asked seductively.
Despite his dark skin tone, a flush seemed to suffuse his face and he looked almost guilty as if he'd done something wrong. "Sorry," he apologized as he shook his head. "What did you ask?"
"I need you to move so I can take my shot," she explained with amusement. Willy took two steps back and Tamara moved in front of him and again bent over the table. His eyes were now glued to her buttocks in the short skirt. She had a good ass, nice and tight. She bent further over the table, sticking her butt higher and Willy got an excellent view of muscled thighs. Then she missed the shot.
"Oh," she complained as she straightened up and backed into him. "I blew it."
Willy felt her ass connect with his erection. She pressed against him lightly, then slowly turned around as he mumbled, "What?"
She looked deeply into his eyes and repeated, "I blew it." She paused, licked her lips and added, "The ball. I blew it."
He guessed she knew what he was thinking, it was probably written all over his face. "Your shot," she hinted softly.
He swallowed hard and dragged his eyes away. He moved around her, making a concerted effort not to touch her again. He was annoyed with himself for being attracted to her, cause it seemed like a woman like her was just being a prick tease.
Willy moved around the table and now he was facing in her direction. His only shot seemed to be in a direct line with her body. He chalked his cue. It seemed to take him a very long time. Finally, he bent over the table to shoot. Tamara shifted her position slightly and he missed the cue ball completely. He looked up embarrassed to see if anyone else had noticed.
Tamara went to him and requested, "You know, it's awfully close in here." She waved her hand. "And the smoke is really beginning to get to me. Would you mind taking me outside for a breath of air?"
Willy's eyes widened. Was she seriously coming on to him? He glanced around the pub. It appeared that while they were shooting pool the people she was with had gone. Suddenly suspicious, he muttered, "This is the waterfront."
She smiled and insisted, "I'd have you to protect me." She reached out and ran a long purple nail over the muscles in his forearm. "You look like you can handle most things."
Her touch sent a shiver through him. He shrugged and gave in. What did he have to lose anyway? If it WAS some kind of game, he could handle it, he wasn't that pissed. He dropped his pool cue and offered her his arm.
Tamara folded her arm inside his and let him lead her out of the pub. They walked out into the night air. She could smell water and something else; she wasn't sure what it was exactly, kind of a tangy orange scent that she suddenly realized was the man at her side.
She didn't know exactly what it was about him that attracted her. He was big and muscled, his dark skin and eyes gave him a menacing look, as did his shaven head. He seemed to be the very picture of a waterfront tough. Yet, there was something about him. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her when he'd first seen her. Or the way he'd gotten embarrassed when she'd caught him looking where he shouldn't. Or the way he handled his pool cue, but she sensed a softness, a tenderness about him that was just waiting to be explored.
They began to walk, strolling on the path by the water. They walked together in companionable silence for a time, then Tamara stumbled, and Willy grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling. Now they were very close, their faces, their lips just inches apart. Willy held the woman upright and studied her eyes.
"You gonna kiss me?" Tamara asked softly.
"You gonna let me?" he asked automatically.
"I'm gonna help you," she whispered. Then she brushed her lips lightly over his.
Willy felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience. It was as if he was outside himself watching this attractive woman come on to him. Her mouth grazed his, her body pressed against him and it was clear, she was serious about it. He tightened his arms around her and let it happen. After she kissed him she pulled back and looked at him. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight.
"Your turn," she whispered.
"My turn?" he echoed softly. Then he realized she wanted him to kiss her. He was happy to oblige. He touched her face, almost reverently and bent his head, lightly pressing his lips to hers. He felt her arms go round him, she pulled him hard against her and she returned his kiss with enthusiasm. Their lips rubbed together gently and then lust seemed to take over. Her hands were moving over his arms, her nails trailing sharply along his skin. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she moaned softly. He tightened his grip on her even more, kissed her harder and she responded in kind.
He ran his hands over her back, then stopped suddenly. He pulled back from the kiss and looked at her. Her eyes were still sparkling at him, but . . . "What kind of a game are you playing?" he asked. "You don't belong down here."
Tamara looked at him, her eyes widened and then she seemed to understand. "You don't know anything about me," she refuted calmly enough. "You don't know where I belong."
"Look at you, in your fancy clothes, all tricked out like an uptown girl. You don't belong here."
"You mean," she suggested softly, "You think I don't belong with you."
He released her and stepped back. He crossed his arms over his chest and admonished her mulishly, "Too right. So what kind of a game is this?"
"Willy," she insisted softly, "it's not a game. And you should know that how someone looks isn't the measure of who they are."
"What's THAT supposed to mean?" he asked sharply.
"Meet me tomorrow night and I'll show you," Tamara urged. "I'm NOT running a game. Honest."
There was something in her voice that got to him. She sounded so damn sincere. And those purple eyes of hers were staring at him so directly. "Where?"
"You know Red Baron Bikes?" He nodded. "Meet me there at eight."
"Why there?"
"Why not?" she retorted with a laugh. "Please? I like you and I'd like to see you again."
"Girl, you're crazy!" he exclaimed. Her face looked hurt for a moment and he softened his tone. "You really want to go out with me?"
She smiled and admitted, "Yes. I was . . . watching you in the pub. I think you're . . . I want to see you again."
He shook his head with astonishment and confirmed, "Okay then. I'll meet you tomorrow."
"Bewdy," she exclaimed. "Walk me back?"
He nodded completely entranced.
John was in his office pushing two pieces of paper around the top of his desk trying to get control of his turbulent emotions. After he'd left Willy at the pub, he'd gone home and tried to make sense of things. He hadn't succeeded. Although everything Frances advised sounded right, he still wanted to rush to Eric and tell him he was his father. He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he still wanted to do it. He sat there silently cursing Shay for putting him in this position when he heard a soft voice say, "Gidday."
He looked up and saw her. She was dressed in gray today. Gray silk blouse, gray twill trousers, her hair was still that burgundy color. She looked elegant and beautiful. "Gidday, Randa," he answered.
She studied the detective. She hadn't seen him since she had come to help him grieve. She had hoped he would ring her, let her help him, but he hadn't. Still, he looked better than the last time she had seen him. The lines on his face were a little thicker, the gray in his hair a little more so, but the set of his mouth was less tight and his body posture was significantly more relaxed.
She strolled over and sat down in the chair across from his desk. "How are you, John?" she asked.
"Better than the last time," he admitted, acknowledging their last meeting. He had never really thanked her, had he? Somehow, despite the intense emotional experience they had shared in his office the day of Caro's funeral, he could never bring himself to ring her. Could never bring himself to openly share his grief with her, although he knew she understood. "I never thanked you," he muttered. "You left."
"Yes, well," she explained softly. "It seemed to me you needed to be alone." She couldn't tell him that watching his torment made her feel helpless. That his grief aroused a visceral response that had no way to express itself except through physical touch. That if she had stayed she would have tried to use sex to take his pain away. That wouldn't have helped either of them. "I'm glad you're doing better though," she added.
"Thanks," he murmured. He studied her. Her eyes still had that luminous quality to them and she looked even more beautiful than she had before. He felt his body respond to her almost automatically and he hated himself for it. He knew there could never be anything between them of a physical nature, and it annoyed him that his body refused to recognize that fact. Consequently, he asked rather shortly, "What are you doing here?"
She laughed softly, almost as if she understood, which in fact she did. Her body still had the same response to him. She wondered for a moment, why they couldn't just get it over with, have sex and move on. Still, "I have a job for you," she clarified softly.
"A job?" he echoed. "What kind of job?"
"Nothing complicated," she claimed. "I got bored so I decided to take all the things I'd learned from Ben and start a business. It's been quite successful so far, so successful in fact that I'm thinking of expanding it to the States. I'd like you to make a trip there for me, to Washington D.C. to check some things out. You could see the sights. A change of scenery might be good for you."
He thought about it for a long moment. "Why can't you do it yourself? What you need me for?"
She smiled at him. "You have no agenda, John. No preconceived notions, no ax to grind. You could look at things objectively. The Yanks aren't so crazy about women in business, especially the kind of business I have. You'd make a good front person."
"Sounds illegal," he retorted.
She laughed with amusement. "Poor choice of words, then. I want you to go over, look around for me and make some sound judgements."
"I still don't understand why you can't do it yourself."
"Because I'm getting married again," she revealed softly. "And I need to be here to plan the wedding."
"Oh . . . " he muttered lamely. "How long do you think the job'd take?"
"A couple or three weeks," she answered. "It would depend greatly on what you find as you start gathering information. John, I'm sure you're busy here, but I could really use your help."
He considered it some more. "I don't know if I can be gone that long, Randa. There are some things going on . . . let me think on it."
She nodded as if satisfied. "John, I'll pay all your expenses as well as a healthy fee for the trip. But don't take too long to decide. If you don't accept, I'll need to find someone else. And time is short."
He nodded. "I'll let you know in a day or two."
She rose from the chair. "Thank you. I do hope you'll accept. I trust you and after everything that happened with Ben . . . well, I don't trust too many people."
"Do you trust the man you're marrying?" the words slipped out before he could stop them.
She laughed. "I trust him, but he's not a businessman. He's an artist."
"An artist?" he repeated his voice full of shock.
She laughed. "He paints. I bought one of his paintings at a gallery. We met and fell in love. It happens, although usually NOT to me." She paused and added, "It is odd, isn't it?"
"Very," John agreed. "I'll ring you with my answer," he added as a dismissal.
She took it as such and left him. John watched her leave; vaguely disappointed at somehow missing a chance he wasn't brave enough to take. Why did everything in his life have to be so fucking complicated? If she had come to him the week before and offered him a trip out of the country, he'd have jumped at it. Now though, could he leave Eric?
When Shay arrived, he was still sitting there. The door to John's office was partly open and Shay studied him without his knowing she was there. He was sitting behind his desk. His eyes were shut as if he was lost in thought and his large hands were on the desk clenching and unclenching as if he was in the grip of some powerful emotion. His hair was in a ponytail, baring every detail of his handsome face. In semi-repose the lines were more evident and the strong jaw more pronounced.
He wore a black T-shirt and with each breath, the material stretched tight. His pectorals were clearly outlined and straining against the fabric that contained them. His biceps were pumping each time he clenched his hands.
Shay felt a wave of lust overwhelm her at his physical presence. She knew what it was like to be held in those arms. His sensual mouth was pursed in thought, but the expression reminded her of a kiss.
She sighed. She wondered what he'd do if she walked in and climbed into his lap. Tilted his face to hers and began to kiss him. If she ran her hands over his arms then under his shirt to feel those hard muscles.
As she stood there, she lost herself in fantasy. She imagined his beautiful dark head suckling at her breasts as she unzipped his pants. She would slip her panties off and straddle his hardness, taking him deep inside her, moving on him. Feeling him fill her in a way no other man ever had been able to. Rocking on his lap, tangling her hands in the curls of his hair until they both reached completion like a couple of randy teenagers.
She felt herself grow wet from her fantasy as she stared at him. She knew as much as she wanted him, that she wouldn't do it. She knew he still fancied her, but Eric stood between them now. The secret she had kept for thirteen years. The son she had kept to herself not sharing the boy with him. She wondered if John would ever forgive her.
She sighed again and pushed in the door.
John didn't move or even open his eyes. "Randa," he grumbled, "I said I'd ring you with my answer."
"I'm sure she'll be thrilled," she remarked dryly, "but I'm NOT Randa."
He looked up guiltily and found himself staring at Shay. Her face was oddly flushed. She was standing near the edge of his desk. "Sorry," he apologized. "I thought you were someone else."
"Obviously," she remarked even more dryly. "Who's Randa?"
"A client," John explained. At Shay's disbelieving look he added, "She is although I don't know why I have to explain that to you." He met her gaze evenly and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"May I sit down?" Shay asked. John nodded. Shay seated herself, crossed her legs and then began twisting her hands in her lap. "I . . . I wanted to thank you for the other night. Eric said he had a really choice time. John, I know you must be angry with me. I'm sorry. Still, you said you wanted to be a part of his life. I want to know what you think that means."
John studied her. Despite her flushed face, she looked tired this morning and more than a little nervous. "Shay, I don't know what that means. You won't let me tell him I'm his father. So what choices do I have?" He paused and then asked, "Have you thought about my offer?"
"Which offer?"
"Financial help as well as wanting some say in things and to spend more time with him."
She shrugged. "Well, if he would apply himself in school, he could go to University someday. I wouldn't mind having money for that. Otherwise, we do okay. As for spending more time with him, as I said, that's up to him. As to having a say, a say in what?"
"How the bloody hell do I know what a say means," he exploded. "You've had thirteen years to adjust to being a single parent. I've had two days. I just know I want to be a part of his life. And I want him to be a part of mine." He paused, lowered his voice and added, "Sorry. It seems like no matter what happens I get left out in the cold."
"John, I'm sorry. I never meant . . . I never wanted . . . I've made such a mess of things," she acknowledged regretfully. Suddenly it was all too much and she began to cry.
John sighed with frustration, got up from the desk, and came around to her side. He leaned against the edge of the desk and took her hands in his. "You've done a fine job with my . . . OUR son. But he's not your responsibility anymore, at least not solely. I want to help. To make up for everything. Can't you let me do that?"
She looked up at him, tears continuing to fall from her eyes. She whispered, "I dunno. I . . . want to. But I'm . . . afraid."
"Afraid?" he echoed with confusion. "What are you afraid of?"
"Eric's all I have. What if . . . I couldn't bear to lose him."
"Lose him?" John repeated. "Why would you think you would lose him?"
