Free Night Fever by Diana Palmer Page B

kids.”
    â€œNo, you don’t have to. Your sons do it for you.” He blew out a cloud of smoke, aiming it into the man’s face with cold intent. “So I came to tell you something. I’m watching the school, and I’m watching you. If one kid gets one spoon of coke, or one gram of crack, I’m going to nail you and your boys to the wall. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I’ll get you. I wanted you to get that message in person.”
    â€œThanks for the warning, but you’re talking to the wrong guy. I’m just not into drugs. I run a garage here. I work on cars.” Harris peered past Kilpatrick to the Mercedes. “Nice job. I like foreign makes. I could fix it for you.”
    â€œIt doesn’t need fixing. But I’ll keep you in mind,” Kilpatrick said mockingly.
    â€œYou do that. Stop in any time.”
    â€œCount on it.” Kilpatrick gave him a curt nod and climbed back into his car. Harris was glaring after him with a furious expression when he pulled out into traffic.
    Later, Harris took his two sons aside. “Kilpatrick’s getting to me,” he said. “We can’t afford any slip-ups. Are you sure that Cullen boy’s dependable?”
    â€œSure he is!” Son said with a lazy grin. He was taller than his father, dark-haired and blue-eyed. Not a bad-looking boy, he outshone his chubby, red-faced younger brother.
    â€œHe’s going to be expendable if the D.A. comes too close,” the elder Harris said darkly. “Do you have a problem with that?”
    â€œNo problem,” Son said easily. “That’s why we let him get caught with his pockets full of crack. Even though they didn’t hold him, they’ll remember it. Next time we can put his neck in a noose if we need to.”
    â€œThey can’t use his record against him in juvenile court,” the youngest Harris reminded them.
    â€œListen,” the man told his sons. “If Kilpatrick gets his hands on that boy again, he’ll try him as an adult. Bet on it. Just make sure the Cullen boy stays in your pockets. Meanwhile,” he added thoughtfully, “I’ve got to get Kilpatrick out of mine. I think it might be worthwhile to float a contract, before he gets his teeth into us.”
    â€œMike down at the Hayloft would know somebody,” Son told his father with narrowed eyes.
    â€œGood. Ask him. Do it tonight,” he added. “Kilpatrick’s term is up this year; he’ll have to run. He may use us as an example to win the election.”
    â€œCullen says he isn’t going to run again,” Son said.
    The older Harris glared at him. “Everybody says that. I don’t buy it. How about the grammar school operation?”
    â€œI’ve got it in the bag,” Son assured him. “We’re lining up Cullen for that. He’s got a younger brother who goes there.”
    â€œBut will the younger brother go along?”
    Son looked up. “I’ve got an angle on that. We’re going to let Cullen go on a buy with us, so that the supplier gets a good look at him. After that, he’s mine.”
    â€œNice work,” the older man said, smiling. “You two could swear he was the brains of the outfit, and Kilpatrick would buy it. Get going, then.”
    â€œSure thing, Dad.”
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    O NE AFTERNOON Becky noticed Clay talking earnestly to Mack as she walked in after work. Mack said something explosive and stomped off. Clay glanced at her and looked uncomfortable.
    She wondered what it was all about. Probably another quarrel. The boys never seemed to get along these days. She started a load of clothes in the washing machine and cooked supper. In between, she daydreamed about the district attorney and wished that she was pretty and vivacious and rich.
    â€œGot to go to the library, Becky!” Clay called on his way out the front door.
    â€œIs it open this late…?” she began,