Page 49 of Aviator
I grit my teeth. “What do you want?” Because it’s always something with a man like Frank.
“I toldja, I want what you owe me. Money. Twenty-K should cover it.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’ve got to be joking. I don’t have that kind of cash lying around. You really are insane, Frank.”
His eyes blaze. “We took care of you. Put a roof over your head. Food in your belly. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
“Dean?” Kenna’s voice comes from behind me. “Is everything okay?”
“That your girl?” Frank asks. The thought of him laying eyes on her makes me sick to my stomach. “I saw her on the news. Pretty little thing. Much better’n what’s her name you married. Got tits and ass on this one. The fat bank account don’t hurt either,” Frank sneers.
“Stay inside, Kenna,” I order. Fat bank account? What the hell’s he talking about? I write it off as Frank being Frank.
But Frank is pushing by me, surprisingly strong for someone so trashed. “Where she at?”
Kenna stops at the sight of Frank in his stained and too-small clothes, his graying hair unkempt. The scent of stale booze oozes from him in noxious waves. “There she is. Saw you on the news. Mighty lucky you guys are.”
I move in between them. “Time to go, Frank. Kenna, call the cops.”
“What’s going on?” she asks, her eyes darting from Frank to me and back again.
“I’m Dean’s ol’ man,” Frank says.
“This is my stepdad, and he’s just leaving.”
Frank turns his vicious gaze to me, and the boy he used to beat flinches a little inside. “I’m not leavin’ ’til I get my money.”
“I told you, I don’t have that kind of cash.” Kenna is frozen in shock, and I don’t blame her. The last thing we need after our week is this bullshit. When Kenna doesn’t call, I get Gramps’ phone beside his chair and dial myself.
“Nine-one-one, what’s the address of your emergency?”
“Dean,” comes Kenna’s voice.
I rattle off the address, and the operator puts me on hold. Gritting my teeth, I say, “Last chance, Frank.”
“I’m not leaving. I want twenty thousand dollars, or I’ll tell every lowlife I know your little girlfriend’s address where they can find as much cash as they want.”
“You’re crazy. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You heard me.” He studies me for a moment, then guffaws. “You don’t know? Wow, this is rich. Guess she ain’t as sweet and innocent as she looks. Are you going to tell him, or should I?”
I turn to Kenna to tell her to ignore him, but she’s ghost-white. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“This is better than Jerry Springer,” Frank says.
“Shut the fuck up, man,” I bark.
“Dean—I—”
“I can’t believe you don’t know. It’s all over the news. Someone found out she won the lottery a few years ago. Headlines are raving that one of North Carolina’s richest women returns from the dead.”
“What?”
“I was going to tell you,” she sputters. “There never seemed to be a right time.”
My hands fall limply to my sides as Frank continues to guffaw. “You sure picked right this time, boy. Maybe I should have asked for more money.”