"He's going to feel so betrayed when he finds out. I've always told him that I'd never lie to him. But I have. All his life. He'll never forgive me. It won't matter why I did it, only that I did."
There was nothing he could say to that. It was true. No matter how this all came out, Eric would feel betrayed and lied to. "Damn it, Shay!" he exclaimed. "There has to be some way to work this out. Some way we can do what's best for Eric."
"There is," she muttered. "We don't tell him."
"We don't . . . tell him?" John repeated.
"I know this goes against your grain," she implored him. "But John, he likes you so much. And I think, no, I KNOW the two of you could have a father-son relationship without him knowing. I know this might make it much harder on you, but think about it. What possible advantage is there in telling him? What would it change? Would it make him like you more? It might make him hate you for something you had no control over."
He sucked in his breath to keep from exploding again. A part of him knew she was right, knew the only thing telling the boy would serve was his own need. But another part of him saw, very clearly, that it also protected her from seeing the betrayal on her son's face. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then agreed. "All right. For now, we won't tell him. We'll continue as we have, only, Shay, I DO want to spend more time with him. And I AM going to help you financially. I don't care how you do it, but I want you to quit working at the Hardcastle. Tell Eric you got a bump at Farmer's or something. You need to spend more time with him too."
She nodded gratefully. "Thank you John. Not about the money, I don't care about that. About not telling him. I'd like to spend more time with him. Maybe the three of us . . .?"
John studied her eyes. There was a yearning look there that was unnerving. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he refuted quickly. "It might be better for now to just, as you said, keep things as they are. Only," he added as he made a decision. "I'm going to be going away for a while."
"Away?" she repeated. "Where?"
"I'm going to the States for a few weeks on a job. I wasn't going to take it, because I didn't want to leave Eric right now, but after talking with you, maybe a few weeks away will give me some time to adjust. To . . . get some of these feelings under control."
"Feelings?" she repeated. She studied his eyes and knew, quite suddenly, that any last hopes she'd had of rekindling a romantic relationship were gone. John wasn't cold to her, but he was angry and hurt, he no longer trusted her and more than that, he was afraid to take the risk. He clearly wanted his son and that was all. She sighed and confirmed, "Never mind. You do what you need to do. We'll still be here when you get back." She paused and as she rose from the chair she asked, "When do you leave?"
"In a day or two," he muttered. Was his passport in order? He couldn't remember. "I'll see Eric before I leave. I'm NOT abandoning him. The job pays well, it should give a good start on University," he added almost unnecessarily. "Eric deserves the best."
"Thank you," she repeated. She looked at him leaning against the desk and sighed. "If it makes you feel any better," she added, "one of the reasons I never told you, was because I loved you. I didn't want you to marry me because you had to. I wanted you to marry me then, because you felt the same. But you didn't. I don't expect you to ever feel that way, so don't feel obligated, eh?"
"Shay . . ." he pronounced her name as half apology and half prayer. "I did care about you, but I don't think I was capable of love when I was nineteen. Hell, I'm not sure if I'm capable of it now."
"You're capable," she claimed with a smile. "Just not for me."
"I'm sorry," he apologized softly. "I never meant to hurt you, then or now, but it seems like . . . Anyways, I'll ring you when I know my itinerary."
She nodded and left, her small body huddled into itself as if in need of protection. John sighed, found Randa's card and arranged to leave for Washington D.C in two days time.
Willy arrived at Red Baron Bikes ten minutes early. He paced back and forth in front of the shop nervously. Why had he ever agreed to this anyway? Tamara would probably stand him up. He was sure it was just some elaborate ruse she had planned, the kind of thing uptown girls did to blokes like him.
As he paced, he saw a brand new Harley roll up. It was shiny with chrome and the motor purred. He watched as the rider kicked the stand down and turned the machine off. He watched black leather boots, then long blue-jeaned legs slide off. The figure had its back to him and he could see from the way the butt was shaped that it was a woman. The jeans were skin-tight and there was a small tear under the right cheek from wear. It was a great ass. The figure turned toward him and he got a glimpse of a skin-tight white T-shirt under a thick jean jacket. Then the helmet was coming off and suddenly long brown hair came tumbling out. Was that . . . Willy couldn't believe his eyes.
The classy elegant woman he'd kissed the night before was swaggering over to him in those ripped jeans, that tight T-shirt and those black leather boots.
Tamara sashayed up. "Cheers, Willy."
He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could get any words out. Finally, he managed, "Tamara?"
"Well," she explained with a nervous laugh, "Actually, I prefer Tam. Especially like this," she gestured at herself.
He shook his head. "I don't get you, girl. One day you look like the PM. Today you're a . . . "
"Biker chick?" she teased. He nodded still too astonished to speak. "Well, Willy, truth is, I AM a biker." She looked him up and down. He was wearing navy blue trousers and a blue and white shirt. He had, she realized, attempted to dress "up" for her. It was a side to him she hadn't expected and it delighted her.
"A biker?" he repeated. Who was this woman? One minute she was a princess and the next she was just like him.
She nodded and asked, "Want a ride?"
"A ride?" he repeated feeling more than a little stupid.
Rather than try to increase his discomfort she attempted to relax him. "It's my new bike," she revealed softly. "Just got it. It really needs a good test. So, want to help me?"
He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and finally managed to say, "Sure. Let's go."
"Bewdy," she whispered. She strolled over to the bike and dug in a saddlebag, finding another helmet. She handed it to him, put on her own and then got on the bike.
Willy slid on the bike behind her, feeling her body like a heat lamp in front of him.
She reached behind her, searching for his hands. "Better hang on," she suggested. "I have a habit of taking it fast."
Willy laughed as he slipped his arms around her small waist. "That I can WELL believe," he muttered in an undertone.
She heard him and laughed too. "Hang on tight," she suggested. "Wouldn't want to lose you before I've had you," she teased as she turned the ignition and the roar of the engine killed all further conversation.
Willy gripped her waist and leaned in as the bike took off. Tamara, Tam wasn't kidding. She liked speed and she was obviously a very experienced biker. She drove them expertly out of the city and onto the motorway, where she really put the bike through its paces. She raced them down long straight stretches and she cornered like an ace. Willy enjoyed the ride, the wind on his face and the woman in his arms.
Finally, she pulled off the motorway and drove them into an overlook. She killed the engine and took off her helmet. "So?" she asked breathlessly. "Whatcha think?"
Willy slid off the bike, leaned back against it and took off his helmet. "Great ride."
Tam got off the bike and stood in front of him. She ran her fingers through her hair. She smiled at Willy and disclosed, "I love it out here. So quiet and deserted."
Willy studied her. Her violet eyes were looking at him with anticipation and pleasure. The ride had aroused the hell out of him and he figured the vibrations had done a number on her as well. All the same, he wasn't just gonna be . . . "You do this often?" he asked curiously.
"Do what?" she echoed. "Ride?"
"Pick up strange blokes in pubs."
She laughed. "Hardly ever." She studied his dark eyes. He had the same expression in them she'd noticed in the pub when he'd looked at her. A kind of sweet hopeless longing that was totally at odds with his macho male swagger. A smile that charmed and deflected all the badass attitude generated by the clothes and body language. She felt as if she knew him, knew all about him, although she barely knew him at all. She reached up and touched his face lightly, tracing his lips with one long finger. "Willy, I think you're special."
He shook his head. "You don't know shit about me. So why?"
"You're stubborn as a mule, ain't ya?" she scolded him with a shake of her head. "Why can't I just like you?"
He smiled ruefully. "Why should ya? For all you know, I could be the baddest badass around. How do you know I'm not a crim? A dealer? That I won't kill you for the bike?"
She laughed. "If you were all those things, you wouldn't have worn that," she murmured as she gestured at his clothes. "And I'm a pretty good judge of character."
"Truth is," he muttered, "I AM those things. Well, I was anyway. I don't deal anymore, but I used to. And I AM a crim. Can't change your past, eh?"
She shook her head, "Maybe you were once, but you aren't now. I can tell." She put her arms around his neck and leaned into him. "Willy, stop fighting this, fighting me. I know we just met, but haven't you ever just . . . felt something? Felt it so strong, so powerfully that any good sense you had just flew out the window? That's how I feel about you," she added as she bent her head to kiss him.
He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. Her lips grazed his lightly and the touch was like silk. Her arms around his neck tightened and she leaned into him, pressing her body to his. He returned her kiss, his hands running up and down her back. She felt good in his arms, too good for any of this to be real.
She ran her nails along the back of his neck, scraping lightly and pressed harder against him as the kiss began to grow in power. Their lips rubbed softly together, then harder and harder. Her hands moved down, to his back, then to his waist. She shifted her legs, spread them apart and moaned as she felt his thigh press against her sex.
Willy heard her soft moan of desire and it excited him. He gripped her tightly against him. One arm encircled her neck and he flicked his tongue out, then plunged it into her mouth to dance with her tongue.
Tam gripped his waist tighter and pressed her sex against his thigh, feeling the pressure light a thousand fires inside her. Her tongue darted into his mouth then back out. She moaned again and then pulled back panting for breath. She studied his face. He was grinning at her. It was such a lovely smile. It lightened his whole face. He had laugh lines around his eyes. "Feeling is good, eh?" she whispered.
He laughed. "You ARE crazy," he murmured in wonder.
"Crazy about you," she murmured back. She touched his face again, running her fingers over the lines and curves, tracing his thick mustache and all the stubble on his chin and neck.
He pulled her tight and buried his face in her hair. He didn't know who the hell Tam was, but he realized in that moment, it was too late to worry about it. What had started between them now couldn't be stopped. He was a goner, lost in the feel of her warm body, the touch of her silken lips, the caress of her fingers. He tilted her face and stared into her eyes. They were looking at him with desire and he drowned in them. He felt himself being sucked into the depths of her. Her eyes were like quicksand. He was sinking and the more he tried to fight it, the deeper he was sucked in. So he stopped fighting. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and her eyelids and felt her tremble in his arms and shiver against him. He held her face gently in his hands and kissed each beautiful inch of it, flicking his tongue out to trace a line here or there. She moaned and pressed against him, arching her body closer.
"Willy," she murmured.
The sound of her voice saying his name was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Her voice gave a new meaning, a new identity to the sound of his name. It was like being reborn.
"Tam," he whispered. "Who are you?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she kissed him hard and passionately. Her arms pulled him tight. Her mouth was hungry and demanding. Her body rubbed urgently against his.
Willy matched her action for action, passion for passion. Their bodies began to grind against each other and the bike. Their hands explored touching flesh. Tam slipped her hands to Willy's waistband and pulled his shirt out of his trousers. She slipped her hands underneath to feel the muscles in his chest.
Willy moaned and pulled his mouth from hers. "Never thought I'd ever say this," he muttered uncomfortably. "But girl, you're moving way too fast for me." He paused and with an embarrassed grin added, "I think we need to know each other a little better before we go there."
Tam looked up at him and smiled. "See? I knew you weren't what you pretend to be. Most blokes would have had me across the bike already. But you . . . you're a gentleman, you are."
Willy laughed. He touched her face lightly and retorted, "I'm no gentleman and it's not that I'm not thinking about it. Or that I don't want to. It's just . . . I dunno . . . you're different."
"So what happens next?" she asked.
Willy shook his head. "Not a clue. You been doing pretty well so far. Why don't you tell me?"
Now Tam laughed. She looked him up and down, licked her lips and asked seductively, "Wanna get in the saddle?"
Willy's eyes widened. He said nothing for a long moment just studied her face. Her eyes were sparkling with mirth.
"Willy?" Still he said nothing, waiting for her to explain. Finally, she asked, "You want to try the bike?"
He laughed. "I thought that was what you meant," he mumbled quickly. "Nah, you can take us back. Something tells me that you have a lot of . . . experience."
"That I do," she agreed. "That I do." She leaned in, kissed him once lightly, pulled back and put on her helmet.
Willy put on his helmet and straddled the bike. Tam slid on in front of him and this time she didn't have to ask him to put his arms around her. He did it willingly. The drive back to Auckland seemed to take a much shorter time than the drive away. Before they even knew it, they were back in front of Red Baron Bikes.
"So . . . when can I see you again?" Tam asked.
Willy grinned. "Tomorrow?"
She nodded. "Where and when?"
Willy thought for a long moment and then suggested, "How about we have tea?"
"Tea?" she echoed.
Willy grinned broadly. "Yeah, tea. At the . . . Rubicund. I hear they do it right."
She shook her head. "You don't need to impress me, Willy. I'm already impressed. How about instead of tea, we go to a flick?"
"Bewdy," he agreed with a happy grin. "So we meet here, then?"
"Probably best," she confirmed. "Seeing as how I work here. I finish at six."
Willy got off the bike, took off the helmet and handed it to Tam. He leaned down, kissed her forehead and confirmed, "See you tomorrow at six."
John looked around his bedroom one last time. He had everything packed. Now all he had to do was say his good-byes. He had his passport and Randa had arranged for him to pick up his tickets and a sufficient amount of American money at the airport. He had found someone to coach his rugby team and another PI had agreed to handle his corporate clients while he was away. He'd been to see Frances and she had agreed, given the present circumstances in his life, that the trip was a good idea.
Funny, how much it meant to him to have Frances' support. She was like an aunt; a mother and a good friend all rolled into one. He was grateful he had found her. He called his Mum and told her he was going away, but didn't tell her about Eric. He wasn't sure how she would take it. He wasn't sure how she'd cope, hell he wasn't sure he was coping.
