Chapter Sixteen
Once back at the garage, Sloan decided to approach Roy first to explain about his short stint as Special Agent Booker. He’d always known the old man had fretted about him wearing a badge and his involvement with the lower life forms that cops had to deal with – Roy’s words for the scum who broke the law.
Sloan had thought his joining the FBI and getting off the streets as a beat cop would lessen Roy’s anxieties, but that hadn’t happened. He’d known the old worrywart had carried a St. Christopher’s medal for him, exactly like the one he’d forced on Sloan. Hell, if it would have given the old man peace of mind, he’d have worn fucking pearls!
He remembered that after his announcement, while he’d trained to take a position with the Honolulu Police Department, Tommy, had been proud, strutted around and bragged to anyone he could corner.
Les had enrolled him for training in martial arts and made sure he knew how to take care of himself.
But it had devastated Roy. Danger was danger and, as far as Roy had been concerned, anyone wearing a badge was a target for every crazy with a gun.
Instead, Roy had celebrated when Sloan had quit law enforcement and began working fulltime at the garage. But sensitive to Sloan’s feelings, he’d not done it overtly. He just couldn’t seem to wipe the gleaming grin off his face in contrast to Sloan’s scowls.
Approaching the pit area where Roy and his small crew worked their magic on any overhaul they had, Sloan heard his two reprobates talking, their voices low. That caught his attention immediately because the norm was for Les to tease and Roy to holler in defense.
“I still think we should tell Sloan about that phone call you overheard, man. He deserves to know our suspicions about why his old man died.”
Roy argued back, his voice shaking with conviction. “Tell him what? That I overheard Tommy threatening somebody, ordering them to leave town and take their illegal activities with them, or he’d blab to his FBI agent son about what was going on? I don’t think so. That’s no proof that Tommy was killed.”
“Get real, genius! We both know the man hadn’t taken a bloody drink since the time after Wai took off. He’d lost his mind for those two years following her leaving him, but he’d straightened out.”
“I know.” Roy’s grudging words were spoken low, leaving no doubt that he didn’t want to agree.
“Remember the day he swore off the booze? He’d been driving shit-faced with Sloan in the baby seat and he drifted into the oncoming traffic. He came close to killing both of them. I’ve never seen you so mad, dude. I thought you were going to kill him.”
“I almost did. He had our son with him, the idiot.”
“You scared the shit out of him, threatening to get a paternity test to see which one of us was Sloan’s real dad. It smartened him up. After that, the dumbass seldom touched a drop, right?”
“Right.”
“Then why – on that very day – did the son of a bitch get liquored up, drive off the cliff at Laie Point and kill himself?”
“I don’t know,” Roy groaned the words. “But it was months ago. Why do you have to keep bringing it up?”
Sloan stepped out from where he’d stayed hidden. “Yeah, Les, why do you keep bringing it up to Roy, and yet not once have you mentioned it to me?”
Both of the old men twirled his way, shock covering their faces. Roy looked devastated, while Les appeared relieved.
“Shit, man. You sure know how to make an entrance.”
Sloan leaned against the side wall, his arms crossed and every muscle in his body clenched tighter than a stripper’s legs on her pole. “Spill. I want it all. Les, you go first.”
Les shrugged. “It’s like the old fool says, kid. I’m making a mountain.”
“No, sir. You don’t get to back off now. I heard you, Les. You were seriously suspicious about Dad’s accident. Why didn’t you say anything when I got back from L.A.?”
Same as Sloan, Les caught Roy’s expression and must have seen the tears there. “There’s nuthin’ to say. The bastard took a few drinks, obviously had no tolerance and drove stupid. End of story.”
Furious, Sloan turned to the fidgety man who’d suddenly taken a seat on the nearby stool. “I want the truth, Roy. You’re controlling Les and preventing him from telling me everything, but it’s wrong and you know it. Tom Booker was my father…” He saw the quick glances shared between the other two and a sledge hammer of doubt weakened his knees.