I gripped the steering wheel harder to keep the accusation in his tone from knocking us off course. "I have been lately," I said. "I think I should meet with my advisor again and discuss majors. There might be a better fit out there for me."
"Of course. Some people would take a tragedy like this and turn it into a reason to work hard with every breath. And some take it as an excuse to go spinning off into la-la-land," my father said.
I held on tighter. "No. It’s just I think I let Sienna influence me too much. She was always so excited about becoming a surgeon, she made us all excited about it too. I think that's why I chose nursing, not because I loved it. You have to love it to be good at it."
My father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, for the love of God, don't tell me this, not now. From what I see, all you love is hanging out in the basement playing video games. How are you going to turn that into any sort of respectable career?"
I turned the car, taking a shortcut through a neighborhood towards the pizza place. The drive could not be over quickly enough for either of us. "It's an entire international, multi-billion-dollar industry. People have very successful and very respectable careers in it."
"People? You mean like that Owen Redd? Please, Quinn, you cannot be drawing inspiration from a guy like him."
"Owen is creating his own career, his dream job. How can I not be inspired by that?" I asked. I realized too late we were on the street where Owen lived. His apartment, the top-floor loft of a three-story six-plex was two blocks ahead. I had driven Sienna there dozens of times.
"Turn right up here," my father said. "Looks like the police are causing some kind of detour.”
I bit my lip and turned. Two squad cars were parked outside of Owen's apartment building. One of the uniformed officers at the curb was pointing to the top-floor apartment. "I hope there wasn't an accident." My heart flopped and my ears buzzed; the memory of the last time I saw flashing emergency lights squeezed my heart.
My father ignored me. "You need to understand something about people like Owen. He's taking the easy way out. Just because he has a talent does not mean he'll make a living at it. If he's telling you that then it’s a lie."
"How can you say that? You don't know anything about Owen," I said.
"I've seen enough guys like Owen. I've had to defend them in court. If he's telling everyone he's made a successful career out of sitting around on his couch, ten-to-one there is something illegal going on. Sure, it might look good on the surface, but he's cheating the system somehow," my father said. "Your sister understood the only way you get ahead is through hard work. Following your dreams means you're either dirt poor or you are running a scam."
I drove the rest of the way to the pizza parlor without saying a word. I was worried about Owen, but my father's words filtered into my brain like acid. What did I really know about what Owen did?
PART 2
CHAPTER FOUR
Owen
I looked out the window and noticed the streetlights had come on. Most people thought I played in a windowless basement. They would never believe I sat in a third-story loft apartment with a great view of the Nevada sunset. The sky had gone from dark pinks and oranges into a purplish blue and now it was dark.
As I turned back to Dark Flag, another display of lights lit up my window. The rolling reds and blues of a police car grew brighter. I watched as two squad cars converged and left the lights on. The officers got out and met at the curb. One of them pointed up to my floor.
I logged out of the game just as the sharp knock hit my door.
"Police. Open up."
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I pulled open the door wide. "Can I help you, officers?"
"You can step aside, sir. We have a search warrant for this residence. Are you Owen Redd?" the bald and tight-mouthed officer asked.
"Yes, sir. What is this about?" I stepped back and let them in.
Three uniformed officers entered behind the one that spoke. He brandished a folded piece of paper. "We're going to take a look around."
I almost laughed. The loft apartment was a wide open room. A kitchen island separated one end from a wall of appliances. The other end was divided by a short hallway with two bedrooms off either side and a bathroom at the end. An L-shaped sofa delineated our living room. There was no dining room table, just a wide area rug where a few bits of my roommate's exercise equipment were scattered. Every inch of the apartment besides the bedrooms was on display.
The officers drifted to opposite corners of the apartment and started poking around. One eyeballed the built-in bookshelves that stood against the wall to my bedroom. Another strolled through the kitchen and opened kitchen cabinets at random. He left them hanging open. The third officer walked along the picture windows and I half expected him to wave to his partner on the curb watching the squad cars.
It had to be a joke.
The bald policeman handed me the folded paper before he turned and opened our entryway closet. Suddenly, all of the officers were going through things with both hands. Books were taken off shelves, drawers dug through, and clothes pushed aside to reveal the back edges of the closet. I opened the paper and discovered a very real search warrant.
"You're looking for drugs?" I asked.