The only person he hadn't been able to find or reach was Willy. He'd finally given up trying and left notes for him at his flat and the pub. Eventually Willy would turn up and find them. He just hoped, given his mood the last time he'd seen Willy, that Willy hadn't done anything stupid. Willy had worked hard to change his life, quitting dealing, at John's insistence and trying to live a "straight" life. Well, Willy was an adult; he'd just have to deal with whatever Willy got himself into when he got back from the States.
He grabbed his duffel bag and locked up the house. He had time to make one more quick run at finding Willy before picking up Eric. He tried the flat and the pub again, but Willy was in neither place. John drove over to Eric's.
He knocked on the door hesitantly. He wasn't really up for another confrontation with Shay. That last meeting in his office had been unsatisfying and he felt as if he had hurt her. Something he was tired of doing. Of course, she answered the door. "Evening, John," she said softly.
"Gidday," he mumbled. She looked even more tired than the last time he had seen her, as if she hadn't slept or eaten in days. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Just a touch of the flu," she murmured. She was in her robe and now she pulled a tissue out of her pocket and began to daintily dab at her nose. "Where are my manners?" she added. "Come in."
"Thanks." He stepped past her into the lounge. "Where's Eric?"
"Just getting something from his room. He'll be right out. So you're leaving tonight?"
He nodded. "Late flight. I'll drop Eric and then head to the airport from here."
"How long will you be gone?"
"Depends on what I find. A fortnight at least, maybe longer. Hard to tell."
She nodded. She had so much to say to him, but every time she tried, it all came out wrong. Eventually . . . her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a bundle of nervous energy, their son.
"Mum," Eric exclaimed with embarrassment. "He's gonna think you don't own any clothes if you always answer the door in your dressing gown."
That broke the tension between John and Shay. They both laughed. John recovered first. "Eric, you should have seen her when she was young. Your Mum was always dressed to kill."
Shay preened at the compliment. "Go on with you," she muttered. "I looked just like everyone else."
"You always looked beautiful to me," John replied softly. "Eric, you ready?"
The boy stood there for a moment with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking thoughtfully at John. "Did you used to go out with her?"
John laughed self-consciously and nodded. "Yeah, a long time ago."
"I see," Eric mused. He looked from his Mum to John and back again. He stared hard at John and asked, "You wanna go out with her again?"
Oh Christ, what answer was there to that? Thankfully, Shay came to his rescue. "Eric, that's a very rude thing to ask. Besides, what makes you think I want to go out with HIM?"
"Why wouldn't you want to go out with him? And what bloke wouldn't want to go out with you?" her son demanded proudly. "You're beautiful." He paused and added, "He thinks so. He just said."
This was getting worse and worse, John felt like he was becoming mired in a swamp. Again, Shay came to his rescue. "Eric, you're embarrassing him," Shay chided sternly. "Leave it."
Eric gave his Mum another speculative glance and then shrugged.
"So . . . um . . . Eric," John mumbled, finally finding something to say, "you ready to go?" The boy nodded. John turned to Shay and added, "I'll bring him home around nine. Then I'm off."
She nodded. "Have fun and a safe trip."
John nodded and turned to take his son to dinner. Eric was quiet in the car for about five minutes and then he asked, "You like my Mum, don't ya?"
"Of course I do," John mumbled. Oh Christ, was Eric intent on matchmaking here? "Why?"
"She needs a bloke," Eric divulged with embarrassment. "I thought she'd found one, but he let her down."
"Let her down?" John echoed. Shit . . . though he didn't know it, Eric meant HIM. "Whatcha mean?"
"I dunno know what happened, but she was real happy and then she got real sad. Anyway, do you think . . . maybe . . . after all, you did go out with her before."
"Eric, that was a long time ago. We were teenagers. It's not the same as now."
"Cause of me," the boy whispered softly. "It's always cause of me," he muttered.
What a time for this conversation! John pulled the car over to the side of the street and turned the engine off. "Eric," he insisted sternly. "It's NOT because of you. Why would you think that?"
"No one wants me," Eric muttered. He hung his head and stared at his feet and whispered, "I'm trouble."
"That's NOT true," John insisted. "Eric, look at me." When the boy didn't raise his eyes, John undid his belt and shifted over. He turned Eric's face to his and explained, "This has NOTHING to do with you. Nothing. You're a great kid. Anyone would be proud to . . ." he stopped before he said too much. "Eric, I do like your Mum, but we knew each other a long time ago. We weren't that much older than you are now. People change, it's the nature of things. Anyways, I know ALL about being trouble and believe me, you aren't it."
"Then why doesn't . . . seems like no one stays with her long. Even my Dad . . . left. I know it was cause of me," he added in a very small voice.
"Why would you think that?" John asked softly. "Why would you think your Dad left because of you?"
"Well, why else would he stay away? I mean, before I came along he loved her enough to marry her. But then, well, I was born and after a time, he split. And he's never come back. And he doesn't ever come and see me. So it HAS to be me."
Oh Christ, how to handle this? "Eric," he revealed slowly. "Sometimes adults don't act very much like adults. What does your Mum say about all this?"
"She said Dad loved me, but he didn't love her anymore. That he wasn't a very mature bloke and he couldn't handle the responsibility. That he stays away cause seeing me makes him sad that he's a failure. That it's NOT my fault. But . . ."
Shay had handled it well, John thought. Now he would have to try. "I'm sure she's right. You know," John continued, watching Eric's eyes, "some blokes, they just aren't suited to be parents. Now my mate Dave, he has three kids, and I see him with them and I think there's someone who knows what to do all the time. But when I asked him about it, he looked at me as if I'd gone round the bend. He told me that being a parent is kind of like being on a roller coaster all the time. You just hang on for dear life and hope you don't fall off. I always thought that made a lot of sense. See, probably, your Dad, he just couldn't hang on. And he was afraid that if he fell, you'd fall with him. So he left you with your Mum, cause clearly, she's good at riding roller coasters. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong or that he doesn't love you. It just means he isn't very good at being a parent." John silently cursed Phil for doing this to Eric. He was going to have words with that bloke when he came back from the States!
"Are you good at riding roller coasters?" Eric asked in that same small voice.
"Well," John confessed slowly, hearing the plea in his son's voice, "I dunno. Never really tried. But if you're willing to chance it, so am I."
"Bewdy," the boy whistled.
John ruffled Eric's hair affectionately and asked, "I'm starved. How about you?"
Eric nodded. "So you're going to the States, eh? What for?"
John slid back into his seat, rebuckled his belt and drove them to the restaurant, filling in the details of the trip as he drove. As they sat over their fish and chips, he watched Eric with a hunger in his eyes. He realized he didn't even have a picture of him. Shit, he should have asked Shay. Then he got a brilliant idea. He checked his watch, only a little after eight. If they hurried, they could do it. "You know, you're Mum would probably have my head for this, but there's a vid arcade just up the street. Want to pop over there for a bit before I take you home?"
Eric's eyes began to shine with pleasure. "That'd be awesome. You know, when we first met, I thought you were old. But you're not, are you? I mean, you still like fish and chips and films and video arcades."
"You think I'm just an overgrown kid, do ya?" John retorted. "Well, maybe I am," he agreed.
"I think it's cool," Eric responded. He chewed the last of his fish and added, "So far you've never made me eat veggies once."
John laughed. Christ, here he was worried about presenting a fatherly image, whatever the hell that was, and Eric liked him, cause he didn't. Maybe Shay was right, building a friendship was more important than anything else was right now. John and his son left the shop and strolled companionably down the street to the arcade. John let Eric play some games and then suggested they use the picture machine. "Come on, bet your Mum would LOVE to have a few shots of you," he prompted.
Eric agreed and went into the booth. John watched as the light flashed twice and then he felt Eric's hand tugging at his sleeve. "Get in here," the boy urged. "Then there's be at least one of both of us."
John eased in and the light flashed twice more. They got out of the booth, laughing and then waited for the pictures to slide out. John grabbed for them and was glad he had. The pictures of him and Eric were more telling than he thought possible. Seen side by side, with silly grins on their faces, the likeness was remarkable. He folded the picture sheet in half and ripped it down the middle. He handed Eric the two of him alone. "Here you go. If you don't mind, I'll keep the others."
"Can I see?" Eric asked.
John shook his head. "My face broke the camera," John lied. "Anyways, I'd better get you home. I can't miss my flight."
"When you come back, we'll still do the boxing right? And you'll still coach?" Eric asked nervously as they walked to John's car.
"Of course. I'm just going away for business, but I'll be back. I'm not leaving for good."
"Okay, then. Cause you know, I kind of got used to working out with you," Eric mumbled.
John ruffled his hair again as he unlocked the car door and agreed, "I like working out with you too. And eating and going to vid arcades."
"About my Mum . . . " Eric started.
John pointed his finger at him and directed, "No more of that. Your Mum is a grown up lady. She can find her own blokes. You don't need to be doing it for her."
Eric laughed and got in the car. As soon as John was seated and belted, Eric revealed, "All the same, I think she likes you."
John laughed and said nothing. He started the car and then when he was a block from Eric's flat he admitted, "You know, you were a holy terror when we first met, but I've grown kind of fond of you. I'm going to miss you while I'm gone. Do you think, if I gave you something to hold for me, you could do it?"
"Sure," Eric agreed excitedly. "You mean like a camera or a tape recorder or something?" The "tools" of John's "trade" fascinated Eric.
John laughed. "Nothing like that. It's something that my grandmother gave me. I don't want to lose it and I'm afraid I will." John parked in front of Eric's and pulled the Manaia out from under his shirt. He took it off his neck and explained, "This belonged to my father and it's very special to me. Will you keep it safe for me?"
Eric took the piece of Maori jewelry gingerly. "I might lose it," he protested hesitantly as he ran his fingers over the glossy bone surface.
"You could keep it in a box in your room. Or you could wear it," John suggested softly. "You know, under your shirt, so the other blokes don't see it, if you want."
"It's a Manaia, isn't it?" Eric prompted. "I never had one before, but I learned a bit about them."
"Yes," John agreed. "It is. So, will you do it?"
Eric smiled and put the pendant around his neck. "I'll be happy to look after it for you."
"Thanks, I'd appreciate that." John acknowledged softly. The sight of his son wearing his father's necklace was about to make his heart overflow. He had to force himself to keep his hands on the steering wheel so as not to wrap them around Eric in a hug. "I'll ring you when I get back from the States so we can set up a boxing schedule again."
"Bewdy." Eric looked at him for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, then shrugged. He opened the door, began to get out, and then turned back to look at John once more. "Have a safe trip." Then Eric jumped out and fled up the stairs to his flat.
John watched until he couldn't see him anymore and then drove to the airport for his flight.
While John was looking for Willy and then having dinner with his son, Willy was in a crowded cinema watching the Phantom Menace with Tam. He'd worn his normal clothes so of course she was dressed more formally.
She'd laughed when she'd seen him and exclaimed, "Timing is everything."
He'd grinned back and retorted, "Always had lousy timing. "
She'd linked her arm though his and chided, "I like you just the way you are."
They'd gone for a quick drink and a study of the film adverts finally agreeing that Star Wars was the movie to see. Now they sat in the darkened theater full of popcorn and candy.
Willy had an arm around her shoulder and her head leaned against his neck. He could smell the shampoo she used on her hair; it smelled of flowers and was nice.
When the climactic Jedi battle began, she gripped his hand and held it, her body tensing as the action played out on the screen.
Willy stopped watching the movie and watched the play of emotions on Tam's face instead. First excitement then fear, anger, then sadness all moved through her beautiful eyes. He realized with a shock that if he weren't careful he'd start mooning over her like a teenager. Then he realized it was too late. That set a grin on his face bright enough to light up a galaxy far, far away.
She turned suddenly from the screen and caught his eyes on her. Her smile was breathtaking and seemed bright enough to turn all the stars in his galaxy to dust. Their eyes met and it was electric. They both sucked in their breath and quickly turned back to the movie, the voltage between them enough to set off a thousand sticks of dynamite.
Tam insisted on sitting through the credits, saying she knew some of the tech staff and wanted to see their names six feet tall. Willy laughed and agreed. He would be hard pressed to deny her anything at that moment anyway.
When the credits were done, they slowly left the cinema. They were just stepping out on the street and he was about to suggest they go to a pub when it happened.
"You bitch," a voice from somewhere right behind them exploded. "Thought you could get away with it, didn't you?"
Willy turned to see who had spoken and whom they were speaking too. He felt Tam's nails dig into his arm and when he looked at her face, he saw it had gone white. He swiveled his head to find a large handsome man, dressed all in black leather, standing in front of them. He had his finger pointed threateningly at Tam, inches from her face.
"I don't know who the fuck you think you are," Willy began.
"Don't," Tam interrupted him. "Don't get in the middle of this. I can handle it." She looked at the man and implored, "David, I don't have any idea what you're talking about. But even if I did, this is NOT the place to discuss it."
"You bitch," David hissed again. "Think you can cheat on me with some dickhead?" He reached for her and grabbed her shoulders. He began to shake her. "What's mine stays mine."
This was too much for Willy. No one was going to do that to ANY woman, let alone one he was with. "Let go of her," Willy demanded. "You wanna fight with someone, fight with me."
"Think you can take me, eh?" the man blustered. He eyed Willy as if he was a garden slug. "You ain't worth the trouble." He released Tam and added, "I warned you, Tam. No more stepping out on me . . . or else."
"Or else what?" Willy wanted to know. But the bloke had gone, vanished into the crowd with surprising speed for one his size.
Tam began to tremble and Willy turned back to her. He put an arm around her to steady her and paid her more of a compliment than he knew when he asked, "Who was that dickhead?"
She shook her head. "Later. I really need a drink."
