“Don’t you go jumpin’ the gun Haylee-berry Pie. I’m the clairvoyant here.”
I’m not sure she’s clairvoyant, but I am sure that the purplish shade of red she’s dyed her hair this month came from a box of Clairol. That’s the closest Dixie’s going to get to seeing into any future outside of her own.
“Okay, okay,” I say, hands up in the air in a defensive posture. “Flip the next one.”
She grabs the card and twists it with a snap so we can see the face. “Well, isn’t this the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”
My heart stops beating for a split second, and I lean forward as if I’m going to figure it all out on my own. Holding my breath, I ask, “What? What does it say?”
“Why, just look at him, girlfriend. He’s got black hair, piercing blue eyes, and he’s riding a white horse into battle with his suit of armor. Have you ever seen anythin’ so handsome in your whole life?”
I stare at the card that does kind of resemble Ford in a renaissance sort of way. I imagine myself in a stone tower, waving my kerchief until he rescues me. Never gonna happen. I pull the card toward me and mumble a few curse words under my breath. Dixie’s just showing off and bending this reading toward her own agenda.
“Is that for real?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, and puffing out a breath.
“Everyone knows that the Knight of Cups represents a knight in shining armor just like Walt Disney created. He appears in a reading when romance is in the air. He’s said to be handsome, creative and in touch with his feelings like a sensitive alpha man. Kind of like someone we both know. Hmm?”
I can’t deny she’s right, but I also don’t want to add fuel to the fire. Just as Dixie flips the third and final card over, a scream peals out from the bowels of the kitchen.
“Holy mother of God!” Dixie grabs the third card she was about to read and trots toward the sous chef, Juan. He’s wearing some kind of a cardboard contraption, and he’s on fire from the top of his head to his junk. This can’t possibly turn out well.
I jump to my feet and run toward the fire extinguisher. Breaking the glass, I grab it and turn around, ready to spray the chemical all over Juan and Dixie.
“Stop, drop and roll, Juanie!” she screams, pushing him down onto the tile floor and straddling him with her wide hips. Using her hand with the large Tarot card in it, she proceeds to slap him hard all over his body until not one little spiral of smoke remains.
Setting down the fire extinguisher, I exhale a huge sigh. Catastrophe averted. Ginny flings the door to her office open and pokes her head out.
“What’s going on out here?”
“You better come on out here, Ginny,” Dixie says, her large breasts heaving under the effort of saving Juan’s skin. “We almost had our first casualty of the year in poor Juanie. I’m not sure why he was standin’ in front of a gas oven wearing a paper suit, but it appears he’s gonna be okay.”
She reaches up and cups his face in her hand. Juan looks shocked, and I’m not sure if it’s from his brush with death or because Dixie has him in a redneck version of the half nelson.
He throws his arms up in the air and tries to buck her off.
Ginny walks up to the scene, arms crossed over her chest, and peers down at Juan and Dixie. “Juan, why are you wearing a cardboard box in the kitchen?”
He sits up, and Dixie finally extricates herself and stands next to his prone body.
Juan looks sheepish and casts his eyes downward, avoiding eye contact. “I saw it on YouTube.”
Ginny snorts and rolls her eyes. “My ten year old watches that crap. Is it like Jackass or something? You step as close to a hot stove as you can before you catch on fire?”
“No, it’s a home chef that sells this product to protect yourself when you’re frying bacon from the splatter.” He glances at me. “Since someone likes their bacon extra crispy, you have to have the pan on really high heat. His is more like an acrylic shield. My homemade version protected me from the grease splatters, but I guess I stepped too close to the flame wearing a flammable material.”
I wish I’d been recording a video of this entire thing because it’s the craziest damn accident we’ve ever had in all the years I’ve worked at Manzo. Crazier than when Dixie almost sliced the tips of her fingers off using the mandolin. The video of Juan wearing a cheap cardboard copy would probably go more viral than the chef’s original.
