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Typical Alex. Always leaving things between the lines. Even now he reminds me of bedrooms filled with pot smoke, sunlight, and the belief that the future held magic. He reminds me of dancing in the rain at midnight, freedom, and deals made under the table. “And?”
“He got out three months ago. Traveled up to Oklahoma where his mother lived.”
“Lived?”
“He has a sister there. His mother remarried—and married well—after her kids were grown. His stepfather had gas and oil connections. He passed, and then nine months ago, Mooney’s mother died, leaving him with a bit of coin.”
“I see.”
“He’s staying in a rental out by the lake. His reservation is through the end of December.”
It starts to properly rain as the fine mist turns into big fat drops. I close my eyes and brace myself for what comes next. “He really—”
“How long has this been going on, Aim?”
“Not long.”
“You could have called sooner.”
“I reached out as soon as I needed to.”
“Not soon enough.”
“I need someone who knows the law…” I try to steer the conversation away from the direction I fear he might take it. “Can’t they just lock him up again?”
“If only crimes of thought were a thing.”
I sense the double meaning behind his words. “I just want to know if he’s capable of bringing harm to my family.”
“Oh, he’s capable, all right. The question is whether it’s worth it to him to go back to prison.”
“Unless he intends on not getting caught.”
“Men like Mooney enjoy the cat-and-mouse of it. It’s a game to him.”
“What would you do? If you were me?”
“I’d kill the son of a bitch.”
I laugh nervously and glance around, hoping no one overheard him.
“No, really. Maybe you’d feel better knowing the science behind your situation.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Nature rules everything, Aim. There are biological imperatives designed to ensure individual and species survival. The drive for food, for sex, for growth, for protection—and the ferocious, inexplicable drive to fight for life.”
I hop off the swing and take a few steps toward the footpath that leads to the woods. “What does this have to do with me?”
“We don’t know where or how the will to live is programmed into cells, but it is a fact that no organism will readily give up its life. Try to kill the most primitive of organisms, and that bacterium doesn’t say, ‘Okay, I’ll wait until you kill me.’ Instead, it will make every evasive maneuver in its power to sustain its survival. That’s what you need to be doing, and that’s how you need to be thinking.”
I gesture toward him. “That’s what I am doing. I reached out to you, knowing you’d have answers. You understand the law, and even better, you know how to dig up dirt.”
“Language was designed to hide feelings.”
My brow knits together. I offer a slight shrug. “Okay?”
“Human and animal predators instinctively understand this. Take a lioness, for example. Unlike human hunters, she isn’t looking for the trophy gazelle with the biggest horns to mount on the wall of her den. She is interested in eating. So, she does a quick scan of the options, and picks the weakest gazelle to tangle with, the one she senses will put up the least fight. She’s looking for the fastest, easiest way to get dinner. Human predators work in the same way. They seek out victims who are broadcasting fearful or distracted energy. It’s not the clothes they’re wearing—it’s what they’re projecting. Jack Mooney is a predator. He’s lived a life full of crime, which makes him good at one thing: sensing your weakness. He knows he can toy with you. That you aren’t willing—or able—to fight back. If you weren’t so ambivalent, believe me, he would have moved on to more promising prey.”