He nodded and holding her securely about the waist led her to the nearest pub. He found a table and when the waitress came over for their order, hid his surprise at her request for a double shot of tequila and a lager chaser. He lit a cigarette and waited. The drinks arrived and Tam downed her shot fast and with practiced ease. She took a sip of her lager and asked, "Can I have a smoke?"
He slid the pack over to her and watched as she pulled one out and with trembling hands lit it. She inhaled deeply, like the ex-smoker she was, and muttered, "Thanks."
"You're just full of surprises, you are," he noted. He took a sip of his own lager and asked, "Want to tell me about it?"
She laughed bitterly. "And things were going so well too! David is my ex-husband. Only he's never accepted the ex part. Despite our having been divorced for three years now."
Willy swore softly. "He bother you a lot?"
She shook her head. "I'll go months without seeing him. Then usually just as soon as I meet someone, he shows up, makes a scene and well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."
"Scares 'em off, does he?" Willy mused. He grinned at Tam. "I don't scare easy."
"Willy," she insisted seriously, "David is bad news. Really bad news."
"You forget," he explained, "So am I. Tam, I can take care of myself. And you too for that matter. He doesn't scare me."
"He should," she mumbled. "He's been in jail for assault twice. He almost killed a bloke in a bar fight. He's dangerous. I don't want you hurt."
"How the fuck you ever get mixed up with him in the first place?" he demanded.
Tam stubbed out her smoke and took a sip of beer. Finally, she explained, "It's a long story."
Willy leaned back in the chair and prompted with a grin, "I have no other plans for the next six weeks. Tell me."
She gave him a weak smile and her eyes seemed to go far away as she began to talk. "My Dad is a racer. He owns a shop in Napier. I grew up around bikes and racing. It was all I knew. All I ever wanted to do. You could say I was more of a boy than a girl most of my life. Anyway, when I was seventeen, I met David. He was a racer, like my dad. He was different then, before the . . . well anyway, I was young and one weekend, I guess I didn't have anything much to do, so I fell in love. Because I was young he married me, was the only way he could have me, you know?" She grinned suddenly. "Might not believe it, but I was brought up proper."
"I believe it," he acknowledged softly. "Go on."
"Well," she continued, "we got married and I began to race too. Things with David were fine until I started winning. Then he got . . . he didn't like it. He didn't want me to race, didn't want me working at Dad's shop, didn't want me to be anything but barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. Except I wasn't stupid. I wasn't about to have a kid. When he found out I had been taking precautions he hit the roof. David," she added, "is Catholic and very strict about some beliefs. He became adamant that I get pregnant. I refused to and then he began to change. Before then, he'd been verbally abusive, but never physically. After he discovered I wouldn't get pregnant, I guess he stopped caring about hurting a baby and he began to hit me. After the second time he beat me, I left. Went home to Dad. Dad, bless him, saw my side of it and helped me. We got a solicitor, I got a divorce and moved up here to work at Red Baron."
Willy studied her face. She was much younger than he'd first thought, but in some ways far older too. "I'm sorry, Tam," he revealed softly. "Sorry you had such a dickhead in your life and sorry he won't leave you be. But he ain't scaring me away from you. Unless . . . " he continued as a new thought struck him, "you want me go?"
She reached across the table to take his hand. "No, Willy. I don't want you to go. In fact what I'd really like is for you to come home with me."
"Tam . . ." he whispered her name with part fear and part joy. "How do you know I'm not the same kind of dickhead as him?"
"Well, for one thing," she clarified with a laugh, "you didn't automatically assume he was telling the truth. Most blokes would have figured I WAS cheating on him. And you didn't push for an answer; you let me get there in my own way and time. That makes you so different I'm not even sure there are words to describe how much. Lastly, Willy, when you look at me, I can see in your eyes who you are."
Her words took his breath and his arguments away. He nodded and called for the bill. After they were squared away, he went with her to Red Baron Bikes. They got on her cycle and she took him to her flat. He looked around the neighborhood carefully when they arrived wondering if the ex might be lurking, but he saw no sign of it.
Tam's flat was like her, a mix of styles. One wall of the lounge was covered with neon signs, beer logos, bike logos and even her name flashing in pastel neon. The room was vivid with color. She had an elegant cream colored sofa, which was covered with Day-Glo pillows. The hardwood floor had throw rugs in bright shades of yellow, green and purple scattered everywhere.
The coffee table was a piece of glass that appeared to be balancing on a Harley bike motor. There was a long table along one wall covered with trophies and ribbons from her racing. Willy could see how successful she was at it. The prizes were all firsts. Hanging above the table was framed photographs. Tam in racing clothes, her cheeks flushed, an incandescent smile lighting her face as she accepted a tribute.
The electronic equipment was all top of the line and there was a huge rack of CD's. Willy strolled over to check out the music collection as Tam began to hesitantly offer him beer, wine, water or coffee. Willy found her nervousness at his inspection charming. He refused all manner of refreshment and finally said, "Tam, relax. I know you're upset. I didn't assume just because you offered you were serious. So chill."
She stood in the middle of her lounge staring at him. "Willy, I . . ." then suddenly her body began to tremble and he was there to hold her as the tears flowed.
"He's never going to leave me alone," she moaned. "Never. I don't how he finds out, but he always does. He ruins everything."
"He's not going to ruin this," Willy insisted. "Don't worry." He held her tight and stroked her hair. "I got a friend. He's a PI. He can help. Maybe he can find a way to get that dickhead off your back."
"I don't want anyone else involved. You don't know him. He'd just as soon kill you as look at you."
"It's been tried," Willy muttered. "And by smarter pricks than him. Trust me, Tam. I can take care of myself. And him," he added under his breath.
"Don't . . . you won't. Willy, don't get in a fight with him. He's . . . he'll kill you."
"Not if I kill him first," he muttered. "Anyways, Tam, don't worry about it. I'm not letting him get at you again. Not if I have to guard you twenty-four hours a day."
"Twenty-four hours," she repeated. She lifted her face from his shoulder and smiled at him. She touched his face lightly, her fingertips leaving a trail of heat on his skin. "I like that idea."
"You do, eh? Whatcha like about it?"
"You being with me, holding me like this," she murmured. She tilted her face towards his and kissed him.
Willy kissed her eagerly as her soft body melted against him. A fire inside both of them burned so brightly it begged for extinction. Except the more they kissed the hotter the fire grew.
The flames of desire leaped and danced between them, over their skin, crackling blue red tendrils of flame licked their bodies and soon they were groping and moaning as their bodies burned like an out of control blaze.
Tam led Willy to her bedroom and undressed him, pulling his vest and T-shirt off, touching his hot skin, unzipping his pants and smiling at every inch of him she unveiled.
Then she insisted he undress her. He did so gladly and slowly. When he got her blouse off, he discovered her tattoo. It was a black rose on her right arm. The leaves and vines wrapped around the upper arm. He kissed the tattoo reverently, like he kissed all of her. Her body was beautiful, lithe and muscled.
They got into bed and Tam pulled him on top of her, holding him tight and moaning his name. She reached for him and guided him inside, arching up to meet him.
Their bodies joined and they moved together, the flames of lust out of control, burning through them exploding like flashes on their skin. They moaned words with no meaning as their bodies danced that instinctive tango, knowing this was a moment in time where words had no meaning.
They moved to completion together and when the fire was finally doused, they fell asleep, their naked bodies wrapped tightly together, bound in a wordless wonderful place.
Willy saw Tam to work the next morning and then went looking for John. He tried John's house and then his office but John wasn't there. All his phones had messages about his being out-of-town and unreachable but that his messages would be forwarded. That did Willy no good. He went to his own flat and found the note John had pushed under his door. Shit, the one time he really needed him and he goes off to the States. Well, he'd just have to do this himself.
He'd gotten her ex's full name from Tam, David Bean, and from the bits and pieces she said he suspected the dickhead had a "friend" at Red Baron Bikes that kept track of Tam for him. So far so good. Now what would John do? Willy thought long and hard and finally decided John would run a computer check on the bloke. Well he didn't have a PC but John did . . .
Willy broke into John's office, the lock was easy enough to pick and booted up John's PC. Now, if he could just figure out how to use it . . .
Three hours later Willy had managed to delete half of John's files, found several X-rated porn sites on the Internet, ordered two magazine subscriptions, and had learned nothing about David Bean. He sighed with frustration and turned the machine off. Now what? He left John's office repicking the lock to shut the door behind him.
He went to the pub, ordered a beer and tried to think what do next. He was still sitting there when Dave Bruford showed up looking for him.
"Willy," Dave asked, "How you doing?"
Dave was attired like always in polyester and cotton, sharply pressed trousers, striped shirt and tie. He looked out of place in Willy and John's local, but Willy kind of respected him for never changing his image to fit his surroundings. It spoke of a man who was comfortable in himself and that was something Willy ALWAYS respected.
Willy nodded in recognition and lit a smoke. He studied Dave for a moment and then seemed to realize it wasn't a social call. "What's up?" Willy asked.
"Where were you earlier today?"
"Why?"
"Willy, don't make this tough, eh? Just answer me."
The tone of Dave's voice, full of cop officialdom, ticked him off. He was straight now and clean, he didn't need to take that shit from anyone, least of all Dave, who KNEW he wasn't a crim anymore. "Why you want to know?"
"Don't be an arsehole. Where were you?"
Since Willy had been breaking into John's office earlier, he
wasn't about to tell him. "Tell me why you want to know and I'll answer
you."
Dave sighed. He'd asked to be allowed to question Willy,
because he thought their "friendship" would make it easier. He never
felt quite as comfortable with the former dealer as John did, but still . . . He
wished to bloody hell John was in town instead of off to the States. What a time
for him to go away. "I can't do that," Dave insisted softly.
"Don't make me drag you down to the station. Just give me the bloody info,
eh?"
"Either bust me or piss off," Willy muttered angrily. "I don't have to answer your questions."
Dave sighed again. "You do, Willy. You do. Either here or at the station. Your choice. Come on, mate. I'm trying to do you a favor. Do yourself one, eh?"
Willy shrugged, his anger subsiding with the sincerity in Dave's voice. "I was out and about, can't remember exactly. Why?"
"Anyone with you?" Dave asked hopefully.
"Nope. What's going on?"
"Shit," Dave swore. "No alibi. Willy, you know a Tamara Hitchcock?" Willy nodded. "How about a David Bean?"
Willy shook his head no, then added quickly, "Least I was never introduced to him. I seen him once though."
"Last night, right?" Willy nodded. Dave paused and then studied him for a moment. "Willy, where were you today, between twelve and one?"
That would have been about the time he'd been breaking into John's office and screwing with his computer. "Can't remember," he shrugged. "Dave, what's going on? Has something happened to Tam?"
Dave shook his head. "No. But someone murdered David Bean today during that time. Willy, she's a suspect and so are you."
Willy swore softly. "I didn't kill him, but can't say I'm sorry to hear someone else did. And she didn't do it either. I know her. Why are we suspects?"
"Shit, man, you fought with him last night. And she threatened him today."
"I didn't fight with him," Willy refuted. "He split before I had a chance," Willy added with a grin, "I'd have beat the crap out of that dickhead if he'd stayed."
"I wish you hadn't said that," Dave muttered uncomfortably. "You're giving yourself motive. I really don't want to take you in. You sure you don't have anyone who can vouch for you today?"
Even if he copped to being in John's office, it wouldn't help. Cause he'd been alone. He shook his head. "No bro, no one." Willy paused and looked Dave up and down, "Whatcha want to take me in for? How am I supposed to have done the guy?"
Dave looked at the Maori for a long moment. He didn't really believe Willy would kill in cold blood. In the heat of a bar fight; yes, but not cold-blooded calculated murder. "His head was bashed in with a tire iron at the garage he owned."
"Why you think I did it?"
"You're having an affair with his wife, aren't you?"
"His EX-wife," Willy refuted. "And I wouldn't call it an affair. I just met her a few days ago. Besides, why would I have to kill the bloke to do her? Seems like an awful waste of energy to me."
Dave's eyes widened with concern as he explained, "Yeah, well, she ISN'T his ex-wife, the divorce papers were never signed. And from what I hear, Bean wasn't about to ever let her go. He had a lot of money, which she doesn't have. Anyway, Willy, I think I'd better take you down to the station and let the Inspector sort this out."
"Dave, don't do this," Willy muttered. Then his words sunk in. "What do you mean, she wasn't his ex-wife?"
"Bean never signed off. She's been trying to get him to sign those papers for years. But he always refused. Until he signed them or died, she was still legally his wife. Course now, she's not. Now, she's a widow. Maybe a black widow?" Dave insinuated.
"Tam isn't like that," Willy insisted. Least, he didn't think so. But what did he really know about her? She HAD lied to him about her husband. What else had she said that wasn't true?
"Come on, Willy," Dave urged. "I don't want to cuff you. Let's go."
Willy shook his head. "Don't be such a dickhead. If I was gonna kill that prick, dontcha think I'd have been smart enough to set up an alibi?"
"Maybe it was an accident," Dave suggested. "Bean was a big guy, maybe a fight got out of hand and it was self-defense."
Willy laughed. "You don't believe that. Are you really going to arrest me?"
"If I have to," Dave revealed. "But I'd rather not. Cause of John. Come on, Willy, be a mate. Come along quietly."
Willy shrugged and stubbed out his smoke. "You got nothing on me, Dave, except that I don't have an alibi. What are you going to arrest me for?"
"Resisting arrest?" he muttered. "Willy, don't be an ass. Just go along with me . . . please." Dave's facial resemblance to a puppy dog intensified as his big brown eyes pleaded with Willy to do as he asked.
