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Chapter Twenty
Linkin
There’s an extra pep to my step as I make my way to the dive Mexican restaurant in Westville. I haven’t been here in months, not since my last payment. And after today, this’ll be the last fucking time I’m here.
I walk inside, anxious to get this little meeting over with.
The restaurant is dimly lit with Mexican music piping through the speakers. I bypass the hostess stand, keeping my head down as I head straight to the back of the room. There, sitting at the same table as always, is the man who took everything from my family.
No, that’s not exactly true.
He was the facilitator.
My piece of shit stepfather, wherever the fuck he is, is the reason. This man just helped.
I slide into the bench across from Hector. He doesn’t even look up as he shovels forkfuls of refried beans into his open trap. Without saying a word, I reach into the inside jacket pocket and pull out an envelope.
“Two?” he asks, glancing up only to look at the envelope on the table.
“All of it,” I say, no emotion in my voice.
That gets his attention.
Setting his fork down, he wipes his mouth with a tattered napkin and reaches for the envelope. Without removing the bills, he counts out five thousand. Hector glances up at me, his dark eyebrows raised into his shaggy hair. “You rob a bank?”
“How I got the money isn’t your business. That’s the final payment. We’re done.”
“Done,” he confirms, shoving the money into his pocket.
“Call my mom. Tell her that her last payment was it.” My tone is to the point and emotionless, but inside, I’m a ball of fucking energy.
Hector whips out his phone and dials. “Karen, my love, how are you?” I swear I almost fly across the table. My fists ball up under the table, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to react. “Good news, the debt is paid. Your last payment covered it.” He listens for a moment before adding, “If you ever need any help with money, you call,” but before he can say his name, I’m ripping the phone from his hand and hanging up.
With one swift swipe of my finger, I delete my mom’s contact info from the dirtbag’s phone. “That’s enough. Don’t ever contact my mom again. You’re paid in full.”
“I am,” he says, taking his phone back from me. “If you ever see your daddy again, tell him his line of credit has been restored.”
“He ain’t my daddy,” I growl menacingly. “Don’t contact us again. We’re done,” I say, sliding out of the bench.
“We’re done,” he confirms, nodding his head. A look of respect washes over his face. “You’re a good man, Linkin. It wasn’t your mess, but you cleaned it up. Take care of your mom,” he adds before I turn towards the door and walk out.
The sunlight is almost blinding as I step out of the restaurant, but I feel weightless. Relieved.
We’re free.
* * *
I’m not sure what has me pulling into this particular parking lot as I arrive back at Jupiter Bay, but I don’t question it. I climb out of my old Blazer and head inside the brick building.
My hands are stuffed into my pockets as I approach the receptionist’s desk. It’s tall and imposing and sort of hides the pleasant woman on the other side. “Can I help you?” she asks, beaming a bright white smile and friendly disposition.
“Uh, yeah. Is Dean here? Dean McIntire?” I ask nervously, which makes her smile falter.
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, I don’t have an appointment. Can you tell him Linkin Stone is here to see him?”
She nods her head politely and heads down the hallway. She returns a few moments later, Dean hot on her heels. “Linkin,” he says, offering me a smile as he pushes up his glasses to perch higher on his nose. “Everything okay?”
