Ghost dropped into the matching chair beside his. “It sucks, most of the time. Well, all the time, really.”
James laughed. “You hooked on antacids yet?”
“Getting there.”
The TV was set on ESPN and James turned the volume down with the remote, his face seeming to age more as it plucked with concern. “Don’t pay any mind to Bonita. She’s just pissed she couldn’t get her nails done this morning without having to see those signs they’ve got set out along Main.” He snorted. “I love my wife, but be glad yours isn’t so goddamn vain as mine. She’s gonna shop and hair-dye us outta house and home.”
Ghost shook his head. “It’s not that.” He rubbed at the corduroy fabric of the chair arm and felt, for a moment, very young and a little bit hopeless. He didn’t slow down often enough to allow himself to feel that way, but right now, he was reminded that he wasn’t the ultimate patriarch yet. He still needed advice. “It’s…” He didn’t want to say it. He looked at James and said, “I’ve got this witness who said he saw Collier kill Andre the night of your retirement party.”
James pressed his head back against the chair, but his expression remained calm. “Collier loved Andre like a son.”
“Exactly.”
“But you believe this witness, or you wouldn’t be here talking to me about it.” Lift of one knowing eyebrow.
“I can’t find Collier.”
James sighed. “And innocent men don’t run away.”
Ghost nodded and sighed, slumping down into the chair. It was comfy as hell. “I just don’t understandwhy, though. Killing a brother like that…and lying about it…it doesn’t add up.”
“Pieces are missing,” James said. “Pieces you need to fill in before you rush to judgment.”
“Judgment? If he really did kill Andre, then he’s let us go two weeks thinking it was the Carpathians. I sent guys into that clubhouse. Mercy coulda gotkilled. And all because Collier was lying.” It made him so angry he couldn’t see straight, but James was shaking his head.
“A man doesn’t kill somebody he loves lightly or without reason. There’s a reason. Find it before you make any decisions. Collier’s your club brother; you owe him a chance to explain himself.”
“That’ll have to be some fucking explanation.”
“Hiya, Greg.” Aidan dropped down onto the couch beside his former classmate and shot RJ a look of thanks.
“Catcha later, Greg,” RJ said, standing, taking his beer down the back hall.
“Yeah. See ya.” Greg looked more relaxed now, all settled on the sofa with a beer and two empties on the table beside his socked feet. But he was still nervous. He had been taken into enemy territory with kindness, and he was smart enough to be suspicious of that. “What’s up?” he asked Aidan.
Aidan shrugged and propped his boots up on the table, hands behind his head. “Nothing. And I mean, actually nothing. All those protesters are scaring business away.”
“Dude, that sucks.”
“Yeah. My resume’s not good enough to get me a job anywhere else,” Aidan joked, not feeling it.
Greg gave a hollow laugh. Then quieted. “Hey, Aidan?”
“Yeah?”
“Um…what’s gonna happen to me?”
That was the million dollar question. Aidan shrugged. “You can probably stay on as a hangaround, if you want. We’ve got a new one of those, wants to prospect. Maybe you could do that too.”
Obvious relief in Greg’s eyes. “Really? You think?”
“Play your cards right.”
Footfalls behind them on the floorboards. Aidan turned and saw his dad, and felt something like dread.
“Greg,” Ghost said. “Carter’s out back wrestling the beer kegs off the truck. Go see if he needs help.”
Greg was on his feet, stepping into his boots straight away. “Yes, sir. Sure thing.”
