Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  "Wow, you weren't kidding about those anxiety attacks." She glanced at his face. His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners. "I like the way you throw yourself into whatever you're doing. Shows great dedication."

  He was joking. Probably a good way to deal with a crazy person.

  "And heck," he said, "if you have to have a medical emergency, where better than here? Paramedics everywhere."

  She looked down, wanted to melt into the seat. How could he still be there, still be kind, after everything?

  "You take my car," she said. "I'll get one of these guys to drive me home."

  He closed his mouth, tilted his head to the side. "You're not going to forgive me?"

  "Nothing to forgive. You need to take care of Aiden."

  His voice hardened. "He's fine."

  "So am I. I'll get a ride home. I don't think I can drive."

  "But I can—"

  "You need to take care of your son. I'm fine." She met his eyes, motioned with her hands for him to get out of her way, and he stepped back.

  She walked toward Eric. "Can somebody drive me home?"

  Eric's eyes flicked to Garrison. He said nothing.

  "Sure," Eric said. "I'll get Donny to drive you." He pointed to a cruiser. "That's his. Climb in the front and don't play with the buttons."

  She attempted a smile but couldn't pull it off. She walked toward the cruiser.

  Garrison was still beside her.

  "Your son needs you."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm fine. I'll be fine at home. It's just..." She glanced at the forest, shook her head. "I'll be fine." But she didn't get in the cruiser. Couldn't sit in there by herself. "Go."

  Garrison stood with her until Donny ran up. He introduced himself to Garrison and said, "I understand the plan is to get him into rehab."

  "How did you know that?"

  "He told me."

  Garrison looked surprised. "Oh. Yeah, that's the plan. If we survive until then."

  "You will. It's a good idea." Donny looked at her. "Ready, Sam?"

  Garrison turned to her. "Get some rest. I'll drop your car off tonight, if I can get one of these guys to drive me home. Okay if I leave the keys on the floorboard?"

  "It's fine."

  "Okay. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "You don't have to."

  He started to say something, then stopped and kissed her on the cheek. "Tomorrow."

  Chapter 29

  Garrison watched until Sam and the police officer disappeared down the twisting road. He'd really botched that up. What had he been thinking, getting a woman with an anxiety disorder to drive him all over town in the middle of the night—and giving her a hard time about it, too? He hadn't been thinking, not about her.

  He'd be lucky if she ever forgave him.

  He had half a mind to tell the cops to haul Aiden to jail and follow her.

  Instead, he turned toward Eric, who was standing by Aiden. But his gaze caught on the Camry.

  The thick oak tree that had taken the brunt of the crash stood straight. But the car... The hood was mangled, the front passenger side mashed in. If somebody'd been in the passenger seat, he'd be seriously injured. Or dead.

  He looked away before he threw up. He'd seen his share of tragedy in his life, but this was different. This was his tragedy, his son.

  Aiden could have died tonight.

  Garrison forced his gaze up, saw Aiden watching him. He approached Eric. "What happened?"

  Eric led Garrison to the far side of the ambulance and out of Aiden's earshot. "There's a fellow who hangs out at the Nuthouse. We suspect he's dealing, but we haven't nailed him yet. I was heading to his house to see if your car was there. On the way, I saw the Camry coming toward me. I let him pass, then turned around, thinking I'd follow at a distance. But then your son did a U-turn and passed me a second time. I tried to play it cool, but I guess when he saw the cruiser in his rearview, he panicked. Floored it. I stayed pretty far back so Aiden would relax." Eric pointed to a street sign and a narrow country road Garrison hadn't noticed before. "I'm guessing he saw that road and thought he'd turn, try to lose me, but he was going too fast and lost control."

  Garrison pictured the scene.

  Eric lowered his arm. "Your boy's lucky this is such a winding road. If he'd hit a straightaway and been going much faster, this could have been a lot worse."

  Garrison swallowed and turned to gaze at Aiden, who was still seated on the gurney, hunched over, head in his hands. A paramedic stood beside him, asking questions.