Willy sighed. It had been a long time since he'd been rousted for anything. But he could tell Dave would arrest him if he didn't agree. "You just want me to help you with your inquiries?" Willy asked with more than a little irony in his tone.
Dave nodded. "Honest. Just come down, answer a few questions and we'll see if we can sort this out."
Willy rose from the stool and conceded, "I'm trusting ya, Dave. If this turns out to be a mistake on your part or mine . . ."
"Yeah, John would never forgive me," Dave muttered. "I know. Let's go."
Tam sat in the interrogation room waiting. When the cops had arrived at Red Baron Bikes and informed her that David was dead, a huge wave of relief had overwhelmed her. The wave of relief was soon replaced by fear as she realized that the cops suspected her of killing him. They wanted to know everything about her day. What time she arrived, who she'd seen, where she'd been, everything. She answered them having nothing to hide. Now she sat waiting on a hard chair in a cold room and wondered if it had been a mistake to talk to them without benefit of counsel. Still she had done nothing wrong.
The door opened and a trim woman in a sharply pressed uniform entered. She had short red hair and kind blue eyes. She carried a thick file and sat down across from Tam. "I'm Inspector Ellis," she announced. "I appreciate your cooperation. I only have a few more questions." The Inspector waited as Tam nodded. The Inspector continued, "Now about this fight you had with your husband this morning."
"Ex-husband," Tam insisted. "We've been divorced for three years."
"Ms. Hitchcock," Ellis stated, "he never signed the papers. You were still legally married."
"Not as far as I'm concerned," Tam demurred. "I haven't lived with him and I didn't consider him my husband."
Ellis sighed. "Fine. Now about this fight?"
"It wasn't a fight. I stopped by the garage to ask him to leave me alone. He refused, just like he always did, and I left."
"Two witnesses say the confrontation was loud and angry. That you made threats."
"Me?" Tam echoed with a laugh. "David was the violent one. Look at his record. He's no stranger to the police files."
"I have seen his record," Ellis commented dryly. She paused and remarked in a sympathetic tone, "I can understand how you would be afraid of him. He had a violent temper and he'd come after you before. Maybe you were so afraid he'd hurt you that you had no choice."
Tam shook her head. "I did not kill him," she stated firmly. "Why would I go back there?" She paused and met the Inspector's eyes evenly. "Your witnesses saw me leave. David was alive when I left."
"You can't account for your time between eleven-thirty and one though, can you?"
"Was that when it happened?" Tam asked. Ellis nodded. "I took a ride on my bike."
"A ride on your bike?" Ellis repeated.
"Yes I rode out on Great South Road."
"Why?"
Tam shrugged. "Why not? Inspector, I appreciate that you're doing your job, but I did not kill David. So . . ."
The Inspector sighed. The woman seemed plausible, but she had no alibi and plenty of reason to get rid of David Bean. "You have a new boyfriend," Ellis commented.
Tam's eyes widened. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"There was a confrontation last night. Maybe your boyfriend decided to take matters into his own hands?"
Tam felt a new wave of fear rush through her. Willy had been angry, it was true, but he would never . . . Still as crazy as she was about him, what did she really know about him? He'd been determined to protect her, but she hadn't told him where to find David. "No," Tam mumbled. "No."
Ellis watched the emotions move across the woman's face. Despite her denials, she WAS worried her boyfriend might have done it. What was his name? Ellis looked at her notes and her eyes widened as she saw the name Wallace "Willy" Kaa. Christ, she thought just what she needed. "Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?" Ellis asked.
"Like what? I didn't do it and neither did Willy."
"Then who would have reason?"
"Anyone who ever knew him," she retorted. "David was a world-class troublemaker. Ask around. He was a bully; he cheated his customers and his friends. He cheated when he raced. He was a first-class ass and everyone who ever spent more than five minutes with him wanted to do him."
Ellis sighed. She already knew that. This was not going to be an easy case to crack. Despite the fact that nine times out of ten the spouse was guilty, they didn't have enough direct evidence or even enough circumstantial evidence to arrest let alone convict. All they had on Tamara was two angry confrontations, one mild threat and no alibi. The case against Willy was even weaker. One confrontation and no alibi. She would have to release them both. Ellis rose. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said. "You can go."
Tam was surprised. "Thank you. I can't say I'm sorry he's dead, but . . . " She paused and then asked, "Will someone let me know what you find out?"
Ellis shrugged and handed her a business card. "You can ring me if you wish. If you think of anything that might help please let me know."
Tam nodded, accepted the card and insisted, "Honestly, Inspector, I didn't do it. And I don't know who did. But I'm grateful as hell."
Willy's "interview" was a lot shorter than Tam's. Although he had no alibi, he also didn't have much of a motive. Still the finger of suspicion was pointed at him. He learned very little from the cops, but eventually they let him go. They couldn't hold him. They had no evidence. He was released the same time as Tam and as he was swaggering out of the station, he ran into her.
"Willy?" she exclaimed with astonishment.
He studied her face for a moment then opened his arms. She collapsed into them gratefully. Dave watching the couple sighed disheartedly. He really hoped that they hadn't been in it together. He was sure the wife had done it. He didn't think John would be too happy if Willy was involved. He nodded to the plainclothes cop to follow them and went back to report to Ellis.
They picked up some Chinese take-away and brought it back to Tam's flat. As Willy watched her move around he was reminded of a nervous racehorse. She seemed skittish and anxious as if she was worried about something. "Tam," he suggested finally, "sit down and talk to me."
"Willy, I . . . shit . . . this is such an awful mess."
"Yeah, well, seems like stuff like this happens around me all the time."
"What? Whatcha mean?"
"Nothing," he muttered. "Anyways, this isn't your fault. Is it?"
"Willy, you don't think I . . . I didn't kill him."
"Of course not," he agreed with more conviction that he actually felt. "Why did you go see him?"
She shook her head. "I dunno. After you dropped me at work, I checked my voicemail and he left a nasty message. Said he was gonna . . . well . . . anyway, I wanted him to stop. So I . . ."
"What was he gonna?" he asked seriously.
She shook her head. She didn't want him to know that the threat was against him. "It doesn't matter. He can't hurt me or anyone anymore."
"Tam," Willy refuted, "I've been through this before. The cops aren't going to let it be. If they think you did it, they're gonna keep coming. Even if you didn't do it, if they think you did, they're gonna try and find a way to prove it."
"Even if I didn't?" she repeated. She studied his face. Did he actually think she might have killed David? Her first thought was to be angry that he didn't believe her, but then she realized if he thought she might have done it, HE hadn't! The relief pushed the anger out of her mind. "Willy," she breathed. She stopped pacing and joined him on the couch. "You didn't do it either, did you?"
His look of utter astonishment made her laugh. "You thought I'd done him?" he repeated. He shook his head. "That's what . . . " He grinned. "We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?" he grumbled. "Just like in the films, thinking that." He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "Tam," he asked slowly, "why did you tell me you were divorced?"
"As far as I'm concerned," she insisted. "I was. I know it wasn't legal, but Willy, honestly, it never seemed like a lie. It was just a piece of paper that needed his signature, you know?"
He thought he understood. "If I didn't do it and you didn't do it, then who did?"
She snuggled closer to him and asked, "Does it matter? He's gone and I'm free."
"It matters," Willy demurred. "Cause you ain't free and neither am I. Not until they nail the bloke who did it. John says the cops always think the spouse so they're gonna keep after you."
"Who's John?"
"A mate, the PI I told you about. Wish to hell he was here. Still, bet I can do what he could. Tam, who could a done him?"
"I don't know," she mused slowly. "Like I told the cops, pretty much everyone who knew him wanted to kill him. He was a world-class prick."
"Here's what we're gonna do," Willy exclaimed excitedly. "Since the cops aren't gonna look past you and me, we're gonna have to find the killer ourselves. The first step is . . . " he never got to finish the sentence.
Tam reached up, put her fingers over his mouth, and whispered, "Let's make that the second step, eh?" Then she kissed him passionately.
A week later Willy was sitting in John's office. Again he picked the lock, but this time he didn't intend to use the computer. Instead, he sat at John's desk trying to think like him.
Willy had always assumed John's job was easy. That being a detective wasn't all that hard, wasn't all that complicated. After all, how tough was it to follow somebody? How hard was it to find out all their secrets? You just took 'em to a pub, got them pissed and they'd tell you everything, right? Except, as he had learned, it wasn't all that easy.
With no "official" standing, he couldn't get the cops to tell him shit. Bean's garage was closed. No way to talk to any of his employees. Willy had gathered as much information from Tam as he could, but he still didn't know anything. He felt like a failure. Finally, he'd gotten a brilliant idea. He'd come back to John's office and begun going through John's files, looking for a murder investigation so he could follow the same steps John had.
He'd found two. The Franklin case and Caro's. He'd read both files thoroughly and now he was making a list.
He sighed. It sounded easy enough all written down like that, but he knew, somehow, that it wasn't. He took his notes and left John's office again relocking the door behind him.
Another week passed and Willy knew he was being followed, as was Tam. The cops had them both back for more questions, but since they had nothing new to say, the encounters were unsatisfactory to both parties. Willy knew he needed help. So finally, he'd tracked Dave down. It went against his grain to do it but . . . He started with, "Dave, I didn't kill that bloke and neither did she. I know you think we did, but I swear we didn't."
"Whatcha want, Willy?" Dave asked curiously. Willy had tracked him to the pub he went to with the other cops. He'd seen Willy enter and made an excuse to leave. Wouldn't do for him to be seen with a murder suspect. It had taken him forever to get out of that last mess John had gotten him into. He wasn't about to get in trouble again. He strolled out of the pub and down a few blocks and Willy had followed. Now they stood there on the street having this conversation.
"I need . . . help," Willy admitted grudgingly.
"Help?" Dave echoed. "What about John?"
"He's still out of the country. Look, Dave, I . . . shit . . . you owe me."
"I owe you?" Dave repeated. "For what?"
"The payroll thing. I got shot for Christ's sakes."
Dave grinned. "You had a fine time doing that, so don't try and guilt me into this."
"You gonna make me . . . " Willy couldn't finish the sentence. Asking for help was not in his nature and begging was even worse.
Dave took pity on him. "What you need?"
"Anything you can tell me about the murder. I swear we didn't do it, but I know you're still looking at us. That dickhead you got following me isn't very subtle."
"Not supposed to be," Dave admitted. "I'll see what I can do. But Willy, you shouldn't mess with this. Let us do our job."
"Seems like all you pricks ever do is try to frame John, or me, and now Tam. I can't take that chance."
Dave could see the concern on Willy's face and knew it wasn't for himself. "She mean that much to you?" Willy nodded. "Come by the house tomorrow night. I'll see what I can find out for you."
"Thanks," Willy mumbled. Then he melted into the night.
Dave fired up the barbie as Willy sat on the patio. Jo had looked askance at the big Maori when he arrived and Dave had immediately led him out the back.
Now as he turned some prawns on the grill, he gave Willy the nuts and bolts of the case. The facts were this:
At eleven-thirty, the employees at Bean's garage had begun to file out for lunch. By noon, Bean was the only one left in the place. He closed the doors from twelve to one everyday. When the employees came back, they found Bean on the floor of the garage. His head had been bashed in with a tire iron. There was blood splattered everywhere. The Corner's report said multiple blows to the head starting most likely with one from behind. There were no signs that Bean had struggled. The Coroner hypothesized that the first blow had driven him to his knees and subsequent blows, seven in all, had killed him. The tire iron was wiped clean of prints and was lying next to the body. As Willy already knew, Tam had been to see Bean that morning. The versions of their argument varied, but all of them agreed that she HAD threatened him. She had been heard to say as she was leaving that he'd better leave her alone or else.
"Not much of a threat," Willy commented.
Dave shrugged. "No, but he did die soon after. As his wife, she inherits everything including the garage, which as far as we can determine is worth a pretty penny. We have to look at her for it. Just like we have to look at you. Where were you anyway?"
Willy laughed. "You don't think I did it. Else you wouldn't be cooking for me." He shook his head. "What about his employees? His friends? Business associates?"
Dave shrugged. "The missus was right. Bean was a dickhead. No one liked him. He owed everyone who worked for him money, claimed he was broke, yet we found a bank account with thousands in it. There were several lawsuits pending against the garage for faulty repairs. Still, doesn't mean any of them did him. Willy, are you sure about her? She doesn't have an alibi, he wouldn't give her a divorce, she inherits and she'd know he'd be alone."
"I'm sure," he assured the cop. "Tam didn't do it. Shit, she thought I did."
That made Dave laugh. He flipped the prawns and suggested, "Well only other place would be Bean's friends and business associates. You could start there. We talked to most and while none of 'em have a good word to say, that don't really mean shit."
"Still, he had to have done the dirty to someone, pissed them off bad enough to do him."
Dave shrugged. "He apparently pissed off everyone, but . . . his racing buddies," Dave mused slowly. "The bikers. They didn't say much. I got a feeling they know something, but they aren't talking. Maybe . . ."
"Maybe what?" Willy asked eagerly.
"Well, if it were John, he'd probably go undercover, you know, join 'em."
"Join 'em?" Willy rolled the phrase off his tongue. "I can do that, eh? Get a bike and ride with them."
"You got a license?" Dave asked worriedly.
"No worries," Willy mumbled, "There isn't a vehicle I can't ride or fix."
"Well, then, that's your place to start."
Willy nodded his agreement as a plan began to form in his mind.
Willy got Tam to agree to supply the bike and to tell him where to find Bean's friends. She worried that he was out of his league but he was adamant. She was afraid for him, but she knew that if she tried to stop him . . . Willy was a mass of contradictions. Tough, reckless, gentle, loving, he WAS a badass, but a badass with a heart. She didn't want him hurt, but she knew the cops were still after them and she did want out from under. So she gave him what he needed.