Dixie brings the charred Tarot card up to her face and fans herself. “Why, it’s hotter than a billy-goat with a blowtorch in this kitchen. Haylee, can you fetch Juan a bottle of water before he expires right here on the floor.”
Ginny and I share an eye roll before I move to the huge cooler and grab a chilled bottle of casino water. Screwing off the cap, I hand it to Juan, who still won’t look anyone in the eye. I wish I had my phone camera to capture the scene of the giant Hispanic man wearing layers of soot, charred cardboard, and regret.
He looks so sad, I’m not going to mention the smell that’s something between a barbecue gone wrong and a toilet paper factory. The stench tickles my nostrils until I sneeze.
“Holy shit!”
Dixie turns and starts flailing her arms around. “Shoo! Brad, you can’t be back here!”
He rears back and lets out a low whistle. “Should I call the fire department? Does Juan need a medic? Wow, this looks really bad. I’m sure I can be late for work if you guys need help back here.”
“No!”
Three voices scream the word in unison. I’m not sure why Brad thought it would be a good idea to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong.
“Just go on back to your supper now, would you, Brad?” Dixie says, batting her long, fake eyelashes at him. That tactic usually works but not tonight when we’ve got an episode of Rescue Me being witnessed right in the kitchen of Manzo at the Armónico.
“No way, Jose,” he says, shaking his head. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s even better than that time that Jake Malone got his you-know-what stuck in the shredder.”
Ginny’s eyes widen into saucers. “The shredder? Is he okay?”
“I guess you could say that. There was blood everywhere, Jake was screaming like a pussy, and he finally passed out cold right there on the cement. He pees sitting down now, but I guess there could be things worse than that? He could have been married to Lorena Bobbitt and had the damn thing sliced right off instead of just pulled apart a little.”
I clamp my eyes shut because this conversation has just derailed off the tracks so far it’s in Nebraska while the train’s still in Kansas.
Brad’s eyes move to Dixie’s hand, and he hisses in a breath. “Hey, were you in the middle of doing a reading? What’d it say?”
As Brad points in her direction, Dixie looks down at the card and then up at me. She smiles so wide I swear I can see down the back of her throat.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s the Hierophant. Oh, Haylee-berry pie, you’re gettin’ married.”
Brad jumps and claps his hands. “Sweet. Did you hear that everyone? Haylee and I are getting married!”
Chapter 20
Ford
The gravel crunches beneath the soles of my worn Converse as I walk along the barren road. It’s two in the afternoon, so there isn’t much traffic on this stretch of pavement littered with rows of strip office condos. Maybe some late lunchers who ingested more vodka than fries. The wind whips my hair up toward the sky, and I glance up wondering if there’s a God, and if there is, if he hates me.
The sound of a car whizzing by snaps me out of my spiritual crisis. The playground looms up ahead, and I stare at it, searching with my eyes. I can see the outlines of kids as they play on the jungle gym and swing high into the air. But I can’t see faces. What will happen when I see her? Will I know? I have to believe in my heart that I will. Said heart races with the strength of a locomotive chugging down the tracks, unaware that a derailment is inevitable. Straight into an emotional abyss.
> Pain nudges me forward while fear pulls me back, turning me into a human pretzel. I stop and take a breath, trying to fortify myself. A brave man simply would have called Haylee and asked her about this unknown daughter, demanding answers. But it’s clear from all of my actions since my dad’s death that valor isn’t high on my list of strengths. I want to be strong for Haylee and anyone else that might need me. Once I know, I’m going to work hard to become a better man.
My phone vibrates, and I pick it up on the first ring. I need his support now more than ever.
“Are you there yet?”
I sigh and stop in front of a yield sign. Leaning against the hot metal, I push my glasses up higher on my nose, wondering what I can possibly say that my brother will understand. “I’m standing around like a loitering pervert. Wearing sneakers with a sports coat. You know, the typical uniform that makes me stand out like a sore thumb.”
