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“What happened to Spencer Hill?” Mike asked.
“He committed suicide.”
Mike shook his head.
“I’m telling you what I know,” she said.
“Then why should Adam—as you put in your IM—need to keep quiet about that?”
“Spencer Hill killed himself.”
Mike shook his head again. “He overdosed here, didn’t he?”
“No.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. It is why Adam and his friends needed to keep quiet. They were afraid. I don’t know what sort of pressure you applied. Maybe you reminded them that they’d be arrested too. This is why they all feel guilty. This is why Adam can’t stand himself anymore. He was with Spencer that night. Not only was he with him, but he helped move the body to that rooftop.”
A small smile curled her lips. “You really don’t have a clue, do you, Dr. Baye?”
He didn’t like the way she said that. “So tell me then.”
Rosemary still had her legs up and under her sweatshirt. It was such a teenage move; it gave her an air of youth and innocence that he knew was undeserved. “You don’t know your son at all, do you?”
“I used to.”
“No, you didn’t. You think you did. But you’re his dad. You’re not supposed to know all. They’re supposed to break away. When I said you don’t know him, I actually meant it as a good thing.”
“I’m not following.”
“You put a GPS in his phone. That was how you found out where he was. You clearly monitor his computer and read his communications. You probably think it helps, but actually it stifles. A parent isn’t supposed to know what their kid is up to all the time.”
“Give them room to rebel, is that it?”
“In part, yes.”
Mike sat up. “If I had known about you earlier, maybe I could have stopped him.”
“Do you really think that?” Rosemary tilted her head as though genuinely interested in his response. When he said nothing, she continued, “Is that your plan for the future? Monitoring your children’s every move?”
“Do me a favor, Rosemary. Don’t worry about my child-rearing plans, okay?”
She looked at him carefully. She pointed to the bruise on his forehead. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Did you sic those goths on me?”
“No. I didn’t know about that until this morning.”
“Who told you?”
“It’s not important. Last night, your son was here and it was a sensitive situation. And then, wham, you showed up. DJ Huff saw you following him. He called and Carson answered.”
“He and his buddies tried to kill me.”
“And they probably would have. Still think they’re just boys?”
“A bouncer saved me.”
“No. A bouncer found you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She shook her head. “When I learned they attacked you and the police came by . . . it was something of a wake-up call. Now I just want to find a way to end this.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure, but that’s why I wanted us to meet. To come up with a plan.”
He saw it now—why she was so willing to share all this with him. She knew that the feds were closing in, that now was the time to cash in her chips and leave the table. She wanted help and figured a scared father would fall into line.
“I got a plan,” he said. “We go to the feds and tell them the truth.”
She shook her head. “That might not be best for your son.” “He’s a minor.”
“Still. We are all in this mess together. We need to find a way to make it go away.”
“You were providing illegal drugs to minors.”
“Not true, as I just explained. They may have used my facility for the purposes of exchanging prescribed medicines. That’s all you can maybe prove. You can’t prove I knew about it.”
“And the stolen prescription scripts?”
She arched an eyebrow. “You think I stole them?”
Silence.
She met his eye. “Do I have access to your home or office, Dr. Baye?” “The feds have been watching you. They’ve been building a case. Do you think those little goths will stand up to the threat of jail time?”
“They love this place. They almost killed you to protect it.”
“Please. Once they get into an interrogation room, they’ll fold.”
“There are other considerations too.”
“Like what?”
“Like who do you think distributed the medications out on the streets? Do you really want your son testifying against those kinds of people?”
Mike wanted to reach across the table and wring her neck. “What did you get my son into, Rosemary?”
“It’s what we have to get him out of. That’s what you need to concentrate on. We need to make this go away—for my sake, yes, but for your son’s even more.”
Mike reached for his cell phone. “I don’t know what else there is to say.”
“You have a lawyer, right?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t do anything until you let me talk to him, okay? There is so much at stake. You have other kids to worry about—your son’s friends.”
“I don’t care about other kids. Only mine.”
He flipped on the phone and it immediately rang. Mike checked the caller ID. It read a number he didn’t recognize. He put the phone to his ear.
“Dad?”
His heart stopped.
“Adam? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Are you in Club Jaguar?”
“Yes.”
“Get out. I’m on the street heading toward you. Please get out of there right now.”
36
ANTHONY worked as a bouncer three days a week at a skeezy gentlemen’s club called Upscale Pleasure. The name was a joke. The place was a dank pit. Before this, Anthony had worked at a strip joint called Homewreckers. He liked that better, the more honest moniker giving the place a real identity.
For the most part, Anthony worked the lunch crowd. One would think that this would be a slow time for business, that places like this would not draw much of a crowd until late night. One would be wrong.
The daytime crowd at a strip club is a United Nations event. Every race, creed, color and socioeconomic group was well represented. There were men in business suits, in those red flannel tops Anthony always associated with hunting, with Gucci loafers and off-brand Timberland boots. There were pretty boys and smooth talkers and suburbanites and inbreds. You got them all in a place like this.
