Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  Generous Lies

  Hidden Truth, Volume 3

  Robin Patchen

  Published by JDO Publishing, 2017.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  GENEROUS LIES

  First edition. July 29, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Robin Patchen.

  ISBN: 978-1974066148

  Written by Robin Patchen.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  An excerpt from Innocent Lies

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Robin Patchen

  For Nicholas.

  Your adventure is only beginning,

  and I couldn’t be prouder of you.

  Chapter 1

  Of all the strange things Matty O'Brien had seen his father do, this was the strangest.

  It started with Dad's phone call asking Matty for a ride. That was odd, but not as odd as what came next.

  Matty got to the airport, hoping he'd make it back home in time for the biggest party of the summer, and then he parked curbside, waiting where Dad had told him to. Security police were up ahead, urging cars along, and they'd get to him soon.

  He drummed the steering wheel. "Come on, Dad. Where are you?"

  He shouldn't complain. Any opportunity to see his dad needed to be taken. Maybe Dad just wanted to spend time with him.

  Right. Matty was no A-student, but he wasn't stupid enough to believe that. At least he'd get some money. He could always count on Dad to pay him for his time, if nothing else. Assuming Dad ever got here.

  A minute later, Dad stepped out. Good ol’ Frank O’Brien He was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a bright blue tie that made him look every bit the businessman he was. Like Matty, his dad had light brown hair, only his was graying at the temples. And those fancy shoes had to cost as much as Matty's car. To be fair, to call his car a beater would be an insult to the other beaters on the road.

  Dad looked him right in the eyes for a quick second, then his gaze moved on. He glanced to his right, his left, and behind him, but not at Matty again. What was he looking for? Matty considered getting out and waving, but he thought better of it. Maybe something was wrong. Dad always had a reason for what he did.

  This was getting a little scary.

  People entered and exited through the door on the far end of the terminal. Seemed like that was where most of the action was happening. A family came outside, then a couple of businessmen pulling small bags followed by a huge dude with blacker skin than Matty'd ever seen. Maybe he'd come in on the same flight as Dad, from somewhere in Africa. Matty hadn't asked which country.

  The black man looked around before he stepped to the far side of the bank of doors, out of Matty's line of sight.

  Dad finally approached Matty's car. He yanked open the passenger door, pulled a small package from inside his suit coat, and shoved it in the glove box. He handed a piece of paper to Matty. An address was written on it.

  He leaned into the car. "Deliver it to that address on Sunday at noon."

  "Don't you need—?"

  "No matter what you do"—he looked at something behind the car Matty couldn't see, then scanned the area before focusing on Matty again—"don't let that package out of your sight, and don't let anybody else see it. We could get in a lot of trouble."

  "What is it?"

  Dad didn't seem to register the question. His face was pinched, his gaze darting everywhere. Matty'd never seen his dad nervous, and the sight had him scanning the surroundings too. Was Dad looking for cops? Something worse?

  Dad said, "I'll call you later," before he backed out of the car, slammed the door, and disappeared inside the terminal.

  Seriously weird.

  Matty's hands shook as he pulled away from the curb and into the airport traffic. Surely his father wouldn't get him involved in anything dangerous. Dad was always talking about mitigating risk, protecting what was important. Matty was important to his father, so obviously he wouldn't pull him into anything that bad.

  Right?

  As he inched forward in traffic, he noted the black man's gaze reflected in the rearview mirror. Matty felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  He took a deep breath. Whatever was in the package, Matty would get it delivered on time. Maybe then he'd get to have a real conversation with his father.

  He was back in Hempstead, New York, within thirty minutes and only few blocks from home when his car coughed, spluttered, and died. He managed to pull it over on the side of the road before the wheels stopped turning.

  Great. No conversation with Dad, no car, and a package that needed to be delivered on Sunday. He stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and called his mother.

  "Ma, the car died again."

  She sighed, a sound he'd heard too often lately. The last thing she needed was more trouble. Hard enough raising two kids alone, working full-time, and trying to make ends meet without having to worry about her almost grown-up son's car.

  "Don't worry," Matty said. "I'll take care of it. I just wanted you to know why I wasn't home."

  "Where have you been?"

  Nope. Not dumb enough to tell her the truth. She'd kill him if she knew he'd been to meet his father. "I'm close enough to walk. I'll just leave it here for now."

  He ended the call and grabbed the package from the glove box. It was a little bigger than a deck of cards but weighted much less, wrapped in brown paper and sealed with packaging tape. It wasn't drugs—dogs would've picked up on that. And why would anybody transport such a small amount of drugs? He shook it, felt a slight shift inside that told him nothing.

  It was obviously something valuable.

