Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Ever since the doctor’s appointment, everything is closer to the surface, my emotions burning in a way they haven’t in years. But is that the diagnosis or Lily?
Mr. Thompson is a soft-featured man, around sixty if I had to guess, with lines around his eyes and a comb-over showing his head’s baldness under the electric light. We sit in the kitchen on two small, rickety stools, his son playing an old retro game on the old TV in the adjoined living room.
“When my wife left, I knew I had to do the right thing,” he says, looking down into his cup of thick black coffee. “I knew I had to be here for my boy and always will be. I had a child late in life, and I’m not up to doing what I should and would have, once.”
“What’s that, sir?” I ask.
“Burning The Bear to the ground,” he hisses, a flash of protectiveness coming into his otherwise soft features. “They play music all night long. When we call the cops, sometimes they don’t even show up. When they do, they turn the music down and then turn it back up when the cops leave. That’s even without the clubs.”
“Clubs?” I say.
“The kids around here all hang out a lot. They’re more old-fashioned in that way. I suppose it’s because they don’t all have cell phones or iPads. The owners of The Bear will send some of the older kids around The Row, spreading the word about how fun it is in The Bear. They’ve been luring kids there for weeks.”
“To do what?” I growl.
“Nothing … yet. They give them candy and let them play video games. There’s no way they’re doing it innocently. Is there?” He shudders. “Worse, when the cops turn up and we know for a fact there are kids in there, they must hide them because the cops never find them. If they had, they would’ve shut the place down, right?”
“Right,” I say, my blood turning cold. “This is beyond fucked.”
“We’re thinking a noise complaint is our only way,” he says. “Get them shut down, sue them, but we can’t afford—”
“Don’t mention money, sir,” I cut in. “This has nothing to do with that. No matter what happens, I’m going to fight this. I’m going to fix this. You’re a good man. You won’t let your boy get involved in this mess. Unfortunately, not everybody feels the same as you, but I’m going to remove the option. I’m going to get The Bear shut down. I swear.”
Mr. Thompson flinches, then blinks at me in shock. It’s clear he didn’t expect such an emotional and heartfelt declaration, and honestly, I didn’t plan to give one. With my timeline suddenly short, I can’t let this happen. If I’m going to leave early, I want to have a legacy: something good, something decent.
“Bless you, Mr. Cross,” he says, wiping his cheek as a tear falls. “God bless you.”
I should tell him I can’t make any promises. I should try to salvage this situation, but fuck that. If I’m going without a choice before I planned, I’m committing to this. I will make this little corner of the city better before I move on.
Once I finish with Mr. Thompson, I call my assistant with a list of tasks: research the owners of The Bear, delve into police records for any history of criminality, and check if there have been any previous noise complaints or any reports of violence.
If all else fails and these freaks keep trying to lure kids into their bar, and if the doc tells me my months have turned into weeks and then days and this issue still isn’t settled, maybe I’ll burn the place to the ground myself.
Sitting in my car after calling my assistant, I look down at my cell phone. I’ve opened a text to Lily. Usually, I think about things. If there’s one thing that defines me and has defined my entire life, it’s that. If it weren’t for the doctor whispering months, not years, on repeat in my head, I’d pause and debate.
My heart is drumming too hard. This impulse is coming too strongly from desire: not logic, not evidence-backed decisions, just desire.
Lily, it’s Landon. Let’s grab a bite to eat sometime.
I send the message, then childishly shove my phone into the glove compartment and start the car. She’s probably going to reject my ass, and I can’t blame her. It’ll most likely be weird for her to go on a date with somebody she thinks of as a childhood hero, and I can’t blame her.
When I hear the vibrating sound from the glove compartment, I have to pull over and check my phone. If I don’t, I’ll probably crash the car, being distracted.
Sure, Landon. That’s a good idea. If we combine our perspectives and knowledge bases, we’ll be able to figure out what to do far easier. Two heads are better than one, and all that.