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He was closing the shop early in order to take Elle and Cyril to a nearby lake, everyone in search of a respite from the scorching heat. The two were thick as thieves now that Cyril had worked off his sentence. Linda and Penta seemed to have no trouble with the friendship, but Cash had mixed feelings. He’d decided being their chauffeur whenever possible was the subtlest way to keep an eye on them.
Giving the nearly complete Baby Bonnie a pat, he began tidying his workspace so it would be ready when he returned.
And that was when Tyrone Jameson strolled through the front door.
“Cash, my man!” He sauntered over, his huge belly and bulging thighs draped ironically in a Toronto Raptors basketball jersey and athletic shorts. Damp patches on his chest and under his arms darkened the shiny fabric. “Been thinking about you since seeing you in the bar. Wanted to check out your digs.”
Cash wiped sweat from his forehead and upper lip with a mostly clean rag. He deeply regretted the impulse that had drawn him to The Liquor Box and had no intention of renewing an acquaintance with Tyrone or anyone from the bad old days.
And he did not want Tyrone to meet Elle or Cyril. Both of whom would be here any minute.
“Sorry. You picked a bad time. I’m closing up early today. Was just about to lock up.” Laying a heavy hand on Tyrone’s shoulder, he attempted to propel him back to the door, ignoring the unpleasantly moist skin under his palm.
Tyrone didn’t so much as shift his weight. His smile glittered with a wicked edge. “What? Don’t have ten fuckin’ minutes for an old friend? You blew me off at the bar too.”
“Didn’t blow you off then and not blowing you off now.” A lie, of course. But Tyrone could make a bad enemy if he knew the truth. “I just got places to be.”
“I told Jordy I ran into you.”
Cash dropped his hand like he’d been shocked by a faulty spark plug wire. “Why the fuck you do that?” He was being sucked back into the life he’d avoided for twelve lonely years. Even his grammar was devolving to his pre-prison, non-reading days.
Jordy had been at The Liquor Box the night Cash had almost taken a man’s life. The night he had destroyed his own. In fact, Jordy had been the one to egg him on, to toss down the gauntlet by calling Cash a coward if he didn’t stand up for himself over the grievous insult of being bumped into in a busy bar.
It sounded so stupid now. Was stupid.
Tyrone watched him with smug insolence. “He runs the gang. Lots of guys with bikes in it. Figured you could use the business.”
No. It was a silent cry of rage. “Thanks for the thought, but I’m pretty busy. Don’t know if I could take on much more.” Jordy was probably looking for a tame mechanic who would turn a blind eye to any illegalities. He couldn’t return to that world. Losing Elle now he’d finally found her would shred his soul. And the look of disappointment on Penta’s face would be unbearable.
“Oh, I’m thinking you can.” Tyrone’s threatening tone was impossible to miss.
Why had he sought him out now? Cash wasn’t hard to find. He had a website, for Christ’s sake. It could only be because of Cash’s idiotic action in going back to The Liquor Box.
He had to get Tyrone out. Now. He gripped a fat, flabby bicep and took another step toward the door. Tyrone resisted, his sheer bulk making him difficult to budge.
It was too late. Elle and Cyril entered, giggling and grinning, and stopped short when they caught sight of the two men.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Elle’s smile faltered, her gaze flicking from one to the other.
Cyril stepped in front of her, his scrawny fists clenching, but said nothing. The boy was developing excellent instincts.
Cash let go of Tyrone but remained at his elbow. If two self-absorbed teenagers had known instantly something was wrong, the atmosphere was more strained than he realized. “Nothing.”
Tyrone raised an eyebrow at him. “Dad?”
With the click of gears engaging, he realized the damage had been done. He’d grown so used to Elle using the word he hadn’t even heard it this time. His level of alert flared into the red zone.
He looked at Cyril and jerked his chin. “You two go wait in the back. This guy was just leaving.”
“This guy?” Tyrone stepped forward and held out a meaty hand. “I’m Tyrone. Your dad and I were best friends growing up.”
“Really?” Elle’s expression brightened, her curiosity piqued.
Tyrone turned to Cyril. “And who are you?”
Cyril shook the offered hand warily. “Cyril Potter.”
“You look familiar. You know my son TJ?”
