taken out a restraining order to keep Victor from the boy. The problem with that was that Bobby Lee was coming to see Victor, not Victor to see Bobby Lee.
Then Victor had gotten busted on the manslaughter charge. There hadn’t been any way around it, and he’d been lucky they hadn’t gotten him stuck with murder one. Time inside the pen hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it standing up.
When he’d gotten out three years ago, Bobby Lee had ridden up with the other Purple Royals like he belonged. Fat Mike had even given him the keys to Victor’s ride, and Bobby Lee had ridden home behind his daddy for the first time ever.
Of course, that hadn’t fixed everything between them. There was too much history that had been bad, too much time that had been lost. Bobby Lee’s own arrogant rebelliousness-honed to a razor’s edge fighting his mama and stepdaddy-had kept him from getting too close to Victor.
The fact that Victor didn’t want the boy in the Purple Royals was another stumbling block. It wasn’t to keep Bobby Lee from a life of crime. Bobby Lee’d had a long history with juvie even before he met Victor for the first time. There was no keeping the boy out of trouble.
The attack on the Marine in Jacksonville was going to be a problem sooner or later, though. The best thing Bobby Lee could have done was leave North Carolina. Go out West to California.
The reason Victor didn’t want Bobby Lee in the Purple Royals was because he didn’t have enough of what it took to be a member of the gang. Bobby Lee was too independent and boneheaded. Victor had seen a lot of young men like him. He’d seen them blown up and shot down in the bush.
Maybe in time Bobby Lee would change.
“You a granddaddy.” The thought seemed stuck in Fat Mike’s mind. Thoughts often got that way for him. He was rattlesnake smart and junkyard-dog clever, but his mind tended to run in the same track when left to itself. “Means only one thing. Me and you are getting old.”
“Speak for yourself. I intend to stay young until they scrape me off the highway.” Victor upended his beer and drained the last of the bottle’s contents.
Then the door opened and the man Victor was waiting for entered the bar.
He was young, and his appearance was rough. His road leathers were scarred and dusty. His black hair hung wild and tousled to his shoulders. When he lit a cigarette, his jacket separated long enough to reveal the semiauto pistol tucked into his waistband.
Most people, Victor reflected as he looked at the guy, would have been surprised to learn that the man was an undercover FBI agent.
His true name was unknown to Victor, but on the street he went by Thumper. He even had a tattoo of the bunny from the Disney film on one shoulder. Except that the image wore biker’s leathers and breathed fire. One guy had made fun of the tat in a bar, called him Bambi, and Thumper had put him in the hospital.
Whoever the federal agent truly was, Victor knew the man had been around the track.
Thumper nodded at Victor, then crossed the room and dropped into a chair on the other side of the table.
“How’s it hanging, bro?” Thumper asked.
“I’m not your bro,” Victor said. He moved his hand on his thigh slightly. The butt of one of the Glocks was only inches from his fingertips. “I’m here to do business. Not make friends.”
Thumper smiled slightly. “I can live with that. So tell me what’s on your mind.”
5
›› Interstate 85
›› Near Salisbury, North Carolina
›› 1718 Hours
For a long moment, Shel thought about just ignoring Remy’s question. He knew if he decided not to answer, Remy wouldn’t push it. Finally he said, “We’ve never talked about family.”
“No.”
Since Remy had been pulled into the team to replace Frank Billings, who had been killed in South Korea, he’d gradually warmed up to everyone else. But-like Shel, Nita, and Maggie-he hadn’t talked much about family.
Only Will and Estrella did that. Will’s current situation was screwed up, what with figuring out the pecking order with his ex-wife’s new husband in the picture. And Estrella had never gotten over her husband’s death. Both of them had pictures on their desks and computers, and they had stories to tell about what was going on in that part of their lives.
“Did you get along with your daddy?” Shel asked.
Remy looked ahead at the interstate. His face was as expressionless as his tinted sunglasses. “I never knew the man. My grandmere raised me and my brother.” The French Creole influence from New Orleans sometimes crept into Remy’s words.
“Didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
Shel knew there was a story there. He could feel the jagged pieces of it in Remy’s words. But he let it go.
“My daddy’s a hard man to get to know,” Shel said. “All my life he’s been distant. Not really a part of my life. Like he was just somebody curious and looking in through a window at me.”
Remy didn’t say anything.
“When Mama was still alive,” Shel went on, “it wasn’t so bad. She buffered everybody. Kept us all on an even keel. But Daddy was distant with her, too.”
“You ain’t the most talkative man I’ve ever met,” Remy commented.
Shel had to grin at that. It was true. “Neither are you, kemosabe. And that’s why you and me having this conversation is… odd.”
“We don’t have to have it.”
“Unless we play another basketball game.”
“Never again on Father’s Day.”
Shel knew Remy was giving him an out and gently letting him know he didn’t have to continue talking. Or maybe the topic was a little uncomfortable for him too. Shel wasn’t sure.
But Shel discovered that once he’d opened the can, the worms insisted on crawling out. Most of the reason for that, he was sure, was because he was confident Remy would never tell another soul. And because Remy wouldn’t waste time trying to correct Shel’s thinking or tell him how he should feel.
›› 1723 Hours
“Mama always said Daddy got messed up in the war,” Shel said. “She knew him before he went to Vietnam. His daddy raised him to be a rancher, but when he got old enough, he signed on with the Army.”
“Not the Marines?”
“I was never one to follow in my daddy’s footsteps.” Shel admitted that honestly. “It started long before the choice of service in the military.”
“Your father was in Vietnam?”
Shel nodded. That was a source of pride for him despite the confusion that generally roiled up when he thought of his father. “Pulled four two-year tours. Got released in ’72 when his mama took sick. He had to go back and help work the ranch-the Rafter M. Mama said that taking care of Grandma was the only thing that brought him home.”
“But somewhere in there he met your mother.”
“Somewhere.” Shel reached back and patted Max on the head. Having the dog with him 24-7 was a blessing. “Mama said they knew each other in grade school, all the way through high school. She said they talked like they were going to get married, but Daddy wouldn’t do it because he thought he might get killed.”
“A lot of boys did. Today isn’t much better.”
Shel nodded. “She said Daddy was surprised when he came home and found out she hadn’t married.”