  "This is awkward, you being a friend of the chief's."

  Garrison returned his focus to the officer. "Worked with him on a case last spring."

  "I was there when they found Ana, heard you were involved. If you need some recommendations for facilities, call the station tomorrow. We got a guy in town with a lot of experience."

  "It's not Reed, is it?"

  "Good. Sam already hooked y'all up. Take his advice. He knows what he's doing."

  "I plan to." He gazed at his son, watched as the paramedic looked into his eyes with a small flashlight, then shut it off and slipped it into a pocket. He stepped away.

  Garrison turned back to Eric. "What are you going to do here?"

  Eric shook his head. "I'm still thinking about it." He approached Aiden, stopped a few feet away, and crossed his arms across his thick chest. Though Eric was a few inches shorter than Garrison and Aiden, the man was all muscle. Intimidation personified.

  Garrison followed and stood beside him.

  "Look at me, boy," Eric said.

  Aiden looked up, saw his dad, then focused on the police officer.

  "I got you for possession, reckless driving, DUI, disobeying a police officer..." Eric paused. "I'm sure I could come up with a few more."

  Aiden's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, sir."

  "You could have killed yourself. You could have killed somebody else. You understand that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He pointed to the mangled car. "You could have been pulled out of that and shoved straight into a body bag. Can you picture that?"

  Tears streamed down Aiden's face. He looked down, nodded his head.

  "Imagine your dad standing beside your body. Imagine him having to plan your funeral."

  Garrison's eyes stung. That picture came too easily.

  Eric's voice was harsh. "Look at me."

  Aiden did. His lower lip trembled, and Garrison wanted nothing more than to wrap his child in his arms.

  Maybe...maybe this would be the wake-up call.

  Eric gazed at his cruiser for a long moment, looked back at Aiden. "You want to go to jail tonight?"

  "No, sir."

  "Do you deserve to go to jail tonight?"

  Aiden's gaze flicked to Garrison. He nodded.

  "Didn't hear you," Eric said.

  Aiden looked up. "Yes, sir."

  "In my job," the cop said, "I often have to choose between justice and mercy. You know what those words mean?"

  Aiden nodded.

  "Okay?" Eric waited, eyebrows lifted.

  Aiden looked at Garrison, who nodded at the cop.

  "Don't look at him, boy," Eric said. "This is on you."

  Aiden met Eric's eyes. "So, like, justice is when you get what's coming to you, I guess."

  "I like that," Eric said. "And mercy?"

  Aiden shrugged. "I guess it's when you don't."

  Eric nodded slowly, as if he were digesting the words. "Good. That's a good way to put it. If you get what you deserve tonight, it means jail, right?"

  Aiden nodded.

  Eric looked at Garrison, looked at his police cruiser, looked at Aiden. "I'm going with mercy tonight. Don't make me regret it."

  Aiden dropped his shoulders, which shook with sobs.

  Garrison could hardly hold in his own tears as he turned to the man and shook his hand again. "Thank you."

  "Get him in a facility right away. Let us know if you need anything."r />
  "Will do."

  Eric stepped forward and clasped the boy on the shoulder. "Let this be rock bottom. Then the only way to go is up."

  Chapter 30

  "Why don't you look up the address on your phone so we know where we're going when we get to Nutfield?"

  Matty had been dreading this moment for four hours while his father drove. "I don't know exactly where they are."

  His father's quiet exhale spoke volumes. "What do you know?"

  "Mr. Kopp let the name of the town slip when I talked to him."

  "That's it—the name of the town? What if there's another Nutfield in another state somewhere."

  "I'm not an idiot. I checked that."

  "And what are we supposed to do when we get there, just walk around calling their names until we find them? Look for their... Aw, crap. You're sure they have their car, right? You did at least ask that."

  Matty's heart pounded. The thought had never occurred to him. He considered it, considered the distance to New Hampshire. "It's not at their house, so..."

