Free The Definitive Albert J. Sterne by Julie Bozza

together wouldn’t add up to Garrett’s bulk - and the boy’s demeanor was altogether more frivolous, his blond hair unruly and his expression usually mischievous. Garrett had followed him one evening, watched him chugging beers with his friends, degenerating into raucous ribald tales. Not something Garrett could see Stacey taking part in. “Why should I mind?” Garrett asked rhetorically, though there were a hundred reasons. “Does she follow the football?”
    “No, sir,” the girl said. “But I can learn.”
    “I’m sure she can.” Garrett stood back to let them in. Stacey slipped by first, then, as Philip passed close by him, Garrett murmured, “What, scared I might jump you? Needed her to hold your hand?”
    “No.” But the boy threw him an embarrassed stare before speeding up to follow the girl, who was heading for the kitchen - that was exactly what Philip had feared. That was, after all, exactly the impression Garrett had wanted to convey.
    Garrett smiled, this time from the heart. He wasn’t losing it, no, not in the slightest. He pushed the door closed, and turned the lock. It made a satisfyingly melodramatic sound, the bolt of metal shooting home into the doorjamb. From down the corridor, Philip cast him another glance, obviously unnerved all over again. That was exactly the way Garrett liked them at this early stage.
    Stacey was raiding the fridge in a flurry of organization, handing Philip the makings for sandwiches. “You guys want a beer?” she asked.
    “We most certainly do,” Garrett replied. He walked over to take the bottle from her, twisted the cap off with his bare hand, and grabbed two glasses. “Come on, Phil, the game’s about to start.”
    “But I’ll help  -”
    “No, you won’t help her, you’ll come and watch the game.” And, getting between the two of them, Garrett shepherded the boy out of the kitchen. It was laughably easy, really - the boy didn’t want to let Garrett within reach of him, so kept backing away every time the bigger man advanced.
    They settled on the old sofa in the billiards room, Philip sitting a wary four feet away. Garrett dug the remote out from behind the cushions, turned on the television, poured the beer, then let the boy be. No point in scaring him too much just yet. They had all night to work around to that, if they could get rid of the girl. Though she would know who Philip had been with.
    Stacey appeared with a tray full of sandwiches, an extra bottle of beer and a glass. She seemed about to sit between the two men - but Philip had a crisis of conscience, and decided he was marginally safer next to Garrett than she was. Perhaps he was playing the gentleman. Or perhaps it was an admission that he had turned on to this, that he was already halfway roused.
    “Did you tell anyone?” Garrett asked.
    “No. You said not to, with the contract and all.”
    Garrett smiled. The kid had bought the story that an evening watching the football together might be seen as compromising the contract negotiations, though Philip himself had nothing to do with the financial wheelings and dealings. “Good. And Stacey?”
    “I picked her up straight from her dance class.”
    “He surprised me,” the girl said. “I wasn’t expecting him.”
    “No one knows I brought her here, Mr Garrett. It’s all right.”
    “All right,” Garrett agreed. They made it so damned easy for him. He settled back, content to wait for now.
    Half time and the Atlanta Falcons were behind by ten points. Philip was incensed enough with the score and the beer to be making some noise. Stacey was curled up beside him, listening to the boy’s explanations of the finer points of football.
    Garrett was smiling. It had been far too long since he’d indulged in this pleasure, far too long since he’d heard and smelled and touched a boy’s fear, seen and tasted his resistance, lived his pain and humiliation. An evening’s worth of anticipation, of creeping up on the tension until all