Chapter Thirteen
Arumble exploded from the west, lightning chasing itself across the inky sky. The Weather Channel forecasted a wild night. Aloysius Hogg flicked the channel with the handheld remote and resumed trimming his toenails on the leather couch. A late-night show flickered on the flat screen. The guy who replaced Letterman interviewed some celebrity hack. He knew both their names, but that fourth whisky on the rocks made remembering a chore. Or was it the fifth? Fourth? Fifth?
Storms made him drink; thunder kept him on edge. He rolled his shoulders. The alcohol wasn’t helping release his knotted muscles. Work had been worse than usual. If Tommy Haynes, his new clerk, devoted half the time to improving his legal analysis that he did to his online blackjack addiction, Aloysius wouldn’t have to stay up until all hours rewriting his cases.
He wanted him gone, but Mama said to suck it up, that having powerful people in their debt was better than money in the bank. And like it or not, Tommy was a Haynes. That name meant something in Georgia, an old name, and an old-money name. Lifted the Hogg brand through mere association.
Aloysius dropped the clippers to the cushion and studied his hand. It was a hand all right. He flexed. Human. No black hairs on the knuckles, no scars or calluses—nothing like Pops. An average human appendage.
He hated it.
Nothing should be average about him. He tried for extraordinary, worked to a state of perpetual heartburn, but he could never makeherhappy.
In this dog-eat-dog world, only alphas could lead the pack. He needed to have the heart of an alpha. Dante growled as another boom of thunder shook the windows, rain lashing the glass.
His Doberman pinscher had an alpha’s heart. But his was weak. Deep down he knew it. Worse, Mama knew it.
She’d taken to her bed a few years ago, after retiring as the organist for Halfway Baptist Church once arthritis got the upper hand. There’d been a time when he thought she’d give up the ghost from sheer boredom.
Until she found a new hobby.
Whenever anyone in Hogg Jaw needed a favor, they drove out here to Founder’s House at the end of Gloom Wood Drive. The judge turned a blind eye to the late-night dealings, trusting Mama knew enough to skirt the law but never breach it. She’d driven his career with single-minded ruthlessness for too long to compromise his interests. She’d put him on a pedestal in public, only to knock it out from under him in private.
No.He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste bitter copper. No disloyalty to Mama. She’d done her best by him. Sacrificed everything.Hewas the defective one. Couldn’t even continue the family line. Women treated him like he carried an infectious disease, even when he tried to show them he was a winner.
Women loved winners.
But Mama knew best, andshesaid he was a loser. How did she put it the time he’d gone out with Kennedy Day, a divorcée who received a luxury auto dealership in Charleston as part of the settlement? They’d had dinner at Chez Louis, and he’d ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu before rattling off his list of accomplishments and earning potential.
She’d complained of a headache during the main course and left before dessert. Yesterday she’d blocked him on social media.
After he’d confessed all to Mama, she’d clicked her tongue.
“Poor Aloysius,” she’d said sorrowfully. “Why are you so difficult to love?”
He picked up his glass Coke bottle and plopped in a few peanuts. The salt fizzed in the carbonated water before he took a swig. Mother hated his favorite snack. Called peanuts in cola common. But what she didn’t know didn’t hurt him. He smugly took a long pull, crunching on the shells while glancing to the ceiling.
Dread sloshed in his gut alongside the sweet liquid. She hated hearing him chew.
No Hogg should sound like a hog at dinner.
Upstairs, a bell tinkled. He jerked upright, swiping his mouth. Setting the Coke on a coaster, he reached for a butter mint from the crystal candy dish before straightening his collar.
“Coming, Mama,” he called.