Willy found the pub, Land's End, where the bike racers hung out. It was full of leather and chrome, big burley blokes, tough talking women and biker wannabes. Willy swaggered in, sure of his ability to blend in and found the group of Bean's former employees, friends and racing buddies sitting in the back near the pool table. Tam had shown him pictures and he'd fixed all their faces in his mind.
There was Blade, a big white man, pale as a ghost, with slicked back blonde hair, blood-shot blue eyes and Harley tattoos on his arms. He was a serious racer. He did nothing else. He'd gotten his nick from the switchblade scar he carried proudly on the left side of his face.
Snake worked part time at Red Baron and Willy suspected he was Bean's snitch on Tam, but he couldn't prove it. He was of Maori descent, dark skinned and dark eyed with a rugged build just beginning to run to fat. He had snake tattoos on his arms and back and claimed to keep a boa constrictor as a pet in his flat. Though, as Tam had explained, he always smelled so bad, no woman she knew ever went to his flat to check if the rumor was true.
There was Nick, generic Polynesian; he called himself, not Pakeha, not Maori, just typical Kiwi. Nick had no distinguishing features, no scars or tattoos, but he was rich. Very, very rich. Racing was his hobby and he SAID his avocation. He refused to take ANY nickname, hence his nickname of Nick.
Monkey had worked at Bean's garage and grown up with him. They went way back and though Bean had always, in Tam's opinion treated Monkey like less than dirt, Monkey never seemed to notice. He had an amiable unflappable demeanor, unlike the rest of the crew. He was so nice in fact, that he probably wouldn't have even been invited to hang out with them, despite his relationship with Bean, except he could fix anything wrong with a bike in about a fourth of the time it took anyone else and usually only with a monkey wrench, hence his nickname.
There was Gonzo, a fan of Hunter S. Thompson, who sold insurance and raced on the weekend for stress relief. And there were the twins, Dee and Dum, they dressed alike and talked alike, in fact, they were identical. As far as Tam could determine, no one could tell them apart and they seemed to like it that way. Tam also said they did everything together, even going so far as to marry identical twin sisters. She never liked to think about what went on in their bedrooms, since the two couples also shared the same house.
There were seven men in the tight little group, all hanging out in the pub. Willy watched them for a while, trying to figure out how to get next to them when luck came his way. Snake and Monkey began to shoot stick. He strolled over and asked to play the winner. Then he bought them all drink after drink. They seemed a bit suspicious of the stranger, so he mostly kept quiet and let them get used to him.
After two days of his buying them drinks, they asked about his bike. Tam had done him proud. It was a top-of-the-line Harley. He made mention of the "fact" that he bought it from her. That seemed to open the gates.
All the blokes admitted to knowing her and Bean. All the blokes agreed she was a choice piece of ass and much better off without the prick. Nick wondered who was the lucky stiff who was bonking her now and Willy had to bite his tongue and pretend to go with the flow. He agreed that he'd love a taste, but . . . he heard a rumor that she'd been the one to deal her husband. Seemed like that wouldn't be a recommendation. No one said anything to that.
Long about the fifth shot, Willy wondered aloud why she did him. No one answered at first and then Snake finally said, "Bet she didn't. Everyone who knew him hated him, mate. Everyone, except maybe Monkey here. Monkey loved him, eh?"
Monkey just shook his head and looked at his boots. Then he changed the subject. Willy left soon after, feeling like he'd learned enough for one day.
When he came back the fourth day, the blokes decided he was a mate and invited him for a "ride." He agreed without realizing what he had agreed to. They all, seven bikers and Willy, rode out to a deserted beach. Then they raced at speeds that made Willy's head spin. Still, he hung in there and even managed to win two heats. This made him one of the blokes. By the end of the week he had a lot more information but was still no closer to solving the mystery. He wished John would get back. He would get his wish.
Three weeks in D.C. had done John a world of good. When he finally returned to Auckland, he felt like he had a handle on his life. He picked up his car at the airport; drove home, dropped his duffel, and took a long hot shower.
He called Randa, informed her things had gone well, and then called Eric. Shay answered the telephone.
"You're back, then?" she said.
"Yeah. Can I see Eric tonight?"
"He'd like that. He's missed you. He's in school, else I'd let him tell you himself."
"Sorry, I'm a little . . . "
"Jet lagged, I'm sure. Do you think . . . could you come over? I've been thinking and maybe we should talk," she asked eagerly.
He'd come to that conclusion as well. Being alone with Shay where there was a bed was not something that he felt was wise. "I need to go by my office. Can you meet me there in an hour?"
She hid her disappointment. Her voice was steady as she agreed.
John thanked her and hung up. Then he listened to the messages on his phone.
When John walked in to his office, he knew someone had been there. The file cabinets were open, the locks had been picked, and several files were strewn over his desk. When he booted the PC he could see someone had messed with it, all sorts of things were gone. When he checked his e-mail account there were confirmations for two subscription orders one to Playboy and the other to Popular Mechanics. About one hundred messages from various porno sites with hotlinks attached and a slew of obscene offers. He felt like he'd walked into the twilight zone. It was clear someone had broken in, gone through his files and used his PC. But why and to do what?
If impressions were to be trusted, it appeared a kid had been there, using the PC, surfing for stuff he shouldn't have. He wondered if maybe Eric had done it, but the lock picking worried him. That spoke to someone with skills and a purpose, not a kid trying to misbehave. He sighed and listened to the messages on the machine. Dave had called that morning. He sounded almost desperate. John was about to ring him when Shay walked in.
"You been redecorating?" she asked as she seated herself in a chair.
He shook his head. He gestured around and asked slowly, "Does Eric," then he shook his head and added, "never mind." He studied her for moment. She looked much better than the last time he'd seen her. Her face was relaxed and her eyes were no longer red rimmed. Her hair was pulled back off her face and she'd made an effort to put on makeup. She wore a soft cotton summer dress with bare sleeves and her skin was tan. She was flushed from the sun. He could see the swell of her breasts every time she breathed and he felt that sexual attraction fire up again. "You look good," he remarked slowly. "Flu gone?"
She laughed softly. "Yes. How were the States?"
"Not New Zealand, that's for sure. The Yanks are . . . " words failed him for moment. He wasn't ready to discuss his experiences in the US capital. At least not until he understood them himself. "It's a very strange place, Washington DC. Beautiful though. Anyways how's Eric?"
"He's good. He missed you though. He's been hanging on to the neck thing you gave him like it's the Holy Grail. I don't know if he'll want to give it back."
"I don't intend to take it back. It was my father's and I want my son to have it."
"Figured it was something like that," she acknowledged.
"So what did you want to talk about?"
"Are you ever going to forgive me?" she blurted out.
"Shay, I . . . " he paused. "I had some time to think, some time to process this. And yeah, I think so. It's just that I feel so cheated. When I discovered . . . it made me wonder, you know, if I hadn't ended up coaching Eric, if I'd ever have known. I know that I was a nineteen-year-old dickhead, but you still should have told me."
"You know now," she admitted in a very small voice. "I could apologize until I'm blue in the face but it won't change anything. Eric's thirteen. You can't go back. I can't go back. I made a mistake, a big mistake, and I'm sorry for it. I can't make up for all those years you lost. I can't give them back to you, but . . . " She rose from her chair and come over to John's side of the desk. She pulled a thick leather album from her tote bag and laid it in front of him. "I thought you'd like to see this. It's a history. A sort of moving picture. I wish I'd had a video recorder or something, but . . ."
John tilted his head to stare at her. Shay's eyes were looking at him with yearning and fear. What the hell did she have to be afraid of? Then he understood. "Shay," he revealed softly, "I don't want to take him away from you. I just want to be a part of his life. That's all. I know you love him and he loves you. I don't want to change that. You're his Mum. The only parent he's ever known. I'm not about to try to take on that role. He needs you. But he needs me too. And I," he added softly, "need him."
She let out a huge sigh of relief. One more hurdle in the vast Rubicon between them crossed. "He needs you, too," she murmured. "All the time you were gone, he kept telling me over and over what a choice time you had before you left. He didn't get in a single fight either and he went to the gym and worked out with the weights too. John, he's really fond of you. I think . . . he asked about us. About our dating . . . He . . . "
John laughed. "He didn't happen to mention our little conversation, did he?" She shook her head. "He tried a little matchmaking. I told him you could get your own blokes and that he didn't need to do it for you. It was kinda sweet actually. He worries about you like I used to worry about my Mum. He's a good kid, Shay. You've done an amazing job all things considered."
"Thank you." She wanted more than anything to put her arms around him and bury her face in his shoulder. She knew he knew it just as she knew it was no longer an option. She felt tears began to well in her eyes. "John," she apologized softly, "I'm so sorry. About everything."
He saw the pain and part of him wanted to comfort her, but he knew the potential for misunderstanding was just too great. To touch her in anyway was only going to lead to places that he couldn't risk going. "I know you are," he murmured finally. He dropped his eyes from her face and opened the album. There was Eric's birth certificate with Phil's name as father. He felt the anger flow through him again. He clenched his hands, closed his eyes and counted to twenty before he spoke. When he opened his eyes Shay had left his side of the desk and gone back to the chair. "Shay," he asked, "Where can I find Phil? I want to talk to him."
"What good would that do?"
"He has a lot to answer for," John grumbled. "He had no business doing to Eric what he's done. The boy feels like it's his fault his Dad doesn't see him."
She shook her head. "You'd be talking to a brick wall. He doesn't get it. Not any of it. And he did try, John. He really did. It's just every time he looked at Eric; he'd see you. And he'd know that I didn't love him."
"Shay, I'm sorry, but when he married you, he took on Eric for life. Then he just abandoned him. It's not fair to Eric, let alone you. Eric loves him."
"Maybe, but Phil isn't going to listen. And especially not to you. Leave it, John. Just make your own way with your son."
He still felt stunned hearing those words. "I want to tell my Mum," John remarked. "She's not had an easy time of it and I think it would make her happy. But if I do . . . "
"We're going to have to tell Eric eventually. I can see that. It's just . . . can you wait a bit longer?" She paused and then added, "I think, if we wait until he's grown more attached, well, it would make it easier, you know? Almost as if he wanted it."
"I guess," he agreed with a shrug. "What time can I come get him?"
"Seven would be good. I have to be at work by seven-thirty."
"You haven't quit the Hardcastle yet?" She shook her head. "I told you I'd make up the money. Do it," he insisted.
Her eyes widened. "John, I'm not used to . . . taking orders from anyone, least of all you. Are you sure you want to do it? That you can afford it?" She looked around the messy office.
He laughed. "Don't let appearances fool you. Shay, I make a lot of money at what I do. The D.C. trip was very profitable. So yes, I am sure and yes, I CAN afford it." He opened the desk and pulled a checkbook out. He scribbled for a moment and then handed her a piece of paper.
Shay took it and her eyes widened further at the amount. "John, this is an enormous amount of money."
"Just consider it a down payment on Eric's future. Or the child support that Phil never paid. Now will you quit the Hardcastle?"
"Tonight." She rose from the chair. "I'll see you when you pick up Eric."
He nodded. "Thanks for the album. Do you mind if I hang on to it for a bit? Get the pictures duplicated?"
"Not at all. I should've done it."
"No worries," he murmured automatically as he began to flip the pages.
She looked at him for one more moment, then stuck the check in her pocket and left.
John was still looking with wonder at the pictures of his son when he heard a loud cough and then, "Don't return your calls anymore?"
John slammed the album shut and gave Dave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, just got back this morning and I'm trying to catch up. How are you?"
Dave walked over to the desk and stared pointedly at the album. "Holiday photos?" he asked dryly.
John shook his head, felt his face flush and then he slid the album off his desk and into a drawer. "Another case," he mumbled. "What's up?"
"You seen Willy?" Dave asked as he sat down.
"Not yet. Why?" John studied Dave's face. "Shit," he swore. "He in trouble?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Dave filled John in on Willy's activities at least the ones Dave knew about. He told John about Tamara and the murder. About Willy wanting to play PI and what he suspected Willy was up to. "I think he's in over his head. He could use your help."
"Shit, Dave," John swore. "I can't believe you'd tell him to go under like that. Willy's not . . . " then John laughed. Actually, Willy WAS capable of duplicity and maybe it wasn't such a stretch for him to hang out with bikers. "I'll see if I can find him. You really think she did it?"
Dave shrugged. "I don't know anymore. But until we do nail someone . . . "
John nodded. He knew all about suspicion hanging like a black cloud over your head. "Thanks for coming. I appreciate what you did for him."
"Well," Dave muttered uncomfortably, "like he said, I owed him."
John laughed. Dave was such a soft touch. They both knew he didn't owe Willy a thing, although both John and Willy owed Dave a lot. Still, John was grateful. "I'll do what I can," John repeated.
Dave rose and as he turned to leave asked, "How were the States?"
John shrugged. "It was okay, but they don't know shit about beer."
Dave laughed and left. John rose, turned off the PC and went to find Willy.
At the moment John was discovering the vandalizing of his office, Willy was making a list of all the things he knew so far. He had a lot of facts, but didn't know what to make of them. Tam wasn't much help, at least not when it came to "solving" anything. Still despite the cloud over their heads, the relationship bloomed.
Willy took his list to the local for a beer, which was where John finally found him at five-thirty. John strolled in and saw his friend sitting pensively at the bar smoking a cigarette and staring into his beer.
John walked up to him. "Hey bro, long time no see."
