EvenImight be persuaded to give him a wide berth, except I happen to know that deep down, under all that swagger and bluster, is a slimy little dickhole.
How do I know?
Number one, because he managed to raise a grade-A asshat like Dean. And even though, given my own situation, I’ve never believed in that whole “like father, like son” thing, in George and Dean’s case, it happens to be true. And number two, because he’s friends with my sperm donor—pieces of shit tend to stick together—and not long after we moved here, I came home early from school one day and heard him bragging to my father about how he’d recently bested the mayor.
Apparently, Sullivan had been in danger of losing his appointment because the mayor got wind he’d been encouraging police brutality within the ranks. When the mayor refused to be swayed into keeping Sullivan on even after Sullivan used some of the dirt he had on a few of the more affluent families in town to persuade them to speak on his behalf, he got nasty.
Sullivan outed the mayor and his mistress—who turned out to be Luc’s mom—and the rest, as they say, is history.
“Heard the call come over the police scanner,” he says, using his thumb to push his cowboy hat back on his forehead. “Thought I might mosey on over here and see what all the hullabaloo was about.”
“Right.” Rory nods. “I have all their statements here.” He pats his breast pocket. “I was going to write up the report after I dropped this one off at the twenty-four-hour clinic.” He motions to Todd. “But if you want to take a look now, I—”
“No need.” Sullivan waves him off. “Go ahead and do your thing. I’ll just have a chat with these fine folks.”
Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.
Rory nods again and shoots Maggie a concerned look. After she gives him a subtle shake of her head, he hops back into his vehicle.
Sullivan waits until the task force guys, along with my good buddy Todd, disappear around the corner before sauntering close to the curb, his cowboy bootsclip-cloppingatop the pavement.
“Your daddy told me you’d come back,” he says to me as he pulls a cigar from his sports coat and sticks it between his lips. A bad attitude, a penchant for dirty dealing, and a love of illegal Cuban cigars… It’s no wonder he’s friends with Rick.
“Good news travels fast, I guess, huh?” I watch his eyes narrow as he lights his stogie.
He hasn’t changed much in ten years. Still has those same beady, black eyes. Still sports that ridiculous seventies porn-star ’stache.
“He tells me you bought some piece-of-shit Creole cottage over on Orleans Avenue. Says you and backwoods boy here”—he points the glowing tip of his cigar at Luc—“are fixing it up.”
I know he’s expecting a response from me, so I keep my mouth shut and simply blink at him.
When he cocks his head, the brim of his cowboy hat looks like a smug grin. “What happened? The army get tired of your bullshit and back talk and decide to kick you out? Or did they finally figure out they were harboring murderers”—he glares at Luc—“and make the wise decision to wash their hands of you both?”
I grind my teeth so hard my back molars cry out for mercy.
I really,reallywant a drink.
“You know I was up at Fort Polk the night Dean disappeared.” I manage—just barely—not to snarl.
He snorts. “What Iknowis you had it in for my boy. That day behind the gym proves it. What? Were you jealous he was the homecoming king and more popular than you? Did he fuck some girl you liked? As for your alibi, you may’ve been safe and sound up at Fort Polk, but that don’t mean you didn’t talk your two besties here into doing your dirty work for you. I got a bunch of eyewitnesses who saw Dean head into the swamp after them that night.”
“That’s a big swamp.” I repeat the story Luc and Maggie came up with ten years ago. “Maggie and Luc never saw Dean. Nobody ever saw Dean again. I’m sorry you lost your son, but the case is closed. Has been for a very long time.”
“The case isnotclosed!” he barks, dropping all pretense. “And I didn’tlosemy son. He’sdead.”
I frown, my fingers itching to curl around my flask. “You know that for certain? Was his body found?”
“You and I both know there wasn’t any need for a body. Folks don’t disappear into the bayou. They die there. And I was willing to let sleeping dogs lie when I thought you and the swamp rat would get your damn heads blown off in the army. Figured that was a worse fate than whiling away your hours in a cushy eight-by-ten with cable TV and air conditioning. But God in his heaven didn’t see fit to make you pay, so now it looks like I’ll have to.”
He steps away from me to stand in front of Maggie. His face is screwed up into something awful when he says, “I know you were teasing my boy, shaking your damn tail feathers in his face every chance you got.”
I can handle having his anger and bitterness aimed my way, but when he turns his sights on Maggie? No.Hellno.
And, sure, if he wasn’t such a vile excuse for a human being who raised another vile excuse for a human being, I might actually feel sorry for him. Feel sorry for his loss. But as it stands, I’m hard-pressed not to punch him in the face.
“You’ve got no right to talk to her that way,” I growl, but Sullivan ignores me, moving down the line until he’s in front of Luc.
“And I know you hated his guts because he called you out for being exactly what you are. So what the hell happened out there?” He points his stogie at Maggie. “Did you lure him with promises of giving him a taste?” He glowers at Luc, the whites of his eyes mottled red as he shakes with rage. “And then did you kill him?”
