As long as Owen Landry wasn’t munching a hotdog on the front row, what the hell did Lucky care?
With a grin of scary proportions, she flourished her phone. “Look and see.”
A middle-aged man filled the screen, sandwiched on either side by others wearing the distinctive blue and white of Ty’s school colors. Somewhat fleshy, hands lifted, mouth open, no doubt cheering his team on or hurling insults about some boneheaded move.
“Who is he?”
“Remember the magistrate you wanted me to check up on? Who denied the search warrant?”
The “dum-da-dum”, signaling a tense moment on Lucky’s favorite soap opera drummed in his head.
A thin connection, but a connection nonetheless. Judge Spence stood in the way of Lucky’s takedown of a drug manufacturer supplying counterfeit drugs to high schoolers.
Only to be overridden by a judge persuaded by Walter and the DEA.
***
“Charlotte? Don’t worry about Ty this afternoon, I’ll pick him up.” Lucky reared back in the Hell Bitch chair in his cubicle as far as he dared while talking on his cell.
“Are you sure? You’ll have to get off work for that, won’t you?”
“I’ve got enough hours in. I haven’t gotten to hang out with him lately.” He dared not tell his sister he planned to interview an informant, namely, her son. He’d still not worked up the nerve to tell her about Ty’s involvement with his case. This early in the process, the fewer people who knew details outside of the investigation, the better.
Besides, preventing a blowup at home meant he also stood a chance of cultivating Ty as a source of information. As a student and athlete, Ty had connections, knew how to get pills. And from whom.
Once Lucky had something concrete…
“Good by me. I’ve got a lot of coursework to do this afternoon so I’m going to the library. Thanks, brother. You’re the best.” In all her years in Spokane, she’d never lost the Southern in her voice. Back down below the Mason-Dixon line, she twanged with the best of them.
Sometimes to the point even Lucky worked hard to understand her. Likely, men still bought her drinks in bars just to hear her talk, on the rare occasion she went out with Rett, now curtailed to pursue mamahood.
Which brought to mind Salters, and his futile attempts to get Lucky to play matchmaker. No way, no how.
He scooted down the hallway. With any luck he’d hit the elevators before anyone noticed his escape.
Lisa stopped him at the reception desk, glancing down the hallway first before opening her mouth. “Hi, Lucky,” she said in hushed tones, with a shy smile. “How’s the family?”
She’d only recently lost her fear of him, and probably didn’t dare risk calling him anything but “Mr. Harrison” or “Agent Harrison” at work if others were around to hear.
Please, no idle chitchat, not with places to go and people to interrogate. Lucky gave a noncommittal, “Fine,” and punched the down arrow for the elevator. Maybe she’d take the hint. “How’s your boy?” he asked, ‘cause he dared not let Bo catch wind of him being standoffish.
Her smile widened. “Great. Growing like a weed.”
The elevator door swished open and Lucky made his escape. Things were so much easier when the whole department avoided him and his asshole attitude.
He drove out of the city to what once had been a separate town, now engulfed by urban sprawl, and pulled into the line of cars waiting to pick up students. The bell rang and a pack of ravaging teenagers sauntered down the hill, some heading for student parking, others seeking their rides.
Ty spotted him and, with true teenaged swagger, slowly made his way over to Lucky’s Camaro and hopped into the passenger seat.
“Hey, Uncle Lucky. Why did you pick me up today?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Lucky lied. “Me and you haven’t hung out much lately.”
“Is this about the pills? I’m still not talking.” Ty folded his arms across his chest, so like his mother in defiant mode.
“Still taking them?”
Ty stared down at the floor. “No.”
