He looks so damn rough, Court thought.
“So . . . you are saying Courtland missed his own brother’s funeral?”
Gentry looked back to his breakfast. He waited to hear what his old man had to say about that.
“It’s crazy,” James replied. “The whole time that funeral was going on, I kept expecting Court to pop his head out from behind a tree, like he and Chance always did when they played cowboys and Indians as kids.”
“How did that make you feel? Losing your son like that?”
“Chance died serving his community. You go into police work knowing that’s on the table.”
Court heard his father trying to be stoic, but Court wasn’t buying it. Chance’s funeral had probably just about killed him. It easily could have led to his stroke. Court felt like shit for not being there, but his access to the United States had been limited at the time, to say the least.
Court knew that if he had come to his brother’s funeral, he probably would have been shot through the head by a Delta Force sniper and dropped into the hole meant for his brother.
Killed while in the service of his community.
The other goon took over now. “One thing is troubling me, Mr. Gentry. I’ve got to admit I think it’s pretty interesting that you haven’t asked us anything about your son. Aren’t you curious as to why we are here? Don’t you want to know if he’s in some kind of trouble?”
James Gentry laughed boisterously, causing Court to flinch in his seat because the sound was so loud in his earpiece. Court caught himself in mid-flinch, then he looked into his coffee, hoping like hell no one had noticed his action.
His father did not reply to this for several seconds. So long to where Court almost gave in and looked over to his right to see if something was wrong. But he fought the urge and concentrated on his coffee.
Finally his father spoke again, but he sounded different. More slow, more measured. “I didn’t ask if he was in trouble, because I know he’s in trouble.” He lightened a little. “C’mon, gents. I was a cop for a long time. Sharp-dressed assholes like you don’t show up at my door to tell me my son has just won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.”
Court fought a smile.
“You boys haven’t asked me what I’d tell my son if he did show up down here in Glen St. Mary.”
Court glanced at the booth quickly, pretending he was just looking out the window at the little parking lot. He saw the two strangers looking to each other—clearly the question wasn’t important to them.
But James Gentry answered anyway. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’d say. I’d tell him to turn his ass around and go back to wherever he came from. There ain’t nothing for him down here at home but problems.”
“Problems?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what the hell he’s gotten himself into this time, but this isn’t the place to come looking to get away from whatever’s after him.”
Court slowly turned his head in the direction of his father now, and he saw that his father was looking right at him, all the way across the room.
The older Gentry continued, still looking directly at his son. “All over this place there is trouble. Everywhere. I’d tell him this town is virtually crawling with it.”
His dad was making himself clear. He’d recognized his son and he was tipping him off. The area was under surveillance. Not just these two guys. The fact that Court hadn’t identified anyone else just yet made him wonder if there were cameras, drones, or other measures out there he couldn’t possibly see, or if his dad had noticed the arrival of other new faces to town, faces Court would not realize did not belong.
One of the men asked, “Why is it you think he might come back?”
“Oh, I’m not sayin’ he would. But if he did come here, the only reason in the world would be because he thought maybe something he did might put me at risk. He’d feel responsible, I guess, and he’d come here to try to help. But if that should happen, I would just tell him that I was fine, as long as he wasn’t here, because I’d be worried about him here more than anywhere else.”
“Why would he come here to help you out? You said you two have been estranged for nearly twenty years. What makes you think he gives a damn?”
The senior Gentry seemed to think about this a long time. He’d turned away from looking towards Court, and now he looked at the two men in front of him. “I always figured he didn’t care. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he grew up between the old days and now, and just maybe he understands that both of us said and did things we regret, so it’s better we both forgive each other, because we’re all the family we have left.”
The two men looked at James Gentry, and then at each other, confused by the softening change in their interviewee.