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He’d forgotten Troy was on the East Coast for the next couple of days.
“I need some advice.”
“Now, there’s a surprise.”
Kirk let his attorney’s derision slide. “I got a kid on my team I think was roughed up over the weekend.”
When Abraham hadn’t shown up for practice that afternoon, he’d gone looking for the boy. And found him right where he’d expected to. Along the back wall outside the cemetery. Apparently it was a favorite place of his.
“So call the cops.”
“And say what? That a kid has some bruis
es?”
“Yeah, why not?” Troy asked. It was then that Kirk heard the slur in his voice. Troy must be entertaining a woman. It was the only time his friend drank.
“He said he fell out of a tree.”
“So don’t call the cops.”
“There aren’t a hell of a lot of trees here for climbing.”
“So call the cops.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Listen, Chandler, I’m in acquisitions. I do mergers. Remember? The kind that make billions of dollars? I don’t know a damn thing about juvenile law.”
“You had to learn something about it in law school,” Kirk reminded his friend. They’d been in college together. Kirk knew that Troy had had a pretty thorough overview of his profession.
Troy sighed, sobering. “They’ll probably call Child Protective Services, who’ll most likely visit the kid in the morning,” he said.
Kirk heard a whisper in the background. Followed by what sounded like a female whine. Or maybe a cat that wanted to eat?
Troy didn’t have any cats. And he wasn’t even at home.
Thanking the only man still left on his payroll, Kirk rung off.
If nothing was going to be done until morning anyway, he’d wait and call Valerie at work. He had no idea what she’d be able to do, but he couldn’t just turn Abraham over to the police. He’d been on the receiving end of their compassion a time or two himself. And found it nonexistent.
At least Valerie cared about her kids. Maybe she’d know a sympathetic cop to call.
In the meantime, he was going to break open that scotch he’d been saving, sit out by the pool, slowly emptying the bottle, and pray that Abraham would be safe until morning.
“ABIE?”
He turned his head slowly, searching out his mother’s shadow in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
He almost flinched when she sat down on the edge of his bed, but not quite. He couldn’t make things any worse for her.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“I know.”
Under cover of the plain white sheet, protected, Abe felt stronger. His room wasn’t much—box spring and mattress with a plain blue bedspread, no designs on his sheets or walls or anything, but the bedding was soft from the stuff his mom used when she washed it. And his wall held a mammoth CD rack that was almost completely filled.
