Worst Case - James Patterson [48]
“I gotta pay?” Mrs. Franklin said as she motioned for him to bring her the paper.
“For my legal services? Of course not, Mrs. Franklin.”
“No, I know that,” she said as she scratched her signature. “I meant for the FedEx. That shit’s expensive.”
“No, that’s covered, too, of course.”
“Good,” she said with another little smirk. “Anything else?”
How about a fucking thank-you? Francis X. thought, unable to control his anger. Then he looked around the room. It wasn’t her fault, he realized. Abject poverty made people this way. Mrs. Franklin was a victim, like her son.
“That’s all,” Francis said. “I’d better get going. Helping you and your son is my pleasure. It’s the least I could do.”
Chapter 55
IT WAS COMING on five when I had Emily drop me off at my apartment. The end-of-day task force meeting downtown at headquarters had been bumped up to six-thirty, and I was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. They would be looking to blame someone for the missing five million.
Inside, I grabbed a suit fresh from the dry cleaners from the front hall closet. It’s always been a policy of mine to make sure to look my best when I’m going to be called on the carpet.
“It can’t be, but it is! Daddy’s home before dinner! Ahhhhh!” one of my daughters, Fiona, shrieked ecstatically as I appeared in the dining room doorway.
The gang, still in their school uniforms, were home from school and in the midst of getting their homework out of the way. I went around, slapping high fives and administering hugs and even a few atomic tickles where appropriate.
Many cops I’ve worked with have asked me why the hell I would want so many kids, and I’ve always had trouble explaining it. Yes, there are fights. Legendary lines for the bathroom. Clutter beyond the nightmares of professional organizers. Not to mention the expense. I envy people who can live paycheck to paycheck. But it’s moments like these, when my guys are all safe and happy and busy and together, that every bit of it is incredibly worth it, when it is pure, unabashed happiness.
The kids are simply my tribe, my pack. We gathered them together, and everything good that my wife, Maeve, and I had ever learned, we passed on to them. Not only have they taken those lessons to heart in our house—being kind to one another, being polite, being good even when they don’t feel like it—as they get older, they’ve started spreading that goodness to the world. I can’t count how many times teachers and neighbors and school parents have said to me how wonderful, polite, and thoughtful they thought my kids were.
Maeve, and now Mary Catherine, being home with them every day, could take ninety-nine percent of the credit for that. But that one percent that makes me proud of myself exceeds everything I have ever accomplished professionally, hands down.
Mary Catherine smiled up at me from where she was surrounded by a sea of blue-and-gold Catholic-school plaid.
“Mike, is it you?” she said. “Can I fix dinner?”
“Don’t bother,” I said, putting my cell on the sideboard as I headed for my room. “This is just a pit stop. I have an hour, maybe less, until this evil object summons me again.”
Twenty minutes later, wearing a suit not covered in sweat, antifreeze, and grass stains, I stepped back into the dining room and almost fainted. Instead of being covered in textbooks, workbooks, red pens, calculators, and rulers, the table was set like it was Sunday all over again.
Mary Catherine and Brian and Juliana came in a second later with a plate of homemade fried chicken, jalapeño corn bread, and a fresh salad. Another incredible meal brought to you by my personal savior, Mary Catherine.
I shook my head at her for going to all