  Matty imagined what it might be. A flash drive with secret information, maybe enough to take down some totalitarian government? Maybe his father was only pretending to be a criminal. Maybe he was working with the authorities.

  Right. Then why wouldn't Dad have handed the package off to a cop?

  Matty looked at the address. Dad had written it on the back of one of those paper luggage tags you get when you check in for a flight. Just a street address and a town—Oceanside—but no name.

  Maybe this was the cop Da
d had to get the information to. Maybe he was really a hero, a federal agent, or a spy! The idea fizzled before it could take hold. Matty knew better.

  He shoved the package and the address in his pocket and started walking. He was used to carrying contraband and looking innocent. He'd done it often enough with drugs. Walked right by cops all the time with pills or weed in his pocket—stuff he intended to sell—so the package didn't bother him a bit as he turned the corner toward home.

  Like father, like son.

  He paused in front of the two-story house that belonged to one of the guys in his class. This was where the party was taking place.

  Laughter rang through the air, and the steady beat of music drew his gaze. He checked the package in his pocket—safe and sound—and peered into the windows. Inside, a couple of guys he went to school with were chugging beer from red plastic cups.

  And the girls. From what he could see, the girls had gone all-out with the makeup and hair and clothes.

  He took two steps toward the door and froze.

  He'd be an idiot to go in there.

  On the other hand, his mom was always telling him to branch out, find some new people to hang out with. There were new people in there, and the ones he wanted to get to know looked primed for fun in their short shorts and tight shirts and glassy eyes.

  Aiden must be there. He never missed an opportunity to party. Sure enough, Matty saw Aiden's father's car. Matty's car might be a piece of junk, but at least he had his own. Not that he would fault Mr. Kopp for not buying Aiden a car. Aiden's dad was just about perfect, taking Aiden and Matty to their baseball games, getting them ice cream, going with them to the arcade. So maybe he'd been strict about the car, but at least he was there. At least he cared. Aiden had no idea how good he had it.

  There were other cars he recognized from school. Cars of friends. And there was his ex-girlfriend's little Miata. If Priscilla was here, then the rest of her crew was, too. Hot girls galore.

  He stared at the door. The package seemed to warm in his pocket. Dad had trusted him, and he wouldn't let him down.

  He'd turned to leave when the front door banged open.

  "Hey, Matty."

  The voice floated over the music. He turned in time to see Priscilla pull the front door closed and stagger down the three steps to the sidewalk. She slipped, righted herself with the help of the rail, and moved toward him. "I saw you through the window. You aren't leaving, are you?" Her voice was soft and slushy. His ex-girlfriend's mood shifted faster than the Long Island wind in a hurricane. Last time he'd seen her, she'd dumped him.

  Seemed the wind had shifted again.

  "I gotta get home." But even as the words left his mouth, he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere, not with the way she was looking at him.

  She pressed against him, wrapped her arms around his neck. "You got something for me?"

  He could think of a few things.

  "I can pay you tomorrow."

  He pushed her away. "Not right now."

  "Can you get me something, though? A couple oxies?"

  "Don't they have some inside? I sold—"

  "Ran out. They're smoking, but you know I hate that. I need you."

  He thought of the package in his pocket. It was safe there. He also had a small bag of pills. Always liked to have a couple in case he ran into a customer. "Okay, I got something for you. But maybe I'll just give them to you." He pulled her between the two houses. It was dark back here. He didn't mind sharing if it meant he might get a little action. Priscilla was always more fun when she wanted something.

  They were just getting started when he heard a screech of tires. He pushed her off him so fast she tumbled into the dirt. He felt his pocket—the package was still there—then held out his hand for Priscilla. Once she was upright, he crept along the edge of the house as another car stopped, this one with blue lights spinning.

  He swore under his breath. Idiot. He should have kept walking.

  He turned and headed for the backyard, but as he rounded the corner, he saw flashlights along the fence line. More cops. The place was surrounded.

  And Matty was carrying...what?

  He opened his wallet and dumped the pills in the grass, then ground them into the dirt with his feet.

  "What'd you do that for?"

  He turned back to find Priscilla had followed him and was staring wide-eyed at the place he'd dumped the pills.

  "You want to go to jail?"

  "But I would've—"

  "You don't need to be any higher than you already are. You can thank me later. Go inside."

  "But I'll get caught! What if they make us take drug tests?"

  He heard banging, deep voices, a door slamming open, kids screaming.

  He focused on Priscilla. "There're a lot of kids here. They can't test everyone. You'll be safer inside." And he needed her out of the way.

  "What should I say?"

  "You were sick. You went outside. Alone."

