Read The Bad Beat for Free Online

himself into this mess, he could be the one in charge of listening to Sugar cry. Meanwhile, Sugar’s problem kept emitting this low wail that reminded me of a wounded bear. It also made me want to put him out of his misery.
    “What is his issue?” Fiona asked. We were in the kitchen, which is only a few feet from my bed, but with the amount of moaning and woe-is-me-ing Brent was doing, we both felt fairly comfortable speaking in our normal voices.
    “I don’t know,” I said.
    “Have you asked him?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Fi,” I said, “he’s curled up on my bed like a five-year-old. You know I have a hard time talking to kids.”
    “What about in the car ride over?”
    “It was enough for me to keep Sugar from speaking,” I said. “I might have killed them both.”
    “So, what, you want me to coo him into telling you why the big mean bad guys blew up his daddy’s office?”
    “Yes.”
    “And then what? We both read him a story and put him to bed?”
    “Fi,” I said, “he just needs a sweet voice in his ear right now. I’m afraid I might shake him to death if he continues to whine.”
    “Fine,” she said. She walked over and sat down on the foot of the bed. “Brent, honey,” she said, “turn over. Let’s talk.”
    “Oh,” he said, but didn’t move.
    Fiona leaned over and rested her hand gently on the back of his neck. “Sweetheart,” she said, “we’re here to help you. Do you want our help?” She stroked his neck lightly. I know it was wise to bring her over.
    “I guess,” he said.
    “Then either turn over and stop babbling,” she said—and then I saw her squeeze his neck with a bit more force than a cougar does its young—“or I will break your neck. Okay, sweetie?”
    Brent flipped over and stopped making noise.
    “There,” Fiona said to me. “He’s all yours.”
    “Thanks, Fiona,” I said. Sometimes I forget that Fiona isn’t really like other women, particularly as it relates to the care and concern of wounded animals and such.
    I pulled a chair next to the bed and looked at Brent. He had brown hair that hung loosely over his eyes, a complexion that could use a bit of exfoliation but was otherwise fine and teeth that had benefited from what was probably very expensive orthodonture. His clothes were brand name and he didn’t have any obvious track marks on his arms and wasn’t constantly wiping the cocaine from his nose. So how was it he was mixed up with such bad people?
    “Can I get you something to eat?” I asked.
    “No, I’m fine. I ate, like, last night.”
    “Can I get you something to drink?”
    “I wouldn’t mind a Yoo-hoo. Do you have any Yoo-hoo?”
    “I’m afraid I don’t,” I said. “How about water?”
    “Water would be fine.”
    “Fiona,” I said, “would you kindly get our young guest a glass of water?”
    “I’d be happy to,” she said and got up.
    “Is she going to hurt me anymore?” Brent asked.
    “Probably not,” I said.
    Fiona came back with a bottle of water, which Brent drank down quickly. He looked back and forth at me and Fi as if trying to determine who was in charge. He settled on me. “I guess things got bad today.”
    “That would be correct,” I said. “Your father’s office was blown up.”
    “Like with dynamite?”
    “More likely with C-4,” I said. “But the result was the same.”
    “What if Sugar had still been there?” he said.
    “That’s a good question, Brent,” I said. “It’s why you’re now in my loft and not in your cozy bed on campus. Would you care to explain why you’ve got the Russian Mafia blowing up your father’s place of business?”
    “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.
    “You don’t,” Fiona said.
    This didn’t seem to reassure Brent much. “But you’re not, like, criminals, right?”
    “I’m not, no,” I said.
    He looked at Fiona, who said nothing.
    “Why do you want to help me?” he asked.
    “Because you’re in over your head,” I said. “If