Page 44 of Pen Me

I exhaled and smiled, giving him room to get to the thick of things. This business with Sammy wasn’t new. She’d been home for a few weeks now. Surely, he’d had time to swallow that one.

“And Sauce…” His fingers tapped the tabletop, index to pinkie. Once. Twice. “I didn’t want to sponsor him. I told him to take his fuckin’ ass to the military. The boy needed more discipline. He needed more structure than I–”

“Stop,” I advised, before he could say some stupid shit that he didn’t mean.

Sauce was a good kid. He was a young man, not a kid.

“You’re his father, and he just wants you to be proud of him, motherfucker.”

“Proud–” Zig deadpanned me, his eyes going dull. “He fucking got charged with coke.”

A groan strangled in my throat, and I ran a hand over it, summoning the bravery to insert myself into my president and best friend’s family affairs.

“Look. He ain’t no fuckin’ addict. He ain’t no hype.” I raised a shoulder, “Did you ask him?”

“Ask him? Yeah…. You’re goddamn right I talked about it. He told me he weren’t no child.” Zig waved his hand, exasperated, “That’s what the fuck he said to me.”

I laughed, unable to help it. I had sons, but they were in their first year of middle school, I hadn’t yet got a taste of the rebellious stage.

“Well… I mean. You’re not just his father. You’re his president. Just like you are to all of us.” I raised my shoulder again and shook my head, “Call him out on it. He ain’t no child, right? Let him answer for it as a man.”

Zig was quiet for a moment, then his lips parted like he was about to say something, but before he could make a sound my front door was kicked clean off lower hinges.

I sucked in a breath and scrambled for my gun.

“U.S. Marshalls and the fugitive task force, everybody down, now!” a voice barked.

“On the ground!”

“Now!”

“Get the fuck down!”

A chorus of voices erupted. Their tone and the blinding light convinced me to hit the ground, rather than the shelf I’d left the pistol on.

Zig landed beside me, and we were swarmed.

“Lennox Zade?” someone barked.

“Where is Lennox Zade.”

“He’s in the fuckin’ jail,” I answered, earning myself a wild kick to the ribs.

I groaned and doubled toward my side but never made it. Someone dropped onto me and forced me back into a normal, bellied position.

“Get down!”

“Don’t move!”

“Jesus. Fuck!” Zig barked back.

“Where is Lennox Zade?”

My good eye widened as reality set in. If they were here, he wasn’t there.

“He isn’t here. I haven’t seen him since the visit at the jail.” I managed, from beneath the weight on my shoulders.

“Is there a warrant?” Zig spoke up.

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