Nixon chuckles, and I can imagine him with his usual pencil in his right hand as he sits on his chrome throne. “Your uniform is one of the things I admire most about you. Ever since we were kids, you’ve marched to your own drummer. You’re a good man, Ford. The best there is, and you’re unique. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you have to change. Even your kid, if it turns out that way. Especially, not Haylee. She’s not perfect, either. It’s about damn time she starts cutting people the same slack she’s gotten over the years.”
I allow Nix to say the words even though I’m not sure I agree. After what Haylee went through? If it’s true and I left her pregnant and alone, clearly ruining the future she had planned. She has every right to feel like a victim. My rash actions ruined any chance she had for a lucrative career and a happy family life. I’m the biggest asshole roaming this earth. I’m not sure how I’ll ever atone for my litany of sins.
“She’s dealt with a lot.” I give a tight chuckle with a voice laced with fear. “None of it her fault.”
Nixon pauses before jumping in again. “I believe that last time I checked, it takes two to create a new life. Wasn’t she on the pill?”
“She was, but I understand it’s not foolproof. Especially not when under extreme stress. And that’s what we were all under when dad killed himself. Haylee loved him too. Hell, everybody loved him. We were so young that I think we forgot that others were grieving almost as deeply as we were.”
“You’re probably right. It’s just that you’re my brother and I care about you. I want you to be happy, and you’ve been nothing but miserable ever since you came back to Vegas. And you being here and away from your business is my fault. Hell, you selling Savant is my fault, and I’m not sure that was the right decision. I thought bringing you back would give you closure and a chance at a new beginning. Instead, you’re just miserable.”
I slam my toe into the desert earth and watch as a bunch of ants are displaced from their home. They scamper away and disappear. Just like I’d like to do right now and avoid my life.
“It’s not your fault, Nix. First of all, I sold my business because I needed another challenge. There wasn’t anywhere else to go with it. I’m loving building your tech into the solid team they need to be in order to help you meet your goals. The person who’s always at the scene of the crime is Dante. Shit, I should have shut him down at the fashion show when I had the chance instead of just fucking with him. Even though we’ll probably never see him behind bars, I do have the skill set to shut down his business. We can hit him in the pocketbook. That’s his Achilles heel.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough, but it will have to do for now. We’ll talk later after you learn the truth and clear your head. And Ford?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve got this.”
I slip the phone back in my pocket and move forward on stronger legs, bolstered by Nix’s faith in me and my ability to survive whatever the outcome this little trip down memory lane brings. Haylee’s beautiful face comes to mind, but I shove it away. This time, I have to do what’s best for me, and that involves learning whether or not I have a daughter.
Once I’m a few yards from the chain link fence, I stop and stare at the children. It’s a gorgeous day, and I’m not surprised that they’re playing outside as part of their therapy regimen. Reagan was able to get the appointment schedule for one John Graham through a few strokes of the keys. It’s not common knowledge due to the privacy laws, and adults are always present outside with them due to the rampant number of homeless vagrants and pedophiles in Vegas. I grab my phone and open MapQuest, so I have a ready excuse if I’m questioned by the clinic’s staff.
“Wonder powers, activate!”
A little girl’s voice draws my attention just in time to see a honey-blonde beauty about to launch herself from the top of the jungle gym to the sand below. She can’t be more than seven or eight, and her petite body won’t survive the fall. I glance around to find the only adult outside busy with a little boy who’s pulled his pants down so he can take a dump in the sandbox.
“You shouldn’t jump, sweetie,” I say, warning her against it.
When she turns, the breath leaves my body. Her eyes. They’re mine. I look closer and see all the ways she also looks like Haylee. This has to be my child. No fucking way is my daughter going to become a mangled mass of flesh by jumping ten feet to her sure demise. In a flash, I’m over the six-foot fence and on the other side. A drop of blood appears on my thumb from where the chain link cut it open, so I suck it away and move to stand beneath her. If she ends up jumping, I’m going to catch her. I’m also going to shut this fucking clinic down for their ignorance and negligence.
