The Pinch of the Game by Charley Descoteaux

Author:Charley Descoteaux [Descoteaux, Charley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay romance
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-06-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jeffrey

AS I sat in the big leather chair across from Sal’s desk—the burgundy chair with brass nails holding the butter-soft leather in the solid wood frame that had to be older than both of us put together—I realized I’d lost my mind. I let Michael talk me into coming to the place I’d almost gotten us both killed to stay away from.

I had to be out of my mind to agree to see Sal and discuss his plan. And not only because Michael knew a thing or two he hadn’t told me yet. Sal’s office was a place I’d never aspired to see, and it turned out I didn’t have to. It looked like a set for the remake of The Maltese Falcon, or a Rat Pack flick, with the heavy wood desk and antique fixtures. Sal must’ve consulted with someone who had taste, because when we walked in, he stood in front of a bookcase filled with dark, leather-bound volumes, pouring fragrant amber liquid from a crystal decanter. I couldn’t keep from flinching when he crossed the plush, patterned rug toward me, the hand not wrapped around a cut-crystal whisky glass extended. His smile didn’t fool me.

“I’m glad you decided to go along, kid.”

“I never said I’d go.” I stared at his hand until he dropped it. Kid? I’d hated that when it fit, and that was a long time ago. “I said I’d come and listen to why you think I should.”

“Hey. I know Cheryl isn’t perfect, but have respect.”

“If I thought she was in Chicago, I would. But she isn’t.”

Sal stared at me, wide-eyed and openmouthed, for a long time. He dropped his gaze to his shiny shoes and sighed. “Can I get you a drink?”

I let him, but he couldn’t have made the mistake of thinking I’d softened toward the idea of being in his office.

“She’s there.” He sat behind his desk, set his glass on the ancient leather blotter in front of him, and folded his hands. “Somewhere. She went to—”

“Yeah. Rehab. In some green place in the country, and then walked out and disappeared. Michael told me your theory. But it’s bullshit. You ever think maybe she just got sick of you?”

“Sure I did.” Sal wiped a hand over his face. It might’ve shook a little. “But she’d never leave you for this long. When was the last time you saw her? Heard from her?”

I scowled at him. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not in Chicago.”

Sal’s face slowly hardened. That he didn’t take well to being questioned surprised me as much as day following night. Not that I knew him well, but knowing my father was enough to see what kind of man attracted Mom’s attentions, and it wasn’t pretty. Deliberately—maybe even with the air of someone completing a ritual—Sal took a photo from his desk drawer. He slapped it down onto the desk in front of me, leaning halfway across the surface to do it. He sat back, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.

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