The minute after Remi fell asleep, I drove to her old house. I knew Ryan would be here. I didn’t expect the big silver truck with the slogan, “National Pipes: We Create Careers, Not Jobs,” to be parked right outside the house. Her dad is here, too. The slogan against this rotting, out-of-shape neighborhood is enough to make me chuckle. That is, if I still thought there was something to laugh about in this whole twisted situation.
I’m wearing my work clothes. Dress pants, crisp black dress shirt, and my brown Oxfords. I walk over to the door and knock once, twice, knowing they are here. The Harley Davidson is parked in its designated yellow-grassed spot, too.
The shuffling sound and indistinct chatter stir something in me. Not because I am worried about these two idiots, but because it kills me that this is the soundtrack of Remi’s life.
Ryan opens the screen door, fiddling with the rusty lock. Everything rattles. I wait, still and composed, but mentally gearing up for a fight, wondering when the hell this asshole is going to look up and see that I’m not one of his drug-dealer friends.
“Yo, what’s…” The door flings open, and he stands there in a dirty wifebeater, a six-day stubble, and that dazed look of a man who isn’t sure what day or time it is. “What the fuck?” He blinks.
“The fuck is that you and I are going to have a long conversation tonight, whether you like it or not.” I grab him by the throat and walk him back into the house. Ryan Anderson doesn’t put up a fight. Not yet, anyway. My grip on his neck isn’t as tight as I want it to be and I am taller and bigger. More menacing. Then there is my tone. My voice. I sound like a man you don’t want to mess around with. Because I’m not.
I stop when he is next to his dining table and let go of his throat, throwing him into one of the eaten wooden chairs. Everything in the place reeks, him included. Ryan lolls his head from side to side and laughs manically.
“You’re him,” he says. My blood freezes in my veins. For a second there, I think he recognizes me from his time with Gwen. From the black hole that seems to have sucked me deeper into depression until Remington Stringer strode into my life with her long legs and pouty lips and gave me some of her light. “You’re the motherfucking teacher, dude.”
He’s high. Wasted. Completely fucked up. He looks jaded, his eyes bloodshot, purple rings adorning his eye sockets. His skin is clammy all over. His arms and the sliver of flesh that peeks from his wifebeater. His chest. I grab a chair, spinning it around and plopping down, my arms embracing the back of it.
“Where’s your deadbeat dad?”
“You mean Remi’s dad?” He sniffs loudly and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Not giving you shit, man. Why would I even talk to you? Unless I get money out of it, of course.”
“It’s simple, Anderson. You will talk to me, because I’m the only person who can prevent you from being thrown into jail for a long time.”
“You’re full of shit,” he spits to the floor. I stare at him like he is dirt.
“Dealing weapons and drugs? You’re looking at fifteen years if you’re lucky. But you aren’t that lucky, are you? If you were, you’d be out of this shithole by now. So, let’s try again. Where’s Daddy Stringer?”
“He’s fucking the neighbor next door. Her husband works with him at the same company, and he’s gone on a long drive for the night. Want to go there and congratulate him on his pity fuck?”
Jesus, this guy is all class. I smile politely. “Guess it’s just you and me then, pal. Do you know why I’m here, Ryan?”
He sits back and lights a cigarette, exhaling loudly. “Because you’re a fucking pedo and you’re looking for another piece of young ass from a neighborhood where girls don’t have enough money to sue your fancy ass?”
“That’s a lot of big words from a very simple man.” I lean forward and tap his nose like he is adorable, and he swats my hand away and growls.
“It’s a good thing you came here, Teach. I have a bone to pick with you, too.”
“You do? How nice. We should do it more often,” I say, but my heart is picking up speed, fast. My stomach lurches. Maybe he is bullshitting, but I doubt it. Very much so.
“Yeah. I mean, I have pictures of you hanging out with my sister.” Ryan tousles his blond hair with the same hand that holds his cigarette, slouching backwards and staring at nothing in particular, looking deep in thought. “Why would you fucking take her on your boat and out to eat? You’re supposed to educate her, you feelin’ me? Just give her tools for her future. You’re giving her your tool, all right. But I don’t think it’s what they had in mind.” He bursts out laughing.
I shake my head. “I don’t think you understand. I have hard evidence against you, Anderson.”
“You have a hard-on for teenage girls. That’s what you have.”
“I have photos of you running around and giving teenage kids Glocks wrapped around a towel. Selling a pregnant lady fucking coke.”
“Who the fuck are you to lecture me!” Ryan flings his arms in the air, spitting as he yells, “Look at you and your own mess. You’re fucking a teenage girl, for fuck’s sake.”
“I can put you in jail for a long time.” I feel my voice rising along with the level of panic in my body.
“So can I.”
“She’s eighteen.” What am I saying? What in the world am I admitting to?
“You’re fucking done,” Ryan spits.
“You killed my sister,” I snap loudly. More clearly, as Ryan’s face twists i