Larry followed Parker into the house.
Frank was holding the golf bag at the bottom of the staircase as Cook started walking up. “Where do you want the clubs, Clayton?” Frank asked.
Cook stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, man,” he said, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Should’ve left them in the Lincoln. How else would I get to the country club? Would you mind putting them back in the trunk?”
Frank didn’t know if this was an honest mistake or some kind of weird test Cook was putting him through. But he was a guest here so he shrugged and carried the heavy bag back outside.
He took the keys from the ignition of the Lincoln and opened the trunk, dropped the golf bag in, put the keys on the driver’s seat and went back inside the house.
The main floor was empty. He heard voices upstairs on the second floor. Not sure what else to do, he started up the thick wooden steps.
Halfway up he heard the voices get louder.
It sounded like Bryce Parker: “What do you mean you didn’t get it, Larry?”
Larry: “I told you, Bryce, Reynolds cut me off. He’s super pissed about losing out on the mall deal and he sent out the word to his dealers to cut me off.”
Clayton Cook: “A little resourcefulness might have served you well, Larry. I suspect there are a few more cocaine suppliers in Denver besides Arturo Reynolds.”
“C’mon, give me a break. Reynolds sent goons with baseball bats to destroy my Beemer for God’s sake. And the next time it was going to be me. I had to split town or take a beating; no other choice in the matter.”
Parker: “A week in the desert without any blow is gonna be tough sledding, Larry.”
“I told you, Bryce, the reason Reynolds has it in for me is because you guys bought the mall deal out from under him. And when the checks start coming in, I want you two to remember it was me that put you on it.”
“I’m sure Burt remembers it was you,” Cook said, laughing.
Parker: “We were counting on you, Larry.”
“I know you were. And I tried, I really did. But circumstances were beyond my control. But I’ve got some old friends in Phoenix who can help us out, so let’s change the subject. What’d you think of those properties I showed you this morning?”
“Not bad,” Parker said. “Halfway decent. I see the possibilities.”
“I can feel my mood slipping, already,” Frank heard Cook say. “I suppose we’ll just have to drink the ennui away.”
Richards: “I do have some state-of-the-art amphetamine. Stuff is straight from the American medical pharmacopeia.”
Parker: “I suppose that will have to do. But get on the horn with your local friends and see what you can shake up. Maybe you can redeem yourself.”
Uncomfortable now and feeling sorry for Larry—Hell is the people you hang with, they say—Frank turned and went back down the stairs. Stopping in the great room, he gazed around at the mounts on the walls and tried to figure his next move.
He had committed to staying for a midday meal, and after that he’d be free as a bird. But it would be getting on in the day by then and cutting into the available hours of daylight…
But, shit, any time at all on the road would get him closer to his goal.
And farther away from this cluster fuck.
Seemed like a win-win situation.
Part of him felt he should stay and be an ally for his friend. Larry seemed in need of some unconditional love—another concept Frank’s ex, Nikki, used to talk about. Girl liked to show off her education.
But Christ, prior to the day before yesterday, he hadn’t seen Larry in years. And Richards was the one that dragged him into this scene. Wasn’t the other way around, you know.
Unconditional love?
Fuck that.
He couldn’t make up his mind.
So he said the hell with it and headed for the pool. It was probably still below ninety out there. But the sun was well above the mountains now and it was only a matter of time.
(End of Chapter 17)
PAPERBACK + EBOOK AVAILABLE
Bookshop.org: https://bit.ly/3XG682t
Barnes and Noble: https://bit.ly/3sBA5SZ
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3DEFkYz
https://books2read.com/u/mlEM1B
SEE ALL T.K. O’NEILL’S BOOKS HERE: https://bluestonesblog.com/
To contact Bluestone Press or T.K. O’Neill, email bluestonepress@outlook.com or call 218.724.5806
Bluestone's Blog 
Leave a Reply