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“Mr. Lott. Rocky’s lawyer.”
Her exhale was audible. “I see. Why did you call him?”
Xavier frowned. “I wanted to get in touch with Rocky’s son. Rocky always told me to call Gabriel if I needed help, but I don’t know Gabriel’s phone number.”
“Is Mr. Lott in the car with you?”
“No, ma’am.” Xavier exchanged a nervous glance with Carlos. “Why?”
“Is he here? In Houston?”
“Yes. He drove all night to come and get me. But he said that we should talk to you first before we leave for New Orleans, so you don’t worry.”
His mother barked a laugh that did not sound amused. “I see. Magnanimous of him.”
“Mom?” Xavier was confused. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t have all the information, because you called a stranger before you called me.”
Xavier winced. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was trying to protect you.”
She sighed wearily. “I know you were. So tell me what happened exactly, and why you didn’t call the police.”
Xavier blinked hard, trying to remember all the details. He was so tired.
“Like he said,” Carlos butted in, and Xavier was grateful. “We were going to bed and someone broke in. Xavier got his dad’s gun—”
“You did what?” she cried.
“Dad’s gun,” Xavier said, amazed that his voice was steady. “And I didn’t call the cops because... you know, Mom. Carlos and I were all alone and if they came at all, we’d get blamed.”
Another sigh. “You’re not wrong about that. I didn’t know your father gave you his gun.”
“He didn’t. I found it after he died.”
“He told me that he’d gotten rid of it,” she said, her voice so much smaller than normal, and Xavier hated it. She exhaled again and he could picture her straightening her spine. “So, you got your father’s gun.”
“And I got a ball bat and a golf club,” Carlos said.
She laughed, but it was a weak sound. “Carlos, you get cookies for the rest of your life.”
“That was my plan,” he said cheerfully, then his expression fell. “We couldn’t go down the stairs, so we went out the window. But when Xavier started through, the guy grabbed him.”
His mother’s gasp was muted, like she’d covered her mouth with her hand. “Dear God.”
“He’s not hurt,” Carlos insisted. “Not even a scratch. But...”
“I shot him,” Xavier blurted. “I shot him, and I dropped from the tree and we ran like hell.”
“All right,” she said quietly. Too quietly. That was her I’m-freaked-out-and-trying-not-to-be tone. “Is that why you didn’t call the police after it was over?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Xavier cringed. “I was... afraid. I had a gun, and the dude was white. That’s all I could see. The white hand grabbing my shirt when I turned around to shoot him.”
“But the white guy had a gun, too,” Carlos said. “Xavier did what he needed to do.”
“All right,” she said again. “I understand. So after it was over, you called this lawyer and asked for Gabriel Hebert, but the lawyer decided to come instead and wants to take you back to New Orleans with him. Am I getting it right?”
“Perfecto,” Carlos said. “But I won’t leave him, Mrs. M. I promise.”
