Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (43 page)

“
Mom, shut
up
.  If you stop yelling,
I’
ll explain what Aidan told me
.
”

“
Aidan
?
”
 
Cough-cough.  Silence.  I can smell the suspicion brewing in her nicotine jacked brain.
 “
Wh
o’
s this
Aidan
?  Wha
t’
s he got to do with
my
baby boy
?
”

Sweet hells. 
I roll my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but in this mess.
 “
Mom, h
e’
s a . . . um, a . . . cop with Newport PD.  Homicide.  He was here this morning when the other cops arrive
d
—”

“
Here
where
?
”

“
In my apartment.  What difference does it make
?
”

I’
ve just built back a bridge I burned with my mother four years ago.  I do
n’
t want her to know how Aidan used me, how Berta Colby was right all along: I never shoul
d’
ve slept with a LEO, and definitely not the one wh
o’
s going to help put my brother in prison for my best frien
d’
s murder.

But I did sleep with him.  Boy, did I ever.  I flush the heated memories.  If Berta finds out how I feel about Aidan, I can forget about burning bridges.  There wo
n’
t even be a steel girder left to un-scorch, much less a bridge left to burn.  But something in my voice has prompted her to pry.
 “
It makes a difference
,”
she says.
 “
Yo
u’
re my baby girl
.
”

“
Now you know your trashy daughte
r’
s terrible secret, Mom. 
I’
v
e—
slept with the law
.
”

“
Do
n’
t get smart-mouthed, Laney.  You know my reasons.  Do I have to spell them out
?
”

“
I know
,”
I say.
 “
Yo
u’
re hell bent I do
n’
t end up like you
.
”
 
I reiterate all the reasons Berta told me why I should never sleep with a cop.  They used her as their snitch, for sex, for whatever else they wanted, and then they cut her loose.  Tha
t’
s what cops do.

“
Alrighty then
,”
she says, in the grip of another coughing fit.
 “
But I wo
n’
t have my baby girl bringi
n
’ home no cop.  Just you remember that
.
”

I wait.  Sh
e’
s accepted what
I’
ve done with Aidan with less rancor than I expected, but I know this woman: sh
e’
s sneaki
n
’ and whatever else sh
e’
s thinking, or planning, sh
e’
s not sharing it with me.  When she finally stops coughing, I hear her lighting up another cigarette, unfiltered. 

“
Just do
n’
t tell me yo
u’
re marrying no damn cop
,”
she says
,“
or shacki
n
’ with him.  I wo
n’
t have my baby girl cohabitati
n
’ with the
law
.
”

“
I thin
k
”
—
my breath catches, a deep ache formin
g
—
“
you do
n’
t have to worry about that now, Mom
.
”
 
In fact, you do
n’
t have to worry about it ever
.  I doubt Aidan will have anything to do with me after this morning, unless it involves my testifying against Robin. 

It should
n’
t matter.  I want to deny how hurt I feel, but ca
n’
t. 

“
I never want to see him again
.
”

“
I see
,”
she says
,“
so tha
t’
s how it is
?
”

“
Tha
t’
s how it is
,”
I say, listening to her draw smoke into her lungs, mulling over her daughte
r’
s tragic, illicit liaison with a LEO.  And then she wheezes
,“
Have you talked to Robin about this . . . Aidan?  Does Robin know him
?
” 

This is the hard part, having to tell her
I’
ve failed to care for my brother.
 “
Mom, I ca
n’
t find him.  The reason I called is I thought he might be with you
.
”

“
Hon, he ai
n’
t here.  Ai
n’
t been here since he got out of the joint.  Told me he was tryi
n
’ to go straight and did
n’
t need no bad influences, like his poor old mama, bringing any more shit down on his head
.
”

She pisses me off every time she opens her mouth, but my mom neve
r—
eve
r—
lies to me.  She told me once that telling us the truth, no matter how much it hurt to do it, was her way of making up for being a loser mom.  She was
n’
t always there for me or Robin, but we could trust her to tell us the truth, however harsh or brutal. 

Robi
n’
s not with her?  Then where is he? 