  "But—"

  "I'll be right behind you." He yanked her to the bottom of the stairs that led to the back door. "Go."

  She glared but climbed the steps. He waited until the screen door slammed behind her, leaving him in the semi-darkness.

  There were flashlights everywhere. He was surrounded by cops.

  As much as he'd like to believe the package in his pocket was a flash drive, his father a spy, he wasn't that stupid. Whatever it was, Dad wouldn't want it shoved in some evidence locker. Even if it wasn't illegal, Matty couldn't let it get confiscated. Dad would never forgive him.

  The thought his stomach flipping over. Not that. Anything but that.

  Keeping low, he inched toward the sidewalk, glimpsed the back bumper of Aiden's dad's car. If it got searched... Well, Aiden didn't have any priors. And his dad was a fed. Aiden would probably be fine. And if Matty was right and the package didn't contain drugs, why would anybody search it? Not like drug dogs would sniff out packaging tape.

  He gazed at the houses across the street. A few neighbors were peeking around their curtains, watching the action, but they would be drawn to the light, not the shadows.

  Did Matty dare? He looked at the front door. Cops had gone inside. There were radio cars on either end of the street, positioned to stop kids from escaping. They'd search everyone who tried to walk away, search every car that approached. Fine. Matty would have to tell Aiden to leave his car until morning. It's not like it looked like a kid's car. The cops would leave it alone.

  Now he had to get there.

  He crept forward, careful to stay away from the streetlights and the glow from the house. He managed to cross the short lawn quickly, then crawled along the sidewalk to the back door of Aiden's car. Gently, he opened the door—Aiden always forgot to lock it—and slid inside. The dome light lit up, so he pulled the car door closed as fast as he could, careful not to slam it. The noises from the house drowned out the little sound the door made.

  The car was nearly immaculate. The only thing in the backseat was an empty shoebox—Air Jordans. Aiden had been showing them off all over town.

  Matty pulled down the backseat to give him access to the trunk and climbed into the tiny space. It was full of stuff—a blanket, a box of granola bars, a couple bottles of water, a first aid kit, a flashlight. Mr. Kopp was prepared for every emergency. It took some finagling, but Matty managed to push the stuff to one side and open the compartment where the jack was kept. Then he shoved the tiny box into that space and put the cover back on.

  The package would be safe there. Aiden would be ticked, but whatever. Matty would throw him a couple of hundreds—or a few oxies—and his friend would get over it.

  Matty had just climbed out of the trunk and righted the seat when he heard the wail of a siren. He hit the floorboard, banged his knee, and stifled a yelp. The siren neared, then cut off. Shouts, feet thumping right outside the car. He peeked. An ambulance. Paramedics running into the house.

  Someone was hurt, maybe worse. Maybe the
drugs he'd supplied...

  No time to worry about that now.

  He sat on his knees, looked both ways. The cops down the street were focused on the road. The ones on the sidewalk were focused on the ambulance, the front door, and the kids coming out.

  Silently, he slid from the car, closed the door, and crept back toward the house. He stayed low, pretended to be tying his shoe, then stood and joined the throng of kids now standing on the sidewalk, all staring at the door.

  He kept his head down and waited. When he was questioned, he'd say he was just walking by and stopped to see what going on. He hadn't been drinking, never did drugs. And he could direct the police to his car, broken down just a few blocks away. He could walk away from this scot-free. Pick up the package from Aiden tomorrow. No problem.

  The screen banged open, and a paramedic backed out with a gurney. Matty strained with the rest of the crowd to see the person lying on the gurney as the paramedics came down the three steps and approached the ambulance. The face was obscured, but the dark hair was on the long side, just enough to annoy a really buttoned-up dad. Feet stuck out the end. Air Jordans.

  Chapter 2

  Garrison Kopp had never won Father of the Year. No chance he was in the running this year, either.

  He glanced at the clock—ten-thirty. Aiden had another half hour before he'd be late, but Garrison couldn't relax. He stood and muted the baseball game. The Pirates were losing anyway.

  Now the house was too quiet. He longed for the days when he and Aiden would watch a ballgame together or, better yet, throw the football in the backyard. Of course this tiny rental house hardly had a yard. Besides, these days, Aiden wanted nothing to do with his old man.

  Garrison wandered into the kitchen and put his dishes into the dishwasher. Aiden hadn't eaten at home—again. Always someplace better to be, someone better to hang out with.

  "He'll come back," Garrison's mother had said. Maybe Mom was right, but then Garrison and his sisters hadn't made the same stupid choices Aiden was making. And it was a different world now. With cell phones and computers and constant access to all the junk the media had to offer, not to mention the easy access to porn and girls and drugs.