Free The Way Things Are by A.J. Thomas Page B

up.”
    Patrick sighed and shoved his phone, and his hands, into his jacket pockets.
    “I meant to talk to you this morning, Jay, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance,” Ken said quickly. “I was trying to track down your dad first. That took a while.”
    A police patrol car with lights flashing crossed over from the oncoming lane and pulled to a stop in front of Ken’s car.
    Patrick glared at him again. “I suppose this is your cousin and you’re going to try and convince me it’s a coincidence too?”
    Ken wanted to curse. “We’re in the downtown precinct, it’s a Friday, and it’s still technically the day shift, so there’s a small chance that the officer in that car is related to me. My brothers are both cops. My stepdad is a cop, his brothers are cops, and their kids are cops. And they all like to remind me that I’m not a cop….”
    “Your family parties must be boring as hell.”
    “It depends on the amount of beer involved.”
    Sure enough, Brandon stepped out of the car. He paused before closing the door, staring between Patrick and Jay and Ken. Ken left the engine of the probation vehicle running to keep the lights flashing, then got out to try and defuse Brandon.
    “Of course, I forget that my brothers tend to treat the police radio band as their own personal walkie-talkies.”
    “Another brother?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “Hi, Ken.” Brandon mirrored his smile, but Ken could tell from his posture that he was nervous about the situation.
    “Brandon, this is Patrick Connelly. His son Jay’s one of my clients. What are you doing here?”
    “Working a double. I’m on my way down to Mal’s scene. Just thought I’d stop and see why you’re blocking traffic.”
    “Am I blocking traffic?” Ken made a show of looking on either side of the van. There were no other cars behind it.
    “Yeah. Malcolm called while I was on my way over, asked me to check and see if you needed any help.”
    “Give me a little credit, please? I’m managing to block the entire lane just fine on my own. Thanks, though.”
    Brandon glanced at Patrick and Jay again. Ken was relieved when he saw his brother relax. “Fair enough,” Brandon said, leaning against the open door and watching them carefully. “Carry on.”
    Ken hurried around the car where Patrick stood, his expression a strange mixture of confusion and humor. “So you go get your truck, and I’ll meet you two back at your apartment in about forty minutes?”
    “No,” Patrick said simply. “Jay hasn’t eaten since this morning. I haven’t eaten since last night. I’m going to take him to get some food and then I’m going to take him home. Then I’m going to work.”
    “The guards made sure he had breakfast,” Ken said. “And I think the Port’s going to be closed tonight.”
    “I didn’t say I was working at the Port. Tonight, and it’s night already, isn’t good for me.”
    Ken recognized the challenge in Patrick’s reply. He was being defiant, but not to be an asshole. He wanted what every teenager on Ken’s caseload wanted when they were stressed—to be able to exercise some control over the situation. “All right. I need to do a home check, but it can wait. I supervise Saturday community service hours at the Seattle Animal Shelter on Fifteenth Avenue. Bring Jay there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. He can start on his community service and we can sort out the home check and the classes he’ll be signing up for afterward, okay?”
    Patrick stared at him for a moment, and Ken couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. “The animal shelter will work,” he agreed.

Chapter 4

     
    T HE MUSIC was loud enough that it made his eardrums throb. The doors were thrown open, letting the pulsing rhythm and the roasting heat pour out into the street. The heat near the dance floor was almost suffocating, and Patrick envied the large bear of a man Corbin had working the front door.
    Patrick kept his arms folded across his chest