  "Airports have parking lots, you know."

  No. No way they flew. "I guarantee Mr. Kopp didn't get Aiden out of the hospital and then book flights. They're not the kind of people who fly to the Bahamas at the first sign of trouble."

  He shouldn't have said that. He snuck a peek at his father but saw no reaction. Frank didn't say anything, and the quiet was worse than his father's quick anger.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

  "I was trying to stay alive and out of jail. Maybe your hero Garrison Kopp would have made a different choice."

  His hero? Matty wanted to disagree, but his father was right. Mr. Kopp had always been a hero. He'd never have been in a situation where he needed to flee the country. He was a stand-up guy who valued the law. A good guy. Not like Frank O'Brien, who was only a father by DNA. Matty couldn't say any of that, though.

  His father thumped the steering wheel. "You're telling me that all you know is the name of the town?"

  "That's all he said."

  "Nothing about landmarks? Nothing about where they're staying?"

  Matty thought back, thought of the conversation with Mr. Kopp, and the one with Aiden. "They're staying on a lake. Aiden's dad was mad he told me that."

  "Good, good. Check it out."

  Matty opened a browser on his phone and searched. "Clearwater Lake. That must be where they are."

  "Unless it's a really small lake, that probably doesn't narrow it enough. You got pictures of your friends?"

  Matty opened his photos. There were a bunch of Aiden, none of Mr. Kopp. "Some."

  Dad nodded slowly, stayed quiet a minute. "Look and see how many roads go in and out from the lake."

  Matty studied the map. "Looks like one main road from town. It keeps going past the lake, but there doesn't seem to be much beyond it for miles."

  "Either we ask around or we just park and watch for them."

  "We could do that. They have to get out sometime."

  "If we don't see them in a couple hours, you'll call."

  "And say what?"

  "That you're in town and need help. He'd come, right, the big FBI hero? He wouldn't just ignore you."

  Acid soured his stomach. "I was sort of hoping we could just find the Camry, get the stuff, and leave without him knowing anything."

  "Right. Wouldn't want to disappoint your hero."

  His father's voice was thick with sarcasm. Was he jealous? Couldn't be, because that would mean he cared, and Matty had quit believing that. No father who cared would put his kid in this situation. Not without good reason.

  But maybe his dad had good reason. Maybe all this was worse, more dangerous than Matty even realized. "What's in the package, anyway?" Matty waited through a long silence before he added, "I think at this point, I have a right to know."

  "A right? Like there's some consti-flippin-tution? You got no rights here, kid."

  "Seriously? You drag me into this, but you won't even tell me what it's about? Yeah, that feels about like what you'd do."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Look at me, Dad!" Rage filled every pore of his being. "Look at this situation we're in. You don't think after all I've done, all I'm trying to do to get that stupid little box back, I don't have any right to know what's inside?"

  "Calm down."

  "Don't tell me to calm down. You want my help, you'll tell me what's in the"—he barely held back a curse—"package."

  Dad exhaled a long breath. "You got quite a temper on you, boy."

  "Don't call me boy."

  "What's your problem? I call you kid all the time."

  "I don't like that, either. I have a name, in case you forgot."

  "How could I? I was there when we gave it to you."

  "Congratulations. At least you can say you showed up once."

  Dad lifted one hand in surrender and glanced his way. "Dial the anger back, would ya?"

  Dial it back? He had to clench his hands together to keep from striking out.

  "I'll tell you if you calm down."

  Matty spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm calm."

  There was a long pause while the landscape passed outside. The sun was close enough to rising that Matty could make out the shapes of the trees in the forest that lined the road, but everything looked black and gray, like an old movie. He felt like he'd been caught up in some crazy black-and-white flick like his mom always watched.

  "You have to understand." Dad said. "The people who gave the stuff to me, they didn't steal them. They found them."

  "Found what?"

  A long exhale. "They're uncut diamonds."