"About time you got back," Willy grumbled. Then he turned and grinned at John. "Pull up a stool."
John refrained from hugging him. It was the most puzzling thing, but ever since he'd learned Eric was his son, he'd felt the desire to be physically demonstrative to everyone. It was as if all the unexpressed emotions he felt screamed to get out. Instead, he slid on to the stool next to Willy. He gestured for beer and after it came and he'd taken a sip of the rich brew, so different from the weak American stuff he'd been forced to drink, he asked, " So how ya keeping?"
Willy studied him. John looked tired but otherwise calm and relaxed. "Same as always," Willy muttered. "How was the trip?"
"Okay. Yanks don't know how to brew beer though."
Willy laughed. "When did you get back?"
"This morning. So whatcha been doing with yourself? Keeping out of trouble?"
Willy searched John's eyes suddenly loath to tell him. He suspected John would take over the "case," HIS case. He'd probably solve it in five seconds too. He hated that John was so good at everything. It made him feel like a third-string rugby halfback. When they'd first met John had needed him, needed his help. These days seemed like John didn't need him at all. Frances and those kids he coached consumed John's life. It hurt Willy more than he was willing to acknowledge. He felt a tiny burst of resentment flaring inside. "You know me," Willy retorted. "Trouble follows, but no more than usual."
John sighed. Willy didn't seem to want to tell him. He knew Willy was proud, much too proud to ask for help, and yet, he'd gone to Dave for it. He didn't want to embarrass his friend by telling him Dave had been to see him. He wanted Willy to tell him himself. He tried again. "Haven't had a chance to catch up on all the news, anything interesting happen while I was away?"
Willy shrugged. "All-Blacks lost a close one."
John laughed. "What else is new?" he said rhetorically. "They always lose the close ones."
"Too true, mate. So you here for the duration?"
John checked his watch. "Nah. Came by see how you were doing. I've got plans later."
"A date?" Willy asked with raised eyebrows.
John shook his head. "Taking the kid, Eric, the one I've been training, for a feed."
Willy eyed him speculatively. "You spend an awful lot of time with that kid. How come?"
Somehow, John couldn't bring himself to explain. Not yet. Even if Willy wasn't going to ask for his help, he still didn't want to lay this on him. "I like him," John mumbled. "Besides, he reminds me of me at that age."
"Holy terror, were you?" Willy echoed with a laugh. "I can believe that. No worries, I have plans myself."
"Is that so?" John queried. "A lady?"
"A tiger," Willy snorted. Then he grinned. "Yeah. Her name is Tam."
John grinned back. "So you're finally getting some?" he teased.
Willy's grin seemed to vanish, as he contradicted, "No call to talk about her like that."
"Sorry, bro. I didn't mean to offend. It's serious, then?"
Willy shrugged. "Don't know. But . . . she's something, she is."
"I'd like to meet her," John hinted. "Maybe I can catch up with you later?"
Willy shook his head. "We're staying in this evening."
John smothered his smile. Willy's face was a treat. He was clearly in love; John had never seen him like this before. It quite charmed him. Still, if Dave was right, this Tam was not going to do anything but hurt Willy in the end. "Another time, then?" Willy nodded. "How about tomorrow?" John asked.
"I'll check with her. See if she wants to meet you." It occurred to Willy that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to introduce John to Tam. Women tended to see John and no one else. It didn't do too much for Willy's ego.
"Don't hold out on me, mate."
"Hold out on you?" Willy echoed. "What's that mean?"
"You're grinning like a fool. I want to meet the woman who can do that to ya. She's bound to be something special."
Willy grinned harder. "She is, bro, she is."
John downed the rest of his beer and got up from the stool. "I'm off. Let me know about tomorrow, eh?"
Willy nodded thoughtfully as he watched John go. Then he pulled his list of facts from his vest pocket and began to go over it again. The answer was there, it had to be, but he was too blind to see it.
"Willy," Tam repeated slowly, "we've been over this twenty times. It's not getting any clearer. I don't know who killed David and I'm thinking we'll never know."
He sighed with frustration. "So whatcha think we should do?" he asked after a moment.
"You said your mate, John, the PI is back. Maybe we should ask him."
"Tam, he's bound to be busy, backlog cases and such."
Tam studied her lover. She adored Willy and she loved that he was putting himself out so her behalf. She was worried though. She knew that whoever killed David wasn't just going to go quietly should Willy find him. And even if it wasn't one of David's friends, the bikers were not nice blokes. "Willy, all the same, maybe you should ask him to help."
"I can do this," he insisted. "There isn't anything John can do that I can't."
She slid over on the couch and put her arms around him. She kissed his lips lightly and added, "I'm sure you're every bit as smart as he is. But Willy, you aren't objective. So maybe what's needed is an unprejudiced eye. You know someone who can just look at the facts without letting his feelings get in the way."
He smiled at her and brushed her hair off her face. "You saying I'm letting my feelings interfere?"
She ran her hands down his body, feeling the hard muscles in his chest and the warmth of his skin. She let her hand slide down further tracing his shaft. "That or something else," she teased she began to stroke him through his jeans.
"Hmm," he murmured as he pulled her tight. "I'll have to think on that."
"Not right now," she whispered huskily. "I think it's time to let those feelings interfere."
He laughed and then he kissed her.
While Willy was sharing in some connubial bliss, John was trying to get his son to talk to him. He knew the second he arrived at the flat that something was wrong. He looked to Shay for guidance, but she'd shrugged and given him no help.
Eric was quiet and sullen in the car and when they got to the restaurant, he stayed that way. John carried the bulk of the conversation, trying to amuse him with tales of his adventures in the American wilderness of Washington D.C. Nothing seemed to work. Eric's dark eyes, so like his own, remained cloudy, his mouth pressed in a tight line, his answer to questions monosyllables. Finally, John could stand it no longer. He asked softly, "Eric, are you mad at me about something?"
The boy just stared at him sulkily and said nothing.
John sighed. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me. I can't read your mind, you know. And the words yes and no don't tell me much."
"You said you were gonna ring me when you got back about the boxing," the boy grumbled finally.
John's eyes widened. "I know. I just got back this morning. You were in school when I rang. I talked to your Mum and arranged this. Did you think I'd forgotten?"
"You haven't mentioned it. I asked her when she said you were gonna take me to eat, and she said you didn't mention it."
The light bulb went on in John's mind. Eric thought John had changed his mind. Christ, he'd been so focused on just seeing the boy, being with him, that it hadn't occurred to him what Eric's expectations might be. No wonder he was upset. "I'm sorry," John apologized. "I figured we'd discuss it tonight. Set up a schedule."
"Oh," Eric mumbled. "You still want to?"
"Absolutely," John confirmed. "Unless you don't?"
"I do," Eric insisted. "I just thought . . ."
"Sorry," John apologized again. "Guess I kind of fell off that roller coaster, eh? Told you I wasn't sure how good I'd be at this."
Suddenly Eric smiled. "I'm real good at roller coasters. I can help you. Say . . . you think . . . You ever been to Rainbow's End?"
John smiled back and knew it would be okay. It WAS going to be a roller coaster ride. Eric was so sure he was worthless that he just assumed that no one would want him around. Well John knew all about that, he'd been there. He could and would work at building up the boy's fragile self-esteem. He'd make sure Eric never felt abandoned again. While all these thoughts were running through his mind, he found his mouth saying, "Once. I'd like to go again. Maybe you and I?"
Eric's smile was bright enough to light the entire city of Auckland for a year.
John was in his office bright and early the next day. When he dropped Eric, the boy tried to give him the Manaia back, but John requested he hang on to it a bit longer. He said Shay had told him that Eric hadn't had a single fight while he was gone. He figured the necklace was the reason, kind of a good luck talisman. Eric had been thrilled and after a mild protest had agreed. The smile on his son's face had stayed with John all night.
Now he sat in his office and tried to suss out who might have broken in and what they might have been trying to find or do. Only it made NO sense. When he'd left for the States, he'd only had his corporate clients pending, and he'd gotten another PI to handle them. He was at a loss to understand what happened. He was still musing over it when he heard the door open.
John looked up to see Willy standing in the doorframe. His friend's eyes were darting nervously around the room. "Gidday, Willy," John greeted him. "You're up early."
"Yeah, right." Willy took two steps further into the office. Again, he looked around. "Whatcha been doing here?" he asked.
"What you mean?" John inquired.
"Place is a mess," Willy commented. He didn't think he'd left it like that, had he?
"Truth is, I don't rightly know what's been going on here," John complained. "While I was gone someone got in here, fucked with the computer and went through some files. Makes no sense. I'd think it was a kid, but the locks were picked clean. The dickhead even locked the door behind himself."
"No shit?" Willy exclaimed. "Awful thing, bro. Sorry it happened. Listen, you know last night, when you asked about what went on while you were away?" John nodded. "Well, I realized I forgot to tell you about . . . " he swallowed hard and started again. "Tam, she, her husband got murdered."
"Is that a fact?" John remarked dryly. "Little thing like murder skipped your mind, did it?"
Willy could hear the amusement in John's voice and he didn't like it. Still, he had promised Tam and so he plowed on. "Well, you know, didn't want to bother you, your first day back and all. Anyway, I've been doing a little, um, investigating on my own."
"Have you now?" John mused thoughtfully. Of course! It was Willy! Shit, Willy must've been the one who broke in and now he was too embarrassed to admit it. Well just knowing that it was Willy eased his mind. That meant nothing sensitive to his clients had been compromised. "So how's the investigation going?"
"Well, see, the thing of it is . . . " Willy paused. "Tam thinks I'm not objective enough. Thinks maybe you might be able to give us a better read on the facts, eh?"
John could hear in Willy's voice what the request cost him. He realized with a start that Willy not only hated asking for help he especially hated asking him for it. For whatever reason it obviously bothered Willy more to come to John than it had to go to Dave. Another issue they'd never discuss. Instead, John made it as easy as he possibly could for his friend. "So Tam thinks I might be able to help, does she? Well, I'd be happy to try. What she want me to do?"
Willy gave a sigh and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket. "She thought you might be able to make more sense of this than she could." He handed John his notes.
John looked at the paper. It was a list of names, possible motives and alibis. It was quite complete and very efficiently done. "You do this?" he asked. Willy nodded. "Excellent job, Willy. First class."
"Really?" Willy asked with surprise.
John nodded. "Yeah, really. It's kind of like a logic puzzle," John explained. "You know one of those things where you have to suss out who has the feather and who has the bat. Anyway, it's pretty clear from this that everyone who knew this bloke wanted to kill him." Willy nodded. "But if the alibis are true only two people on here could do it. But you probably already knew that, right?" Again, Willy nodded. "So it has to be either Snake or Monkey. Was that how you had it figured?" John asked.
Willy had never made it quite that far, but he nodded sagely, "Too right, mate. Only I . . . Tam . . . We don't know how to prove it or how to get the cops to look at them instead of us."
John nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you know, we might be able to get some info on the 'net. That is if you happen to know their real names."
Willy did. He gave the names to John and then watched fascinated as with a few deft clicks, John had Snake and Monkey's whole life at his fingertips. Both of them had police records. Both of them raced. Both of them were owed money by Bean. Only one of them had made a huge cash deposit the day after the murder. Only one of them had been a twice witness to Bean's confrontations with Tam. Monkey had been at the cinema with Bean as well as at the garage when Tam came to see him. In addition, Monkey had put five thousand cash into his account the day after Bean had been slain. If Monkey had seen Willy before Willy had "joined" their group, why hadn't he said anything? Only reason he wouldn't admit it was if he had something to hide.
"Willy," John suggested, "I think we should ring Dave. Let him handle this now. We found enough to give them another suspect."
Willy shook his head. "No. I want another crack at Monkey. See if I can shake something loose."
John grinned at the unintentional humor then quickly sobered as he insisted, "If he's killed once, nothing to stop him from killing again. Let the professionals handle it."
"Think I'm not capable?" Willy groused.
"That's not what I meant. Look, bro, I know this is important to you, but, well, . . . you're important to me. I'd be well and truly pissed off if something happened to you."
"Nothing's gonna happen to me. I can take care of myself."
"I have no doubt of that, but once a bloke's gone over the line and killed, it gets easier and easier. If Monkey thinks you're a threat he won't think twice about dealing you."
"I can handle it," Willy insisted. "I'm living straight now but in the old days . . . I'm still good with a knife."
"Yeah, well, you have to see it coming to be able to fight it off. Look, if you're gonna do this, than at least let me back you up."
"Back me up?" Willy repeated.
"Yeah, go with you when you do whatever it is you wanna do." John paused. "Willy, I'd be really buggered if I lost you too. And you know, if she were still with us, Caro wouldn't want . . . well she'd kill me if I let you get yourself killed."
Willy studied his friend. John seemed sincere and totally without guile. He wasn't acting as if he didn't trust him or as if he thought he couldn't handle it, but like he just wanted to help. He was right about Caro, too. If she was still alive, she be all over him about this. "Well, okay. Cause Caro would have wanted it, mind, not cause I need the help."
"Right, bro," John agreed. "For Caro." John waited and asked, "What's the plan?"
"Plan?" Willy echoed. "I'll have to get back to you, eh? Need to think on it."
"Sure, bro, sure," John agreed. "Just give me some notice though and don't go off without me."
Willy nodded and split.
John cleaned up the office and went to rugby practice. Frances came by and watched for a bit, seeing the way John behaved around Eric. She was proud of John. Despite the unacknowledged relationship between the two, he showed the boy no favoritism. If she noticed something extra in his gaze at Eric, well she WAS looking for it.
