Red Market by Dharma Kelleher

Author:Dharma Kelleher [Kelleher, Dharma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781952128271
Publisher: Dark Pariah Press

Chapter 24

Where's My Son?

I drove Cooper to the Fourth Avenue Jail and got him checked in. When I arrived home, it was nearly ten thirty. With Rayna’s car in our garage, I parked in the driveway and walked around to the front door.

Just as I stepped onto the porch, movement caught my attention. A man I didn’t recognize stumbled from the shadows. His clothes were disheveled, and he sported a few days’ worth of stubble.

“Where the hell’s my son?” he shouted.

“Excuse me?” I rested a hand on my Taser.

“My son! Luke Ripley. You took him, you stupid bitch.”

It clicked. Ripley. Asshole was talking about Leia. This guy must be Rayna’s ex, Mike Ripley.

“I didn’t take anyone’s son, buddy. I’d advise you to go home and sleep it off.”

“I saw you, you perv. You and my woke bitch of a wife are grooming him, brainwashing him into thinking he’s a girl.”

“Sir, you are trespassing. If you do not leave right now, I will have you arrested. You will not enjoy it, I promise.”

Instead of walking away, he started shouting. “Luke! Luke! You get your pansy ass out here this minute! This is your father.”

“Suit yourself.”

Since he was so close, I used the Taser as a stun gun. Ripley’s body stiffened and shuddered, then dropped onto the concrete. I cuffed him as he lay there. The guy’s breath reeked like a brewery.

The front door opened, and Conor stepped out. “What the bloody hell’s going on?”

“Leia’s dad.”

“Shite! Ya need me to call the police?”

I contemplated the idea. Calling the cops might put Rayna and Leia in further danger if they searched the house. But I couldn’t just let this guy go.

For starters, he was too inebriated to drive. And who knew what else he might try? Unless I somehow convinced him that Rayna and Leia weren’t here.

“Luke,” Ripley grunted. “His name’s Luke.”

I put my knee into his back, just in case he got any ideas. “Listen up, asshole. Luke is not here. So we can play this one of two ways. Either I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing. Or I call you a taxi, and you go home and sleep it off. So what’ll it be?”

“I want my son.”

I dug my knee harder into his back. “Your family is not here, asshole. They left. Gone. Do you understand?”

He cried out in pain. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Excellent. So what’s it going to be? Police or taxi?”

“Taxi.”

“Good answer.” I jerked him to his feet. “Here’s the deal, Ripley. I’m going to call the taxi. When it shows up, I’ll uncuff you.”

“Don’t need no taxi. I can drive.”

The man smelled like he’d been swimming in a pool of cheap whiskey, and his speech was slurred.

“That’s not the deal. You’re too drunk to drive. So I’ll ask you once more, taxi or police?”

“Fuck. Call me a damn taxi.”

I ran a web search for taxi services and called one for a pickup. When they asked for the destination, I asked, “Mr. Ripley, where do you live?”

He mumbled an address, which I repeated for the taxi company.

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