  Diamonds? Holy cow. A thousand questions popped in his head, but he landed on, "What do you mean, they found them? Like, on the sidewalk?"

  "The Congo is filled with diamond mines. These were mined, but they weren't turned over to the owners. The miners who mined them smuggled them out and got them to a guy who's trying to start a revolution. He passed them to me to convert to cash for him. I deliver the diamonds, the buyers wire the money to my contact in Africa."

  This was utterly insane. He knew his father was into some strange stuff, but this went far beyond what Matty had imagined. "You're helping start a war? Why? What's in it for you?"

  "I get a cut of the price. It's a lot of money. I've already got half. I get the other half when it's done."

  "These guys you're working for, are you in favor of their cause? Do you think they'd be better at running their country than the people Robert works for?"

  "I don't do politics. This is strictly business."

  Business. For a minute, he'd thought his father might have a conscience.

  "What happens if we don't get the package, the...diamonds"—he could hardly say the word, it felt so weird on his lips—"to these people? Are they gonna, like, kill you?"

  "We're going to get it, so it doesn't matter."

  "I'm serious. Like, is your life in danger?" He wanted to add, is mine? But he was afraid of the answer. Because...diamonds, revolution. This sounded far too serious for Matty.

  Dad scoffed. "Don't be stupid. Nobody's going to die. I made a promise to these people, and real men keep their promises. That's a good lesson for you, kid. Keep your promises."

  Right. His father had never kept the promises he made to Matty and Jimmy and their mother. Dad had broken every one of those. But of course there was never money to be made with those promises, only money to be spent. Wasted, Dad probably thought, on stupid things like clothes and food and rent. Well, they weren't Dad's clothes, Dad's food, or Dad's rent, were they? What did his family matter when there was money to be made?

  He glanced at his dad. With the sun rising, he could see him better now, the puffiness under his eyes, the dark circles. What kind of life was that, always looking over your shoulder? All in search of what?

  Why had Matty ever wanted to follow in his father's footsteps? But if he didn't, what would he be? What could he b
e, if this was all his father was?

  Assuming they survived, what choices would Matty have in his future?

  "I know what you're thinking," Dad said. "And I haven't been the best about promises, but I'm going to fix that."

  Another empty promise. Just what he needed. "Whatever. What if, this time, you can't keep your promise? What if you can't deliver the package? Then what?"

  Dad shrugged as if it was no big deal. "That's really not an option."

  "Just pay the money back. Then this will all be over."

  "You think they'll just forget that I was carrying a million bucks' worth of diamonds?"

  A million dollars. A million dollars.

  Matty had had a million dollars' worth of diamonds in his pocket. He'd stuck a million dollars' worth of diamonds into the trunk of Mr. Kopp's car.

  All because of his father's crazy schemes. For what? Another trip to Atlantic City so he could blow it at the blackjack tables? It hadn't been the lawbreaking or the lies or the broken promises that led Matty's mother to boot Dad out. It had been the gambling. Matty could still remember the fights, the way his mother cried when he came home penniless. Again. Risked his life for nothing. Again. Left her to fend for herself and her children. Again.

  His father was a fool. Of course these people would demand their diamonds. What would they do if the diamonds were lost? Or turned over to the police?

  "But what about the African dude, Robert? He's who you're running from, right? Is he going to kill you if he doesn't get his stuff back?"

  "What's with you and the killing? Nobody's going to kill anybody."

  Matty remembered the threats Robert made against his family. He didn't believe his father's words and doubted Dad believed them either. "Then why are you running if you're not scared?"

  "I'm not running. I'm trying to get the merchandise so I can deliver it."

  "The Bahamas—"

  "Okay, fine. That might have been considered running, but sometimes that's the best move—get away, regroup. I'm trying to stay out of jail."

  "You ever been to jail?"

  "Nope. Not once. Not even arrested. Been questioned a few times, but they couldn't prove anything. I'm too good."

  "Maybe a little lucky."

  "Aye, the luck o' the Irish."