I reach into my jacket, tug out my card, and hand it to him. “If you think of anything else, will you get in touch with me?”
He nods. “The men responsible for what happened to my family will be judged not by you or me or even by some Englischer court,” he tells me. “They will be judged by God and God alone.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Pushing away from the table, I rise and start toward the door.
CHAPTER 6
They met at The Oak, an out-of-the-way wine bar a few miles out of Dover. The place was windowless and dark with a generous amount of antique brick and rough-hewn barrels for an ambience not quite achieved. It was the kind of place where no one would notice a group of middle-aged, financially comfortable friends getting together for a liquid lunch and some chitchat about old times. But the conversation they were about to have wouldn’t be about children or grandchildren, their looming retirement or even the good times they’d once shared. In fact, the man they called Brick was pretty sure if they weren’t frightened when they walked in, they would be when they left.
They’d been known as the Goldens back in high school. Thirty-five years ago, they’d been a tight-knit group of hotshots with the world at their feet and a future as bright as the sun. Brick had been the leader of sorts. The bad boy with a reputation he’d done his utmost to live up to. He’d dabbled in drugs and alcohol and gotten into a few fights, but nothing too serious—until college, anyway. When he was seventeen, he took his aunt’s car for a joyride and ended up wrecking it. His parents managed to talk her out of pressing charges, but he’d spent an entire summer working a shit job to pay for the damage.
Pudge had been his best friend. The little guy with skinny legs who made up for his lack of stature with a mind that kept him on the honor roll the entirety of high school and earned him a full scholarship to the University of Michigan. Studious and diligent, Pudge had always been the serious one. The one who, back in high school, had been voted most likely to succeed. The one most likely to become President of the United States. Brick always thought he would, too.
Snipe had been the football star, the charmer, the quarterback with the Hollywood good looks who could throw a fifty-yard pass and outrun any cornerback who tried to stop him. He was the athlete who could run a four-minute mile and barely break a sweat. The girls had thrown themselves at him. Rumor had it Snipe took the virginity of more girls than he’d made touchdowns, and that was a lot. But Brick and the rest of them knew about the darker side of the football star’s personality. The binge drinking. The marijuana deals and rumors of harder drugs. The girls who’d said no—and whose voices he hadn’t heard. He’d gone to Kent State on a football scholarship. Rumor had it, he’d got into a scrape with the law up there. A girl told him no and Snipe hadn’t listened. When Brick had asked him about it, Snipe was vague about the details. Somehow, the whole incident had been swept under the rug and the football team went on to win the season.
Jules was the perfect one. She was Farrah Fawcett and Bo Derek rolled into a perfect ten with a capital T. The blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty queen with the face of an angel and a body designed by Satan himself. She’d been a cheerleader, class valedictorian, president of the Girls Athletic Association—and a purported virgin throughout high school. She was the one you fantasized about fucking not only because she was beautiful, but because you knew it would be a wild ride. Back in high school, all the boys had wanted Jules. The girls had wanted to be her. If you were lucky enough to be her friend, everything you did was for Jules, even though she didn’t reciprocate in any way. Jules always said no, but every male who met her secretly clung to the desperate hope that sooner or later, she would change her mind.
Brick had known all of them since he was he was thirteen years old and broke Snipe’s front tooth in a game of stickball. They’d been best friends ever since. Baseball games. Campouts. Long days at the public pool. He’d laughed with them. Fought with them. Cried with them. He’d had more fun with them than at any other time in his life. He’d been closer to them than to his own brothers and sisters, a closeness he never found again. He’d shared the best days of his life with this group. But not all of those memories were good.