After practice, she invited John over, but he said he was still feeling a bit of jet lag and was going to crash. She let him go and went home.
Willy thought about how best to confront Monkey and then decided to ask Tam's advice. He told her all about his meeting with John. Tam was glad he had a mate who cared so much. They decided it might be best to get Monkey alone and run a scam on him. It was risky, but Willy remembered how John caught Caro's killer and thought if they could wire Tam it might work. That night Willy told Tam about Caro.
Willy with Tam in tow appeared at John's office the next day. After Willy performed introductions, he explained the plan. John thought it was way too risky but the lovers were adamant. They both had received requests from the cops to again come in to "help with their inquiries," and they wanted this to be over. John called Andy to arrange to borrow the gear. He also arranged for Andy to backup them up as well. It was a good thing he did.
Tam called Monkey at the bike shop where he now worked to arrange the meeting. She told him just enough to make him curious and to agree to meet her. She had finally hired a lawyer and he had gotten her the keys to David's garage. She arranged for Monkey to meet her there later that night.
She and Willy connected with Andy who was only too happy to offer to wire up the attractive brunette. Willy smacked his hands and had him show him how, and then Willy wired Tam himself. Andy took it with his customary good nature and good humor although he did ask Tam what size lingerie she wore.
They waited a half-hour for John and when he didn't show they went without him. Willy was pissed off but not completely surprised. John seemed to be steadily moving away from him, no matter what he said, and this was another case of it.
Monkey was waiting outside the deserted garage when Willy and Tam arrived. Monkey didn't seem surprised to see both of them. Tam unlocked the door and the three of them entered together.
"What's this, then?" the mechanic demanded.
"Well," Tam explained, "like I told you on the phone, I know a bit more than I told the cops. As you know, Monkey, I never liked the cops much and I figured whoever did David did me a favor. But they keep coming after me. And I want off this hook. But since you DID do me a favor by killing David, I thought I'd warn you before I went to them."
Monkey laughed. "You think I dealt David?" He shook his head. "Why?"
"Two reasons probably. One David was SUCH an ass and two for the money."
"Money? What money?"
"David kept a lot of cash in the safe at work. At least five grand. He liked to make some untraceable purchases. The money wasn't there when the cops searched the premises. I don't have it. But I'm betting you do."
"He gave it to me," he answered quickly. "He owed it to me. Back pay."
"I'm sure that's true," Tam agreed softly. "Still, if I tell the cops that and that I saw you going into the garage, well . . . "
"What you mean, you saw me?"
Tam and Willy exchanged glances. This was the tricky part, because they didn't know the exact time he had done it. "I told the cops I was out riding Great South Road. But that was a lie. I came back to the garage. I thought maybe if I could see David alone, when he didn't feel the need to bully me in front of everyone, maybe I could convince him to . . . well, anyway, when I got here, I saw you going in. I waited for a bit and then you came out. You looked upset and confused. Angry too. I figured you and David must've gotten into it so I split. I never said anything, cause like I said, you did me a favor killing him. But now, well, I want the cops off my neck."
"You saw me?" he repeated. "What time was it? What was I wearing? What was I carrying?"
So the dickhead was smarter than they thought. Still Willy was prepared, he growled, "Don't come down on her. She's trying to do you a favor. Warning you before she goes to the cops and spills it. I told her not to bother. That she didn't owe you bugger all, but she insisted. Said you'd always been nice to her."
"This is no business of yours," Monkey snarled, his attention now focused on Willy. "This is between her and me. And I wanna know what she saw!"
"She already told you. Are you saying you didn't do it?" Willy turned towards Tam and observed, "You know something, maybe he DIDN'T do it. Maybe he just got there, found Bean dead and took the money. Doesn't seem like he'd really have the balls anyway. I seen him race. He rides like a girl."
"You son of a bitch," Monkey screamed. He lunged for Willy, but Willy was ready and twisted out of his grasp.
Willy stood his ground his hand gripping the hilt of his favorite knife. "You don't have the balls to do me and I bet you didn't do Bean either. You just took advantage, like a coward."
"Funny, that's what HE said right before I killed him. I'll kill you too," Monkey yelled. He made another run at Willy and this time he got him. He tackled him to the ground. The two men fought each other and for the knife for what seemed like an eternity. Tam stood there frozen afraid to do anything except silently scream as she watched the man she loved fight for his life.
Willy and Monkey were a tangle of arms and legs and fists. The knife slipped out of Willy's hand as they pummeled each other. Monkey straddled Willy and hammered at his face, his chest, his arms and his ribs. Tam began to wonder why Andy or somebody hadn't shown up to help. Then she realized unless she said something Andy probably didn't realize anything was wrong. So she shouted, "Help! Andy help!"
Willy had thrown Monkey off and grabbed the knife. He went into a crouch and so did Monkey. The two men studied each other and then it happened. They grappled together for the knife and then they both groaned. As the two men one of whom now had a knife in his belly began to sink onto the hard concrete floor, Willy's friend John Lawless came barreling into the garage.
"Shit, Willy," John shouted as he rushed over to the two men, "I told you to wait for me."
Willy pulled the knife out of Monkey's belly, then dropped the bloody weapon on the floor as the mechanic slid to his knees. "Couldn't wait any longer. Surprised you bothered to show up at all."
"I'm sorry," John apologized. "Something came up."
"Seems like something comes up a lot," Willy retorted. "Anyways I handled it. Probably should get the EMT's for this dickhead."
"They should be on their way," John explained. "Andy called as soon as he heard Tam scream." John paused and then added, "He got it on tape. You guys should be free of this in record time."
Willy gave John a withering look and then went over to Tam. She collapsed trembling into his arms. John stood there feeling helpless and stupid until the cops arrived. Dave was the first one through the door and when John started to explain Willy pushed him out of the way and did it. John, his help no longer needed and it seemed his friendship no longer wanted, slipped out.
It took several hours for Willy and Tam to get sorted out with the cops. Dave was supremely pissed off at Willy, Andy and the now missing John over the whole affair.
Monkey had been taken to hospital where his knife wound was treated. Luckily for Willy, the wound wasn't fatal and Andy had everything on tape including the confession and the sound of the fight. Monkey, as soon as he was seen to, was placed under police guard. Once he started talking, he couldn't seem to stop. Monkey was full of guilt over the carking of his "best friend." He confessed that Bean had finally just pushed him too far and he'd lost it, hitting him once for each of the seven bikers who were his "friends." Ellis was pleased with his confession and told Bruford they would arrest Monkey and move him to the jail infirmary the next day.
When the lovers were finally released from police custody with warnings, recriminations and finally apologies, they retired to Tam's flat. The adrenaline rush of the evening made their lovemaking intense and when their passions were sated, they collapsed in each other's arms.
Tam knew Willy, despite everything being settled, was upset about John. So upset that she felt like she had to try to help him deal with it. "Willy," she suggested finally, after listening to him hem and haw about it, "I don't think he did it on purpose. From everything you've said, he really cares. It must have been very important, whatever it was, to make him late like that."
"What the fuck could have been so important?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "I don't know. But he does. You'll have to ask him."
Willy sighed and pulled her tightly against him. He buried his face in her hair and held her. "I don't deserve you," he mumbled.
"Funny," she murmured, "I was just thinking the same. You risked your life for me. Not many blokes would do that."
"Tam," he whispered her name.
"No worries," she snuggled closer. "You're something, you are. I'm so glad those assholes dragged me to that pub where I saw you. Otherwise . . . "
"Life is twisted, ain't it?" Willy mused. "One time John and I were having an argument and he told me how every little thing that happens leads to another. How you can't ever separate one action from another cause life has a flow to it. Anyways, I'm glad they brought you there, brought you into my life."
"Even though I almost got you killed?" she teased.
"Tam, you . . . " he paused, took a breath and then admitted, "I . . . shit . . . never can say those damn words. Not until it's too late or doesn't matter."
She laughed softly. "Never mind. They'll come out when they want to." She snuggled even closer and asked hesitantly, "Will you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Go see your mate and let him explain."
"Tam . . ."
"Please, Willy. I'm sure he had a good reason. And it will eat at you no end, unless you hear it. Just do it for me, please?"
"Okay," he agreed with poor grace.
She kissed him and said, "Good."
Willy found John at the pub the next night. John was sitting alone at a table in the back drinking beer and staring moodily at the floor. Willy swaggered over to his table and demanded in a loud voice, "So where the fuck were you?"
John looked up. His face was apologetic and his eyes were full of pain. "I'm sorry, Willy. Something came up."
"What?" Willy demanded. "What could be so important that you nearly let me get killed?"
"Eric," John muttered uncomfortably.
"Eric?" Willy repeated. "That brat you're training?" John nodded. "You did something for that kid instead of being there when I needed you?" Willy shook his head in shock. He stared hard at John and asked in an insulting tone of voice, "What's that kid to you anyway?"
John remained mute for a long moment. He studied Willy. His friend was burning with fury, his dark eyes were angry and his mouth was a tight line. His body language expressed more than his words ever could of the anger, the hurt and the confusion he felt. Well, John could understand it, Willy didn't know. "His Mum had an accident. Nothing serious, but Eric needed a ride to hospital. Then, until he knew for sure that she was going to be okay, I didn't want to leave him."
Willy stared at him. "You didn't want to leave him?" Willy echoed in a mocking tone. John was much more involved here than he thought. "You been shagging the mother?" Willy asked, guessing that maybe that was the reason John was so involved.
"Not for years," John muttered under his breath. "No. Willy, sit down, eh? Please."
Willy shook his head and kept staring at John. "What is it with you and that kid? If you ain't screwing the mother than why bother? What is he to you?"
John took a deep breath, looked Willy square in the eye and confessed, "He's my son."
Willy's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Your what?" he exclaimed loudly.
"Sit down, would ya? The whole pub don't need to hear my business, do they?"
Willy nodded, pulled out a chair and sat down. He lit a cigarette and tried to process this new piece of information.
John looked at Willy. "My son," John repeated. "I found out right before I left for the States. Anyways, when he called and said Shay had been hurt, hit by a car while crossing the road, I didn't have any choice, did I? I had to take care of him. I'm sorry, Willy. I didn't mean to let you down."
"Shit . . ." Willy swore. Talk about tough decisions. He could see why John had thought it was so important, important enough to blow him off. "The Mum okay?"
John nodded. "Just some cuts, scrapes, a few bruises and a mild concuss. She didn't even have to stay overnight at hospital. But Willy, he was so . . . Christ, I never thought being a parent was so tough. To watch him like that . . . "
"Boy's lucky to have you for a Dad," Willy muttered gruffly. "You'll do right by him."
"He doesn't know," John mumbled. "He thinks it was her ex. He thinks I'm just a . . . I dunno . . . coach . . . friend."
"He doesn't know?" Willy repeated. Christ and he thought HIS life was complicated! Poor John.
John nodded. "I want to tell him so bad, but . . . When we were at hospital, before we knew that Shay was going to be okay, he was so scared. So afraid of losing her and being abandoned. It was all I could do to hold my tongue." The memory of Eric, ashen with fear, trembling with potential loss, trying so hard to be an adult, gripping his arm so tight as they waited, still hit him like a sledgehammer. He'd wanted to take the boy into his arms and hold him, reassure him that no matter what happened, he did have a parent that loved him, but he hadn't. Instead, he had mouthed platitude after platitude until the doctor had appeared to ease Eric's fear.
Once Eric had been able to see Shay, the boy's color had returned and he'd graciously thanked John for bringing him. He had a dignity about him that John knew Shay had instilled in him. John had left his son then and gone off, very late to find Willy. Then after, he'd returned to hospital to help Eric get Shay home. It was almost too much for him to endure.
He knew Eric liked him, even trusted him, but the feelings he had for John paled against the enormous love he felt for his mother. The look in Eric's eyes when he first saw her, John had never seen love like that before. He wanted his son to look at him like that and he was afraid Eric never would.
"You know, bro," Willy acknowledged softly, deeply moved by John's pain, "these things take time. It was good he called you to help him."
"He had no one else," John admitted. It scared him to think what might have been if he wasn't in Eric's life. If he hadn't found out the truth. Eric would have had no one to turn to. Or worse, Eric might have called him and he might have refused. It made him wonder if he really had what it took to be a parent. If Eric were still just that brat from rugby, would he have bothered to make the time for him? Bothered to help him? He shook his head at himself.
Willy watched the play of emotions move over John's face. He couldn't begin to guess what his friend was feeling, but whatever it was, it was powerful. Willy's anger melted away along with his resentment. John never had anything easy, he realized. Everything was tough for him. "You know, bro," Willy suggested, "if anyone can handle this right, you can."
"I dunno, Willy. He's such a great kid, but he has no confidence. It took a lot for him to call me and ask for help. I could tell he hated doing it too."
Willy laughed softly. Sounded just like him. "If you weren't so good at everything, we'd all like you better. It's kind of hard NOT to resent always having to let you handle things. You know the Japanese have a lot of words and phrases for thank you and gratitude and every single one of them have a bit of resentment in them too."
John's eye widened and his mouth dropped. "Willy, I never meant . . . I'm not . . . " he couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence.
Willy laughed again. "Knocked you speechless, eh? Look, whatever you do with Eric it will be right. Cause you ALWAYS make the right choices. You have the knack. Now, if you aren't doing anything else for a bit, whatcha say I beat your ass at pool?"
John felt the tension begin to ease out of his body. Willy was letting him off the hook without beating him up. He'd taken the news about Eric well without asking too many embarrassing questions. John took his beer, rose from the chair and taunted, "You ain't beat me at eight-ball in as long as I've known you. What makes you think you can now?"
The End