Free Jake's 8 by Howard McEwen Page B

“His family doesn’t speak to us anymore. They won’t help. He doesn’t have friends who can reason with him.”
    Her hand was still on mine. Her thumb was lightly stroking the back of my hand. I scanned the room. Yep, Mr. Carmichael and the girls were eyeballing the intimate contact.
    “Give me the address,” I said taking my hand back and pulling out a pen. “His name is Austin Nichols?”
    “Yes. Here’s his address, such as it is.” She pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and pushed it across the table to me.
    I opened it up. You know you’re in trouble when a woman you slept with asks you to go talk to her ex- about his daughter’s money and she doesn’t give you a street address but GPS coordinates.
    “He calls it living off the grid,” said Ms. Nichols. “He lives in a camper out in Grant County in Kentucky. He hasn’t a phone.”
    “Mr. Gibb will visit with him on Wednesday,” said Mr. Carmichael. “I have some meetings I need him for today and tomorrow. He’ll keep you updated. I assume he already knows how to reach you.”
    “I don’t,” I said. Mr. Carmichael’s face took on a confused, disappointed look. She gave me her number.
    Mr. Carmichael stood and walked out of the room. The girls stood and I held the door for them. Ms. Nichols thanked me again and shook my hand holding it longer and standing closer than a client would usually do then left. Her girls followed. The first daughter stopped and said, “Thank you, Mr. Gibb.” She then gave me a hug that was a bit too firm, a bit too close and lingered a bit too long. She took a deep breath that pushed her breasts against my chest, blew it out across my neck then she let go slowly. The second daughter passed without looking me in the eye. The strawberry blonde pig nosed one just giggled as she went through the door.
    When they left Mrs. Johnson said Mr. Carmichael needed a word with me. I stuck my head in his office.
    “Austin Nichols?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “I know him. At least I know of him.”
    “Really?”
    “Be careful.”
    “Okay.”
    “He’s excitable.”
    “Okay.”
    “He was a talented chef, but was arrested a number of times. I remember once he assaulted one of his patrons.”
    “Okay. He’s excitable.”
    “No. He’s explosive.”
    “Okay.”
    “One more thing.”
    “Yes.”
    “Resolve this quickly. It’s a powder keg.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I walked back to my office. As I took my chair, Sheila walked in and closed the door.
    “Where are the girls?” I asked.
    “I sent them down the street for some brunch. You think you can get my husband to turn over those bonds?”
    “I have no idea. I’ll try.”
    “It’s just that she’s worked so hard to get into college. It wasn’t easy—three girls and an absent father.”
    She started to break down, she rallied herself then let it go and slobbered into her hands sitting in the chair across from my desk. I was touched.
    I got up and came to her side of the desk, sat on the companion chair and told her something along the lines of ‘Now, now it would be okay. Things would look brighter. Tomorrow is a new day. It’s always darkest before the dawn.’ That was the last of my clichés. She cried more.
    “How much she need?” I asked her. “What’s the first installment?”
    “Twenty-five hundred.”
    “That’s it?”
    “For me, that’s a lot.”
    I chuckled, stood and went over to my desk. I pulled out my checkbook. I wrote out the damned check to the damned bursar’s office at the damned university.
    “You can pay me back when we get those bonds,” I said.
    She brightened. Her mood shifted.
    “Thanks so much, Jake.” I nodded a welcome.
    “How about I take care of you,” she said. She did that thing where she smiled then ran her tongue over her teeth. “I can take the edge off this Monday for you. Right here. Right now.”
    It would take the edge off, but a flicker of thought to how I felt a year ago when I was pulling in forty k a