Free Badwater by Clinton McKinzie Page B

ass!”
    Only because he was missing the tip of his tongue, it sounded more like “Who was wat moffa-fucker? I wanh wat moffa-fucker’s name! I wanh his ass!”
    Remembering, I laughed some more.
    Since I knew he would find out who I was soon enough, there hadn’t been any point in hiding from him. I knew that it would be the very worst thing I could do. To show fear would only fuel his desire for vengeance. So, after finishing up with the sheriff, I walked out into the corridor and stepped up to the bars.
    The big man was gripping them with his fists, tattooed knuckles at almost the level of my head. There was snot in his mustache and a red stain in his beard. His cheeks and eyes were filled with blood.
    “Stop lisping like a little girl, Smit. The name’s Burns. Antonio Burns.”
     
    Getting sleepy and too tired to deal with the tent, I had just thrown my sleeping bag in the dirt when the phone on my hip chimed. My heart leapt, but then settled back down when I realized it could only be work related. Someone calling to chew me out in the middle of the night. Probably Ross, who had an uncanny ear when it came to hearing about me getting into trouble.
    So it was without enthusiasm that I put the phone to my ear.
    “Yeah?”
    “Are you all right? You didn’t call.”
    It was Rebecca. My heart rode the roller coaster right back up.
    “I was just, uh, busy.”
    “Oh, yeah? You seeing someone finally? Never mind, forget I asked.” She sounded amused, not angry. “So how was your day, Ant?”
    “Good,” I lied. “Just busy.”
    “I bet.”
    “What are you doing up this late?”
    “Feeding your daughter. She’s biting my boob as we speak. The little monster has got teeth like Mungo’s.”
    “Let me talk to her.”
    The phone moved so that I could hear small sucking sounds.
    “This is your dad, sweet thing. You doing okay? I miss you. I love you.” The sucking sounds stopped. “You may not see me all that much, but I think of you all the time.” A whimper could be heard. It quickly began to escalate to a wail. I added quickly, “Sleep well, honey. Have sweet dreams.”
    Rebecca came back on the phone after murmuring to make the crying stop. “It’s late, and she’s tired,” she tried to explain.
    “Sure. I understand.”
    But I didn’t. She always cried when I held her or talked to her. It was as if she could see right through me with her penetrating blue eyes, see all the stuff I tried to keep inside. Instead of just a father’s love, she saw something that scared her.
    “Hey, Ant. It’s okay. Dads can’t really do a lot for kids this age. Some friends of mine say their kids act like this, too. Unless you’re going to grow some boobs, you’ll just have to wait until she gets older. And you need to hang around some more. Speaking of which, are you coming to Denver tomorrow like you said?”
    “No. I can’t. There’s a hearing in the morning I have to be at. A thing here in Colter County. Then I have to do some stuff after that. But I should get there on Saturday.”
    I wondered where I’d sleep. In a motel, in Rebecca’s bed, or on her couch. It was different on each occasion, depending on her moods and other romantic interests. Rebecca, even six months after giving birth and still breast-feeding, had little trouble getting dates.
    “Anything interesting?”
    There was more than just normal curiosity in her voice. She had left her full-time job as a newspaper reporter to cohost a morning news show on TV. I knew she missed doing her own investigations—now she pretty much just read off a TelePrompTer and conducted inane five-minute interviews with local authors and chefs. But she made a lot more money this way and worked far fewer hours.
    I assured her the court hearing wasn’t about anything interesting at all.
    That made her chuckle.
    “Then you’re slipping, Ant. Good thing, too.”
    “Have you seen Roberto?” I asked.
    Pretty high now, and no longer queasy, I could actually speak