Free Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien

nervous in the service about it. . . .”
    His mouth twisted over to one side, Collin watched her on the phone. Nervous in the service was one of his grandparents’ expressions that he never quite understood. After staying with them for a while, he heard himself using the same bizarre phrases and words they used—like cockamamie, all catawampus, and for crying out loud .
    â€œUh-huh. Well, if you’re copacetic with it, so am I,” Dee was saying. “I just wanted to check with you first. Uh-huh. Okay, here he is.” She held the cordless phone out to Collin. “Your grandfather wants to bend your ear for a sec.”
    Bend your ear, that was another one. And what did copacetic mean? Sounded like a laxative. Collin took the phone from her. “Hi, Grandpa,” he said.
    â€œHi, kiddo,” his grandfather replied on the other end. “It’s fine if you want to go out. My guess is you’ll have the cops on your tail wherever you go anyway. . . .”
    â€œThat’s what I was trying to tell Dee.” He threw his grandmother an exasperated look.
    â€œWell, they’re a pain in the neck, but those detectives are there for a good reason,” his grandfather reminded him. “Anyway, bring your cell phone with you. Be careful. And call us if you think you’ll be gone for more than two hours. Okay, kiddo?”
    â€œOkay,” he answered. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
    Minutes later, Collin was in the three-car garage, donning his bike helmet. His grandmother had shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his hand, “just in case.” He’d kissed her good-bye, twice assured her that he’d be careful. He hit the automatic garage door opener, and with a hum, the big door started to ascend. Collin wheeled his bike out to the driveway, and stopped to gaze at his grandparents’ beautiful, sprawling cobblestone home. Through the arched window above the big double doors in front, he could see the elaborate, Chihuly-inspired glass chandelier. He’d stayed with his grandparents dozens of times, but never really noticed how impressive the place was. Now that he’d be living here permanently, he was in awe of their home.
    Behind him, there was a click, and the garage door began its descent. His grandparents were already clearing a spot for a third car—for him. They just hadn’t bought it yet.
    He couldn’t help thinking that he’d gotten just what he’d wanted. He was living with his grandparents now, and they were spoiling him—as they always had. Since he’d moved in, they’d bought him a new desktop computer for his bedroom, and a new iPhone. He felt horrible even thinking it, but this was a far cry from living in a dumpy rental where his award got stolen and he’d have been lucky to find milk in the refrigerator.
    Collin hopped on his bike and peddled down the driveway, which wound through the tall trees and manicured shrubs. The gate opened automatically, and he spotted the silver Dodge Charger parked near the end of the driveway. Someone was in the car, behind the wheel. It looked like Al, the stocky one.
    Collin slowed down and glanced over his shoulder as the gate shut behind him. There was a code box and a speaker on this side of the entry. From the inside intercom by the kitchen door, Collin could listen in on the cops’ conversations. He’d hear when they were talking in the car with the windows rolled down—or if one of the guys stepped out of the Charger to make a personal phone call. His grandmother caught him listening once, and chided him: “Eavesdroppers never hear anything nice about themselves!” That was true. Still, some of the things he overheard were pretty interesting.
    The one cop he liked was a good-looking guy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He usually used his own car, a black Honda Civic. He was about thirty years old, and the youngest among them. His name was Ian, and from the