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He put his hand down and said, “Just don’t do it. It isn’t true, and it isn’t fair. I have them almost as much as you do. You asked me to leave. I didn’t abandon them.”

“Get out.”

Vic walked over to where his daughter was coloring and kissed the top of her head. He told her he loved her and would see her in two days. “Where’s Jason?”

“He’s outside with his friends,” Danni said.

“I’ll go find him.”

Danni followed him to the door, “If you don’t have that money, I’m not letting you take the kids this weekend.”

He stopped at the door and turned toward her, keeping his voice low when he said, “If you ever try to keep them from me, your money stops, and I will hire an attorney to fight you for full custody.”

“Ha, as if you would get custody.”

He walked outside and said, “Let me know when you want to go to court, Danni.” The door slammed shut behind him. There were kids playing on the next block, and he headed for them. “Jason?” he called out, waving his hand. “Hey, Jason!”

The boy waved to his friends and ran up the street toward him. They hugged and Vic kissed him on his head. “What are you doing here, Pop?”

“I came to see you guys. Were you busy with your friends? I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Nah, we were just playing. It’s almost dinner time.”

Vic held out his hand, and the boy took it. He was only eleven, and that wasn’t yet old enough that’s he’d be hesitant to hold hands with his old man in front of his friends. Maybe next year, Vic thought. “I’m glad you’re going home. Mom got pretty upset with me.”

Jason shook his head and said, “She just gets like that. Don’t worry about it.”

“Does she say bad things about me to you guys?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Okay, good. She’s a good mom.”

“Yep.”

“Am I a good dad?”

Jason looked at him and rolled his eyes, “Come on, Dad.”

Vic shrugged and said, “Okay. I just want to make sure. If I’m ever not doing it right, you let me know. That’s your job.”

Jason shrugged and said, “So far so good.”

11

Pete Lamia’s house was a modest split-level with a well-maintained lawn. It was the same design as all the other houses in the neighborhood. A stained glass picture of Jesus filled the living room’s bay window.

There was a light on upstairs and television light flickering in the den downstairs. Vic knocked on the door several times and rang the doorbell. An old man lumbered up the steps, grimacing as he braced his hand against his knees. He had on a flannel shirt that was tucked into his sweatpants. He wore orthopedic shoes. Peter Lamia opened the door and looked at Vic and Frank in amazement. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Vic laughed sharply and said, “Yeah, I think so, Mr. Lamia. Grab your coat. You’re coming with us.”

“What on earth for?”

“Seriously? Don’t stand here and make me spell it all out so all your neighbors can hear, sir. Just grab your coat and come quietly and I won’t handcuff you and drag you down the front steps.”

An old woman limped down the stairs, “Pete? What’s going on?”

“It’s the police, dear. They are putting me under arrest.”

“What? How dare you!” she shouted. “That deceitful little brat. I knew she was planning something like this! I knew it!”

“Calm down, Eris,” Pete said. “Everything will be fine. I’m just going to go with them and sort this all out. I’ll be back soon.”

She grabbed onto her husband’s arm, “You aren’t going anywhere until I call an attorney.”

Vic’s eyes narrowed, “Lady, I’m going to do this the easy way or the hard way. Get your hands off of him before I lose my temper.”

“Are you threatening me?” she shouted.

Frank gently took hold of Mrs. Lamia’s arm, escorting her away from her husband. “Let’s everybody calm down. Ma’am, we are conducting an investigation and we need to talk to Pete. You are welcome to come with us if you want.”

“No she isn’t,” Vic said.

“I’ll get my coat,” she said.

“She can drive herself over to the station and wait in the lobby,” Frank said. “Go put him in the car and I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Vic led the old man down the front steps, keeping a firm grip on his arm. “At least your partner has some decency,” Pete said.

Vic leaned close to him and said, “Shut your fucking mouth before I accidentally roll you into the street when a car drives past.” He shoved Pete against the car and pulled his hands behind his back. He slapped on the first handcuff and heard Pete yowl as the steel arm cinched around his wrist.

“I’m seventy-five years old, you son of a gun,” Pete said. “You’ll break my darn wrists.”

“Aw, that’s terrible,” Vic said. He snapped the other cuff on just as hard and then clicked both cuffs closed until steel ground against bone and Pete shrieked in pain. He threw the door open and grabbed a handful of Pete’s thin white hair as tight as he could and shoved him down inside the vehicle. Pete fell into the seat sideways with a cry.

Frank hurried down the steps as Mrs. Lamia fumbled with the front door lock. “What the hell are you doing?”

Vic got into the car and started the engine. “Get in or you can ride back with the old bitch.”

Frank ran around to the passenger side and jumped in. He looked back at Pete, writhing in pain, shouting, “My hands are going numb. Please loosen these.”

Frank turned back to Vic, “Dude, you need to calm down.”

Vic jammed the car into reverse and screeched backwards out of the driveway, leaving the old woman struggling to get into her car and follow. “Hey! All you are doing is creating a problem for us down the road!” Frank said.

“There is no down the road. Don’t you see that yet? There’s just tonight, and this child molesting piece of shit who is about to tell us every fucking sin he’s ever committed or I’m going to beat him to a fucking pulp.”

“Please, please loosen these,” Pete moaned.

“Your wrists are about to be the least of your troubles, asshole,” Vic snarled.

“He’s going to bruise,” Frank said. “His arms are going to turn purple and we’re going to lose the entire goddamn case because of you.”

“I don’t care!”

“Pull the car over,” Frank said.

“No.”

“Pull the car over before I punch you in the fucking face!”

Vic slammed on the brakes so hard that the air smelled like burnt plastic. Frank leaned back over his seat and said, “Turn around.”

“God bless you. Bless you for being kind,” Pete muttered.

“Shut the fuck up!” Frank screamed. “I didn’t do this for you.” He shoved the old man forward and stuck his handcuff key into the slot to loosen the cuffs. Pete gasped in relief and Frank told him to sit back and be quiet.

They drove in silence for a while, until Vic finally mumbled, “Thanks for ruining my chance at softening him up for the interview, douchebag.”

* * *

Frank got out of the car and went to the back to let Pete out. The station door slammed shut in Vic’s wake. “Come on, sir. We’re going inside.”

“Your partner’s going to hurt me, isn’t he? He’s going to beat me like I’m some sort of criminal.”

“Nobody’s going to beat you, I promise.”

Pete shifted across the seat, coming toward the open door, “I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear to God. I swear on the Holy Bible.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.” He reached down and helped Pete to his feet. He escorted the old man into the station and led him down the hall to the interview room. Pete sat down and Frank uncuffed one of his hands and attached it to a metal bar on the table. “Let me take a look at your wrists,” he said. They were red, with impressions in the skin from the metal, but no bruising.