“Don’t worry, stranger danger. I have superpowers just like Wonder Woman, so I can fly.” She throws her arms wide and teeters a few inches to the left until she rights herself. “See! I don’t need any help.”
She may have my eyes, but this little daredevil’s personality is one hundred and ten percent Haylee Burke. No, Haylee Jacobs now. “Does the Wonder Woman replica have a name?” I ask, staying within a few feet of the bottom just in case she falls.
“I’m Atlee,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and jutting one out. “Did you know that if you even look at me funny, I’m supposed to scream and yell police? P-O-L-I-C-E. What’s your name, stranger danger?”
“Ford.”
“Really?” she iterates, eyes wide with excitement. “That’s my pot-bellied pig’s name! Ford. Gerald Ford.”
My eyes widen in shock as I take that one in. I’ll think about the implications of Haylee naming a pig after me once my daughter is safely down from her precarious perch.
“That’s super cool,” I say, not sure of the latest lingo being used with the grade school set these days. I’m more of a stay at home and play Grand Theft Auto on my laptop kind of a guy. She doesn’t bat an eyelash, so I think I’m doing well so far. “I think it would be even cooler if you climbed down instead of flying. Just because you can.”
“Do you know my mommy?” she asks, eyeing me with those blue orbs that seem to miss nothing.
“I do know your mommy,” I answer, not wanting to lie to her. It seems imperative that I don’t. Nothing but the truth from now on. “We were friends back in high school.”
She nods and a red silk cape billows out behind her on the wings of a stiff breeze that I pray doesn’t force her to wobble on her metal rung. She’s got a tinfoil crown and bracelets just like Lynda Carter.
“My mommy had a special friend back in high school, but we don’t talk about him much. Every time mommy talks about him, she cries. I don’t like it when mommy cries. I don’t like that bad man. Anyone who makes mommy cry is a bad, bad man.”
I’m a bad, bad man.
Out of the mouths of babes. I think I loved this precocious little girl before I ever even met her. There aren’t any outward signs of a disability, so this clinic and the occupational therapy that Haylee’s killing herself over are working. But I can take it to the next level with no expense spared. And I will.
Jus
t as soon as Atlee Caldwell gets her butt down off the jungle gym.
I hold out my hand to her. “Atlee, do you think you can jump? I’ll catch you, just like Wonder Boy would do.”
She eyes me warily. “You’re not strong enough to be Wonder Boy. You don’t have big muscles like that man that came to pick mommy up the other night.”
I stiffen. “What man?”
“Daniel. Daniel Governor.”
I rack my brain trying to remember if I know Daniel from somewhere. The café maybe? “What kind of car does Daniel drive?” I ask, fishing. I know kids don’t usually remember minute details but because Atlee has Asperger’s, she might.
“A black, shiny car with a driver. The driver wears a black suit and a funny hat. He owns the Moans A Lot down on the strip. It’s got a huge painting of a crabby paddy lady on the front. Do you know it?”
I’ll fucking kill him. Right now. As soon as my daughter’s safe, I’m going to drive over there and throttle the motherfucker.
“I do. Did Daniel come in and meet you?”
She shakes her head and peers down at me again, sizing me up. “No. I don’t like Daniel. He’s too shiny. And he talks to mommy like he owns her. Mommy says we should be independendable and take care of ourselves. We don’t need no stranger danger. Anyway, mommy stopped seeing him. Says she doesn’t like him anymore.” Atlee lowers her voice like we’re in on a secret together. “I never liked Daniel.”
You are the smartest child in the free world. I’ll take credit for that.
I nod and smile at her, thanking her with my eyes. Her words are music to my ears. I feel elated, completely, utterly on cloud nine, and that’s where I never thought I’d ever be again.
“Atlee Jacobs, you come down from there right now!” A man’s angry voice comes from a few feet away. “You know you’re not supposed to Wonder Woman above three feet. How high are you right now, young lady?”
She lifts her chin and plants her fists on her hips. “At the top.”
Kickback (Caldwell Brothers Book 3) Page 13