“
I do
n’
t do drugs no more
,”
she says.
 “
I finally got cleaned up.  Had to. 
I’
m on oxygen
,”
she reveals, coughing out the news.
 “
COPD
.
”

“
Oh, mom, shit
,”
I say, running back the hallway toward my apartment.
 “I’
m sorry.  Is the oxygen permanent
?
”

“
Well, yes, but it ai
n’
t that damn bad.  The doctor says
I’
ll have t
o
—”

Listening to her describe her treatment, I suddenly stop in my tracks.  Up ahead, two cops are cordoning off the entry inside the rear foyer of my apartment building.  I stare down the hallway toward them. 
I’
m roped in like a corralled animal.
 “
Mom,
I’
ve got to go.  I do
n’
t have time to explain. 
I’
ll call you later
.
”

“
Sure you will
,”
she says, refusing to say goodbye.
 “
Right now, though
,”
she says
,“
how about we finish our little pow-wow about this Aidan Hawk
s—?
”

Why, after four years of not being able to dispense advice, does she choose now to start making up for lost time?
 “
I ca
n’
t.  Not right now.  Ther
e’
s LEOs crawling all over my building, Mom.  I gotta go, okay
?
”
 I’
m willing to forgive her for past sins, but I know better than to think I can count on her for any real help in this mess, and
I’
m out of time. 
I’
ve got to get to that overnight bag of Robi
n’
s before the cops do.

“
I know, baby girl
,”
she says
,“
I know what it looks like where you are.  Remember,
I’
ve been in hot water myself a time or two.  Do
n’
t panic
.
”

For a moment,
I’
m comforted.

“
The cops ai
n’
t looking for you, too, are they
?
”

“
Mom, no
!
” 

Waiting until the cops down the hall turn their back, I sprint toward my apartment.  When I arrive, the doo
r’
s standing wide open.

Hmmm.
 
Tha
t’
s odd.

I take a step into the entrance hallway of my apartment, and then stop and listen.  Hearing nothing, seeing no one, I tiptoe in and ask my mom
,“
Do you know a good criminal lawyer
?
”

She laughs so hard she goes into another coughing spasm.
 “
Good one, baby girl
.
”

I get why sh
e’
s laughing.  Berta Colb
y’
s slept with every lawyer in Goshen, Ohio, all two of them, maybe three, plus their fathers and brothers.  To them, sh
e’
s trash, got no money.  A criminal defense lawyer, a Melvin-fucking-Belli mouth piece, costs tons of money.
 “
Never mind
,”
I say
,“
sorry I asked
.
” 

As
I’
m tiptoeing toward Robi
n’
s bedroom, I hear real concern in Mo
m’
s voice.
 “
Listen to me, Laney.  I ai
n’
t got no money, but I know this system.  I
t’
s a monster.  I also know our Robbi
e’
s in a world of crap.  The only way you can help is by doing exactly what I say
.
”

Like
I’
m going to listen to yo
u—
Mother.
  I think it but do
n’
t say it.  When it comes to criminal affairs and dealing with the law, Berta Colby is an authority, or at least sh
e’
s experienced.  She knows her stuff. 
I’
ll take whatever help I can get from her. 

“
Okay
,”
I say.
 “
What do you want me to do
?
”

I do a rapid visual scan of Robi
n’
s bedroom.  Nothing looks out of place.  H
e’
s a neat freak.  The years of using meth made him develop Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.  His Gun
s‘
n Roses DVD collection is stacked on a stand beside his bed, precisely in the same spot it always is.  There are business cards of people he does
n’
t know.  He collects them and alphabetically orders them, and then takes the collection apart and reorders the cards every day, ten or twenty, maybe a hundred times.  He says it calms his nerves.  He also keeps all his food, peanut butter and bread and canned tuna, in a zippered overnight bag.

But I do
n’
t see it.
 “
Where is that damn thing
?
”  

Mom waits while I rummage through Ro
b’
s closet.  Finding no overnight bag, I run into my bedroom.  Listening to my recently-turned motherly mom on my cell phone giving me advice, I ransack in search of Robi
n’
s overnight bag. 

“
Do
n’
t say anything to the cops, not a word.  You hear me?  And Laney
?
”

“
Mom,
what
?
”
I hiss
,“
I gotta go.  I gotta find a lawyer for Rob. 
Our
Robbi
e’
s a murder suspect
,”
I say
,“
in case you forget what that feels like
.
”
 
H
e’
s a wanted serial killer, I wisely do
n’
t add.  I ca
n’
t wrap my head around that:
I’
m sure even Berta would have trouble, too.