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“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
Remy just grunts. “She’s pretty,” he says to Nick.
Nick glares at his father with completely undisguised dislike. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he says.
“He never does,” Remy says to me.
“Because you always offer it anyway.”
“No, he’d rather listen to just about anyone else,” Remy continues, as if he hadn’t heard Nick speak at all. “I’ll bet he bends over backward to hear what you have to say.” The way he says it does not imply a compliment to any superior reasoning I might possess.
“We’re not here for a visit,” Nick says abruptly.
“Oh I know you’re not,” Remy says. “You want something, huh?” He uses his thumbnail to pry grime from beneath his pointer finger.
“I want to know where Jack is.”
Remy’s attention whips to Nick. At first I think he’s concerned; then he laughs. It’s gleeful and hacking, overflowing with spite.
“Lost him, huh? Well, well. Turns out it’s not so easy, now is it?”
Nick doesn’t rise to the bait. “I just want to know if he told you were he’s been staying recently,” Nick says. His calm is amazing, complete.
Remy ignores Nick and says to me, “I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but whining from this one about me,” he says. “Good of you to come and hear the other side of the story.” Thankfully, he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Nothing but notes about the way he was raised. But he doesn’t seem to have turned out too badly. Did you, boy?”
Nick says nothing.
“Of course, that’s as much a surprise to me as anyone.” Remy sits back in his chair, smiling now, toying with Nick and pleased to do it. “Why? Well, in much the same way I’m surprised to see you here,” he adds, nodding at me.
“Dad,” Nick says. A warning, one Remy ignores.
“See when he was a kid he was always buried in a book. Never out playing with the other kids. Not a lot of interest in sports. So it’s good to see at least he hasn’t turned out… funny.”
“Dad,” Nick says again sharply.
“Or at least not all the way anyway.”
Nick’s admirable calm has disappeared. His hands are clenched, knuckles white. If it weren’t for the guards, I’d worry he might dive across the table and throttle the old man with his bare hands.
I put my hand on his leg beneath the table. His thigh is tight and straining, but at my touch it relaxes. His fists unclench.
Remy frowns, his eyes somehow getting squintier and harder. It’s clear he loves getting a reaction out of his oldest son, and he’s not having the easiest time of it.
“No, you’re lucky you had a dad like me. All I ever gave you was a kick in the ass or two. Another man would have beat that shit out of you. And then you might be one cell over.” He pauses, considers. “Of course, there’s still plenty of time for that.”
I squeeze Nick’s leg, gently, willing my support to flow through my hand and into his body. Letting him know that I’m here. I have his back.
Nick inhales slowly and exhales at the same speed. Then he asks, without a quiver in his tone, “Are you going to tell me where Jack is or not?”
“There’s time for that,” Remy says, unconcerned. “Now stop interrupting me. I’m sure the young lady wants to hear about how you became the man you are.”
“We’re not playing your games,” Nick says. “Tell me. Now. Or we’re leaving.”
“If you won’t indulge a lonely old man for an hour, it doesn’t sound like you really care about finding Jackie after all,” Remy says.
Nick shakes his head. “No, you don’t know anything,” he says. “You were surprised when you heard what I wanted. Besides, Jack doesn’t even come to see you.”
“He came a couple weeks ago,” Remy counters. “And you can check the visitor log if you don’t believe me. Came right in crying all about you. About how much he misses me. Misses the bar. Misses his friends. About what a hardass you are. Wouldn’t even come visit with him. No, Big Boy Nicky had to suddenly go off to Europe.” He snorts. “Sure you were just crying tears of sorrow about that.
