The valet came out to meet me, and I threw him my keys as I stepped out of my car.
“Mr. Kelly,” he said, catching them. “Have a nice lunch, sir.”
I nodded to him, walking through the door and breathing in the cool air of the country club. It smelled of old money and whatever was fresh on the menu. Maybe some kind of expensive fish.
I bypassed the people at the front desk. They knew better than to stop me. I had no patience for them, no manners, and I refused to play the power-trip game—they knew I had an appointment, so that was that.
Judge McLean stood as he waved me over to his table. We shook when I was close enough.
“Good to see you,” he said, nodding toward the seat across from him. “I ordered you whiskey.”
I pushed it toward him after I took a seat. “You enjoy,” I said. “I’m driving.”
He grinned at me, knowing better. There were only a few places I’d eat or drink from, and his country club wasn’t one of them. Too many rats in the kitchen wearing suits and ties that wanted a big cat like me dead.
“I suppose you ate already?”
I nodded. “Big breakfast.”
“Ah,” he said, sitting back when his plate of fish was delivered. Right on time. They knew when he wanted his food and how it was supposed to be cooked. “Not that marriage has anything to do with breakfast, but I heard you got married. Congratulations.” He lifted the whiskey I’d pushed toward him and then drank. “It would’ve been nice to get an invite to the wedding of the year, though.”
Same here, I was going to say, but just nodded and told him I appreciated it.
He wasn’t a man to shy away from talking business during lunch, so we went over a couple of things, and then I said something that made him look up from his almost empty plate.
“Adoption?” he repeated.
I nodded, taking the butter knife from the table, standing it up between my fingers. “Tell me about the process.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and then signaled to the waitress. She came over right away, taking his plate, while another delivered him a slice of cake.
“Depends,” he said, after she’d gone. “Through the regular system?” He shrugged. “Could take a while. But if you need this from me—it depends on who’s asking.” I figured he’d say that. His hands might’ve been dirty, but he grew up an orphan, and he was a huge advocate for children.
“I’m asking,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk, Kelly?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No.”
“Do you need to be?”
“Not this minute.”
He stared at me and I stared at him. He finally sighed and nodded his head. “Tell me about the situation.”
We talked for another hour or so about things before I left. The same guy brought me my car, and after I drove off, my front tire started to make noise, so I pulled to the side of the road. The country club was in a private area, separated from the rest of the world by a thick wooded patch, off the beaten path. Not too much traffic coming in or out for me to worry about.
I started rolling up the sleeves to my shirt before I even stepped out, having a clue as to what was wrong.
Yeah, the motherfucker had a flat.
I popped the trunk, going for the jack, tire iron, and spare. My head was lowered while my hands dug around, searching for the end of the cover over the tire so I could pull it up.
I heard footsteps, and before I could turn, something heavy rattled my skull. It wasn’t enough to knock me out, but it did shake me some. Hands pushed me from behind, trying to force me into the trunk.
Bracing my knees against the bumper with one palm flat against the inside of the trunk so he couldn’t easily shove me inside, I snatched the tire iron. It was a fucking struggle trying to get to my feet. He shoved while I tried to stand. Warm blood ran from the back of my head where he had hit me with a pipe or something equal to it.
The tire iron ended up in my left hand, and swinging blindly over my right shoulder, I cracked him on the forehead with it. He stumbled back a bit, giving me just enough time to turn around and brace myself for his attack.
