Page 83 of Minted

He nods slowly. “She mighta called me a time or two before then, but I wasn’t in a place to watch them, mind you. I just wasn’t, and I knew she wanted money. That woman always wanted money. She didn’t even spend none of it on those girls.”

I grit my teeth.

“Anyhow, I was about to sign those papers, and then it hit me. They’re coming after me to get me to sign now, because those girls must be making some real hooch.”

I blink. “Some. . .what?” Is he saying they’re making alcohol? “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

He leans forward. “They’re making money, Mr. Harrison, and I know it. Right after I didn’t sign them papers, I turned on a show on my phone, and guess what I saw?”

“Their commercial?”

He slams his hand down on the table and grins, and I realize he’s missing a few teeth in the back. “That’s right. I saw their commercial, and I realized that old Patrick nearly got hoodwinked.”

Hoodwinked. Yeah, there’s no getting one over on old Patrick.

“Do you have the papers right now?” I ask.

“Sure do.” He pulls them out of his backpack, smoothing them out with a dirty hand, which adds a small streak down the front. “But before I came out here, I called that Alice lady, and I told her I wanted some money if I was gonna sign these, and she asks me all sharp-like if Barbara offered me money.”

“What did you tell her?” I hope Barbara didn’t offer him anything.

“I’m no dope. I told her Barbara ain’t offered me nothing yet, but I wasn’t gonna sign without it.”

“Of course you did.”

“But she says that if I sign them after getting money from Barbara, then Barbara can’t keep the girls. And that’s when I realized what was going on.”

“You did?”

He nods and smiles even bigger. “Yep, see, she’s in on it. That foster woman knows that Barbara likes my girls, and she knows they’re making a mint right now. So she doesn’t want me to get any of it.”

“Mister Creecher, what amount are you here to demand? Because I am not Barbara, and I can pay you, if that’s what it takes to get those forms signed.”

“And you got money, because you just bought that Range Rover.” His smile gives me chills.

“I do have money, yes.”

“I knew it. I just knew when I saw you, that you was a smart man.”

It’s a miracle those girls are as lovely and as kind and as wonderful as they are, since they come in some part from this. “I am a smart man.”

I text my office manager and tell her to come here immediately.

Then I refocus on the sleaze. “I’m smart enough that I’m not going to pay you to sign those papers. You’re going to sign them because it’s the right thing to do.”

Mr. Creecher stands up, clearly ready to protest, but our salads arrive, as well as a basket of bread, and I guess he’s not quite ready to walk away. “Look here,” he says, once the waiter is gone. “I know what those girls are worth, and I’m not budging.”

He’s actually trying to sell them to me. I’m not sure what to say.

“The way I see it, I’m offering you a sweet discount.”

“A discount?” I’m worried I won’t be able to stop myself. “What on earth does that mean?”

“I know full well that they’ll make you a lot of money between now and when they turn eighteen, and I know you need to make some kinda profit, but I’m in a bind, see, and I need my cut now. I know that means I won’t get quite as much in the long run, but you’ll have the hassle of feeding them and buying them little duds to wear. So I feel like this is fair.”

“What amount, exactly, do you feel is fair?”

“Two hundred thousand dollars,” he says. “I know they got paid twenty grand for that commercial, cuz I called the company, and the lady let it spill.”

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