The two men sat and gazed at each other over the unremarkable but rather large wooden desk. They were in an office, though the owner of this particular office, located in a maximum-security prison in northern Florida, was apparently a minimalist. No trinkets or knickknacks adorned the only bookshelf. No awards or degrees were displayed on the walls. The desk was sparsely furnished with the necessities. A telephone. A blotter, which also served as a desk calendar. A container with pens and pencils. No plants, no family photos.
The only indication that this office was used regularly was sitting on a small knee-high table that was up against a wall. A chess set made of ivory. The pieces were elaborate and detailed in their design. It was obvious there was a game in progress. The small table that it sat on was flanked by two cushioned chairs with wooden armrests. A warm light glowed over the table and its contents from a wall sconce. This small setting was in such sharp contrast to the rest of the office décor that one might have to blink to see if it was indeed reality.
The chair behind the large desk, which the bigger of the two men occupied, was oversized and comfortable. The chair of the person facing the desk was hard and uninviting, probably on purpose. If someone was to look down on this scene, they would never have known that one of the men, the larger man behind the desk, was to be executed by lethal injection in less than a week. He didn’t look like a prisoner. He didn’t look like someone who was scheduled for execution. He wasn’t wearing prison-issue clothing. He was in jeans and a T-shirt. He exuded power and confidence. He seemed to be in a position of authority.
“Okay, what have you got?” Grizz asked.
Blue looked at him without answering. The expression on his face caught Grizz off guard. It was an expression Grizz didn‘t recognize. Blue looked uncertain, hesitant maybe. They locked eyes. Neither would look away.
Blue finally said, “You’re not going to like it.”
“I’m not going to like what?” Before Blue could reply, he snapped, “You know what, it doesn’t matter. First things first. Has Leslie been handled?”
“Yes. She’ll need more convincing, but I’ve got it handled.”
“The other thing?”
“Done. Flawless. Just like you said.”
“Okay, now what is it I’m not gonna like?”
“I found her.”
“You found who?”
“Jan. I found my boys.”
Grizz leaned back in the chair. He’d been leaning forward, his elbows on the desk. He cocked his head to one side, considering. “I knew you were still looking for your boys. What is it I’m not going to like?”
“I talked to her. I scared the shit out of her. She never thought she‘d be found. She said she would tell me everything and let me work my way back into the boys’ lives if I just left her alone.” Then he sneered, mostly to himself, “As if she has a choice.”
Grizz raised an eyebrow. “Tell you everything? What’s left to tell?”
Blue tossed an oversized envelope on the desk.
“These photos of Jan and the boys were taken by the P.I. I hired to find them.”
Grizz opened the envelope and flipped through the photos, scanning each one quickly without paying much attention. He stopped when he got to a certain one and asked without looking up, “Why is there an old picture of Grunt in here?”
Blue didn’t answer. Grizz looked up and asked again, “Why is Grunt in this picture?”
“It’s not Grunt.” Blue’s voice was toneless, but his eyes were hard. “It’s my youngest, Kevin. Apparently, you aren’t the only one whose woman Grunt fucked.”
Grizz recovered quickly from the surprise. He leaned forward again, tossed the pictures on the desk and rested the weight of his massive arms on his elbows. He motioned for Blue to continue.
“Jan said—she said it was Grunt who orchestrated your arrest, Grizz.“
There. It was out.
Grizz sat there a moment, let it sink in. Did he believe what Jan had told Blue? Possibly. Maybe. He already knew Grunt had manipulated him the night he took Kit’s virginity. The billy-club had been Grunt’s idea. Yes, looking back with perfect clarity he could see it all. The muscle in his jaw clenched.
Blue‘s voice had a dangerous edge. “That piss-ant little brother of yours has been the enemy all along. Not that Jan was an angel. That slut must have slept with him when he was just a kid. The whole time that bitch thought he was my little brother and she still did it!”
Grizz looked at Blue and sighed. He remembered how he’d insisted, on Grunt’s very first night at the motel, that Blue pretend to be his older brother. It was an order, and Blue took on the role willingly. Blue had always assumed Grizz was Grunt’s brother. He never questioned it.
“Fuck, Blue. There’s something I never told you. I guess you believed something and I let it ride. I didn’t think it really mattered, and I thought I was protecting the kid. It would‘ve come out in that bitch‘s article. Thanks to you, it won‘t, but you should still know.”
Grizz steeled himself. “Grunt is not my little brother.” A pause.
“He’s my son.”