“Grossier,” he said, then clarified, “Casey.”
“Everyone in this house. And my other boss at the bar. The lady who used to rent a room to me—she let me out of my lease early and even let me have my deposit back. I’ve had help, but because people wanted to help, not because I scammed them into it. I’m not who I used to be.”
He nodded slowly, hesitantly. “I can see that. I can see enough to believe that—some of it, anyway. You look healthy,” he allowed. “And this is a real nice place. But it’s still my kid, Abilene. You two need somewhere permanent to live. Somewhere stable. It’s my job to provide that. Where the money comes from shouldn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. James,” she huffed, exasperated, “I’m not doing shit the wrong way anymore. Not ever again. I’d rather live in one crummy little room that I pay for with my tips than let you buy me a whole house with your filthy money.”
“My filthy money got your ass clean.”
“And I owe you for that. I might even owe you my life. But things are different now, and I don’t ever want to have to tell my daughter that her dad’s going back to prison for ten years—or worse. You’ve been busted twice. They catch you again, or if some weapon you sold winds up killing a cop or something, and they trace it back to you . . . All the money in the world doesn’t mean crap if you get locked up for good. And I’m not being evil here. And I’m not telling you that you can’t be a part of Mercy’s life. But if you are, you better believe you’re going straight.”
His eyebrows rose. “You got any idea how much I can make in a year, doing what I do? And you got any clue how much I’d make if I went and found some job fit for an ex-con with a ninth-grade education?”
“I don’t care how much you give us, only that it’s clean.”
He shook his head, heaved a deep breath. “You were so much easier to like when you were a mess—you know that?” Then his expression softened, telling her it was a joke.
She didn’t smile back. “Easier in a lot of ways, I’m sure. But I’m serious. I’d take fifty bucks a month that you made as a fry cook over five thousand that came from guns. And you can find something—you’re strong. And you must have learned some kind of skill in prison.”
“The math doesn’t work—”
“We’ll make it work. We have to. I can’t go back to how I used to be. Not anymore. My daughter’s not growing up with a criminal for a father or a train wreck for a mama. You go to Vince, see if he can get you a job at the quarry or something. Get a trucking license. Anything, so long as it’s honest.”
He rubbed his thighs again, looking pale. “I’ll think it over, okay?” From a man who didn’t back down, ever, it felt as solid as a promise.
“Good.”
“Now we need to talk about Grossier, though. You and him.”
“Casey? What about him?”
“You two. What are you?”
“He’s my boss. And my friend.”
“Tell me straight—you fucking him?”
She bit her tongue to quell a reflexive lie. She nodded. “Yeah. What about it?”
“I just want to know who he is to you. Who’s coming in and out of my daughter’s life.”
Who she thinks her daddy is, Abilene read between the lines. “He’s a good man.” Or he was now, she trusted. What he might have been before . . .
“I know he wants you safe,” James said. “But I also know he’s been inside, and I don’t know what for.”
“Neither do I. And I don’t want to.” All she knew was that it had been during his time in Vegas, so probably something to do with gambling.
“He’s coming around our daughter, so I goddamn do.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah, I am. Because everybody knows exactly what it is I’ve been up to. And that I’ve done my time. But what do you really know about this guy? Really?”