A kid, twenty, twenty-one, low jeans barely hanging off his ass, ball cap peak to the back, jogs up the stairs. I flick the butt, a shower of sparks spiraling upward as I dash to make it to him. I take the steps three at a time. The kid's finger is on the buzzer when I grab him by the scruff of the neck.
“I’m your uncle,” I snarl. He spins, ready to swing, face contorted into a snarl of his own, but when he sees me properly he pulls back a little.
“What you want? You ain’t my uncle, man.” It's not my size that makes him back the fuck down, even though I am bigger than the little punk. It’s the look in my eyes. The don't-think-I-won’t-kill-you-if-you-put-a-foot-wrong-here look.
“Right now, I’m your uncle. When we walk inside this building and go up the stairs, I’m still your fucking uncle. When we get up to the office, you’re gone. I’d better not see you for fucking dust.”
The kid hears the warning in my voice, but I’ll give him credit where credit’s due. He stands his ground. “I gotta see this shrink, dog. I miss my appointment, I’m going inside and that ain’t happening. For real.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re square with the good doctor.”
“Hello?” The crackly voice that bursts out of the speaker in the wall is that of a young woman. I glare at the kid, making sure he reads how much trouble he’ll be in if he fucks up this next part. He casts me a filthy look and shrugs.
“Yo, it’s Antonio. I gotta see Doc Newan.”
“Hi, Antonio! Come on up.”
The door buzzes and a catch unlocks somewhere. Antonio opens the door and we walk inside—the mountain of a man waiting for us on the other side is the unfriendly type. He’s ex-military. I can smell jarhead a mile off. He’s a smart fucker, too. He knows something’s off as soon as he lays eyes on me.
“Dr Newan know you’re bringing a guest with you today, Mr. Fletcher? You know how she hates surprise visitors.”
“Yeah, Franz. Chill. He's my uncle. She told me to bring him.”
The guard, Franz—who the fuck calls their kid Franz?—gives me the once over. “I thought your uncle was currently a resident of the penal system?”
“Just got outta SeaTac,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you look fresh off the bus,” Franz replies. He shoves a tray into my chest, none too politely. “You should still know what to do with this, then.”
I empty my pockets into the tray, smiling brightly at the guard: wallet, cell phone and keys. I purposefully left the gun in the car. There’s nothing on the phone or in the wallet that could cause me any serious problems. Franz eyes me like he doesn’t believe I’m not packing. I hold my arms up at either side—search me, motherfucker. He ignores that and shoves the tray into Antonio’s chest instead. A grubby bus ticket, a single house key and a crumpled twenty goes into the tray after my stuff. I get the feeling that the contents of his pockets are pretty much all Antonio owns in the world.
“Be waiting here for you on the way out.” Franz tips his head to the doorway behind him. “Better hurry. You’re gonna be late.”
The office is on the third floor, pretentious as shit. When we enter, the owner of the bubbly intercom voice is already on her feet, bouncing with, what is that? Excitement? She can only be twenty herself, curly blond hair and a tidy body clad in a skirt and blazer right out of “Legally Blonde.” She grins when she sees the kid next to me.
“Hey, Antonio.”
“S’up, Patricia. This, uh, this is my uncle.” There’s something going on between these two, it’s blatantly obvious. The girl is practically mounting the little fucker right in front of me. Her ecstatic smile slips when she looks at me properly.
“Oh, hi, sir. You came to give Tony some support?”
“Something like that.”
“Would you like to take a seat?”
“Actually I was thinking maybe you and Antonio could go spend some time checking out the skyline or something. I need to have a word with Dr. Newan about Antonio’s sessions.” A stroke of genius. If the kid heads down without me, that gung-ho guard is gonna be up here in two seconds flat.
“Uh, I’m not supposed to leave the front desk.”
I just look at Antonio.
“C’mon, Trish. It’s cool.” He holds his hand out and my suspicions are confirmed. Trish goes bright red, carefully taking it in her own. She edges past me like I’m the devil incarnate. Smart girl. With those two gone, I plant myself in a chair in the empty waiting room and do just that: I wait. The intercom on the reception desk buzzes a couple of times. Seven minutes later, a door down the hallway is flung open and a tall brunette in a pantsuit stalks out.