"Kill her, you mean?" I asked. It was one of the facts I hadn't revealed to Scott the last time I'd visited, checking if he'd set Patrick up. He hadn't, which was why he was still alive, son or not.
"Yeah. I mean, I read the coroner's report. She asphyxiated on her own blood from a severed tongue. That's the sort of thing that could happen by accident or on purpose if a man of training wanted it to happen." Scott went over to the cabinet next to his fridge and poured himself a scotch and soda, getting a tumbler from a wire rack next to his sink. He'd softened up some in the six weeks since Melinda's death, and was trending now more towards a so-called dad bod than before. I guess with his looks-obsessed wife gone, he didn't feel the need to worry about it as much any longer.
I pondered my answer. I could lie to him convincingly, I knew that. If I did, I'd take the brunt of his anger or rage, which I knew he still felt despite the hurt Melinda had inflicted on him. On the other hand, if I told him the truth, he'd want to investigate more into Patrick, which I didn't want. In the end, I took the blame.
"I did, but not quite on purpose," I answered. "She had a knife and was going after McCaffery. I had one shot, I kicked and caught her under the chin. I didn't expect her to bite her tongue off."
"I see," Scott said. He tossed back half of his drink then wiped his lips. "I suppose I should thank you, but I won't. She was a bitch, she was manipulative, she was more of a player than I ever was. But still, I loved her. I still do, I guess. I'm not ashamed to say my son's not the only one who still has tears at night."
I nodded, knowing what he meant. If Sophie was taken from me, I don't know what I would do. "Focus on your son," I advised. "He needs his father right now."
"Did you just come for parenting advice?" Scott asked, his voice gaining an edge. "Or did you want something else?"
"Two things," I said. "First, I want the lawsuit against MJT dropped. But also, answer a question for me. What's next for you? Are you staying in town or leaving?"
"I don't know yet," Scott replied. "I sank most of my money into expanding the HVAC work. Mom and Dad live here in town too."
"True, but if you're serious about your son not being drawn into the life, the farther away you get, the better it is."
Scott nodded. He knew his family's history, how his father and mother were two of the best thieves in the city for decades before their semi-retirement. "I know. What's your preference?"
"As long as you stay silent, I have none," I replied. "Although I do hope your son stays innocent."
Scott finished off his drink and rinsed out his glass, drying it before setting it back on the steel rack above the sink. "Me too. Okay, conversation done. Get out of here, if you don't mind, Snowman."
* * *
The next night, Patrick was almost bouncing with anticipation as we drove in our new car towards Filmore Heights. It was matte black, all electric, and had a ton of other enhancements. The only thing it lacked was being bullet proof, but I couldn't have it all.
"Calm down, padawan," I said as we climbed out of the car. Driving with a partner was more difficult in terms of parking than a motorcycle, but I wasn't sure that Patrick was ready for his own motorcycle yet. He did fine on normal driving, but I was waiting until spring and taking him out on a closed course to give him high speed training. This car was more for intimidation patrols than recon, but we work within our limitations.
"I know, but it's been a while," Patrick said, wearing his new uniform. He kept the hood, but had also added a half face mask, adopting a cowl-like appearance that made sure his face was mostly obscured. He'd also changed the fabric, going with biker leather pants along with a top similar to mine. In typical flamboyant Patrick fashion though, he'd picked a top with muted red stripes, not enough to really give him away, but noticeable up close. It was his tribute to Tabby.
"Just keep calm, stay at my side, and we'll accomplish the mission and get home safe and sound," I said. We walked down the alleyway we were parked in and into the neighborhood. We were in Latin King territory, and I wanted to check up on El Patron, Edgar Villalobos. The leader of the Latin Kings should have recovered from the dart I had put into his knee, but he was still more active in the neighborhood than he had been in years. I wanted to know why.
Thankfully, Villalobos' presence also meant he was staying more centralized. We had to avoid a few patrols, but were able to mount the rooftops near El Patron's headquarters without being noticed.