I rub my hands together, work out the soreness.
That’s when Dad breaks into a run at me.
He grabs me by the shoulders, squeezes me, his eyes knifing me. “What the fuck was that?”
I twist out of his grip, start walking toward the car. “I could askyouthe same thing.”
“What?” he yells at my back.
“Just forget it,” I spew over my shoulder.
Forget you.
The whole ride home Dad interrogates me. “What kind of stunt was that? Have you forgotten the basic rules of gun safety? Why the hell were you pointing a gun at me? Are you mad at me? Did I do something?” Blah, blah, fucking blah.
I stay silent, let him fidget, make him squirm.
He deserves every bit of feeling like this. I’m so enjoying pouting, sulking, making him guess. Hemustknow I know.
But I don’t want to confront him just yet. I’m still working on my plan for Dad, how I can best use this against him and for my own benefit. Hold it over his head for ransom? Wait to blurt it out when there are a lot of people around? It’s too good.
I finally understand the expressionrevenge is a dish best servedcold. While I’m usually the hotheaded one, I need to cool down, make sure the revenge I’m going to unleash on Dad will be the most punishing.
He’s got it coming.
73
Jackson
Jackson’s vision begins to swirl.Ethan Swift isn’t Ethan Swift?
The bartender’s words ring in his head.Said his name was Charles. Never caught his last name.
Jackson has to make sure they are actually talking abouthisEthan. “My name’s Jackson by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.
The bartender grips it, shakes it. “Troy.”
“So, just to be sure we’re talking about the same person, Charles, or whatever the hell his name is, was he a furniture maker?”
“Bingo. Among other things.Manyother things.”
“But why would he go by a different name? Maybe because he’s in the closet, didn’t want it to get out—”
At this, Troy cackles. “Ha! No. That’s not it at all. It’s because he wastrouble, with a capitalT. And left town as soon as he was found out.”
Jackson lifts his beer, slams the rest of it. “What do you mean, exactly? What did he do?”
“That man,” Troy says, “is athief.”
Jackson twirls his beer glass on his coaster.
“Lemme get you a refill—”
“Yes, please.”
Troy pulls the lever of the draft, releasing pale-gold liquid. Itsloshes in the glass after he slides it toward Jackson.
One more sip, then Jackson asks, “What do you mean? Like he held up the bar? Pickpocketed?”
