Nightbred(67)
“Mom told you that you’re not my father?” Chris asked, to be sure she hadn’t heard it wrong.
“Yeah.” He moved his shoulders. “I always suspected anyway. You don’t look nothing like me. When you were born, she swore you were two months early, but the doctors didn’t put you in that baby microwave thing after you came out. You were just little.”
For Chris it was a toss-up between weeping with relief and shooting him in the head. “Did Mom happen to mention who is my biological father?”
“It was some French guy she met a couple months before me, when she went to the Riviera with her folks. By the time we met, she was already a month gone with you.” He got to his feet. “So, okay, you need anything? Money? A place to stay?”
“I need you to get away from me, Frankie,” she said honestly. “Right this minute.”
“Yeah, sure.” He gave her one last guilty look. “I’m sorry, kid. I just can’t . . . sorry.” He edged around the table and hurried through the back door.
Chris sat there and stared at nothing in particular until she smelled the sour citrus blend of hand cleaner and Budweiser. “You know about this, Bug?”
“He stayed with me right after he left Addie.” He parked a fresh beer in front of her before he sat down. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Only reason he stayed with your mother long as he did was ’cause of you.”
“Until he found out I wasn’t his kid,” she tacked on. “Then he couldn’t get out fast enough.”
“Yeah, well, that was a real kick to the dick. If it helps, he stayed plastered for close to a year after.” He beckoned to Cody and Loot, who came in and took their seats. “You deal, Christi.” He shoved a new deck to her.
“Another time.” She pushed it back. “Where is Stryker?”
Cody made a ticking sound with his tongue. “That pussy has shark teeth, little girl.”
“Do you need the cop to leave the room before you tell me, is that it?” As Bug choked on his beer, Cody’s bottle slid out of his hand, and Chris looked at Loot. “Would you mind giving us a minute?”
“How do you know I’m a cop?” he countered.
“There’s an unmarked unit parked at the curb. You’ve got a standard-issue thirty-two in that ankle holster you think I haven’t noticed. Your haircut is regulation. There’s no money on the table because outside the rezes gambling is illegal in Florida, and occasionally you have to take a random department polygraph.” Chris offered him a polite smile. “And, of course, Loot isn’t your name because you’re loaded. It’s biker shorthand for Lieutenant.”
He smiled slowly. “You do know cops.”
“My best friend works homicide in Fort Lauderdale.” She eyed Bug. “Stryker.”
“He bounces around Sundown Estates on the east side of the island,” Bug said. “Worked out the deal with a Realtor who’s into whips and chains.” He removed a slip of paper from his bib, wrote on it, and handed it to her. “Entry code for the gate.”
She slipped the note in her purse as she watched Loot’s face. “You’re not interested in pursuing justice here, Officer?”
“I’m not KWPD.” His smile was serene. “I fly copters for the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department. Aviation Division, Undercover Operations.”
“A black-ops chopper copper.” She whistled a single descending note. “Glad I’m not smuggling anything past our borders.” Something occurred to her, and she turned her gaze on Bug. “No wonder you’re so damn antsy. You’re helping him, you narc.”
“Confidential informant,” Bug corrected, and gave her a wary look. “I don’t need that advertised, either.”
“My lips are Superglued.” She handed him the beer and got to her feet. “Nice seeing you again, Bug. Gentlemen, have a lovely evening.”
“Hey,” Loot called after her. “You never told us what the B-U-G means.”
She glanced back at Bug, who squirmed a little. “Only exactly what he is. Big ugly guy.”
* * *
Jamys diverted from the course Chris had set long enough to sail by Paradise, the boat owner’s private island. Photosensor lights illuminated one small pier that led from a cover into a dense thatch of palm and pine trees. Nestled in the center he spotted the tin roof of a large structure; that was likely the house. No vessels were moored to the pier, and the island appeared deserted. If Christian had been with him, he would have persuaded her to spend the coming day there with him, but she was waiting in Key West.