Sunken Graves by Alan Lee (thriller book recommendations .txt) 📕

“Yes, boy. She will.” Gibbs walked toward him. Gibbs used the same method of intimidation that Lynch did, the menacing direct approach. Proximity and threat of violence. It worked on everyone, his clients, attorneys, teachers, and his children. He needed it to work on his son right now.

“No I have it planned out.”

“Your plans never work. Not once,” said Gibbs.

“Trust me, I know she’ll say yes. I know she will. I… I have the ring.”

Gibbs didn’t know it at the time, but Lynch had a big tuna hook in his left pocket, and an engagement ring in his right. Gibbs came around the counter into the kitchen. “You said that before, that you had it planned, that everything would be fine. With your first wife. With your second wife. With those girls you date. Trust me, you said, they love me. You fat… No.. Listen, son—”

“This time—”

Gibbs was close enough to hit Lynch, and he did. A slap to the face. Lynch, long accustomed to pain, showed nothing. Gibbs hadn’t meant to, but some reflex triggered. He pressed on. “This time nothing, boy. You can’t propose. She’s not some squirrel you can choke, a flopping rabbit you can hoist.”

“I heard her, Chief. I heard her talking about me.”

“You’re demented.”

“No. I’m not! I did this.… My case is airtight.”

“I raised you well and you… Dammit, Peter, you’re still a little demented boy chasing girls who don’t love you,” said Gibbs.

“She does love—”

Gibbs hit him again, the stinging slap of meat. “No. She doesn’t.”

Lynch’s teeth started to grind. Through them he said, “You’ll see. You’ll see and it’ll be YOU apologizing to ME.”

Gibbs reared back, ready to hit harder. “Daddies don’t apologize. Ever.”

“I said YOU’LL SEE!” A sudden outburst and Lynch shoved the chief in the chest.

The older man’s neck snapped forward—his muscles would hurt for a week. He hit the counter behind and rolled onto it, gasping. Twenty years ago he would’ve handled it better. Now everything screamed inside.

Lynch advanced on him. His voice quaked with the enormity of what he’d done. “Don’t you come into MY house and HIT ME! I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that!”

Gibbs pivoted across the counter and landed with a grunt. Held up his hands. “Alright, boy. Alright, calm down. Boys don’t hit their daddies.”

“You’re no father to me, Chief.”

“Take deep breaths. Relax, Peter.”

“Francis. Francis told you Daisy and I were getting married.” Lynch put a hand to his mouth and swallowed.

“Francis told me about your absurd… Of course he did.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because you’re destroying the family, Peter!”

“We’re NOT a family! I’m the fat idiot you’re stuck with. You told me enough. Daisy and me, we’ll be a true family.”

“I’m trying to fix things. To fix you.”

“It’s too late, Chief.”

Gibbs’ shoulders dropped, muscles unclenching. Peter was right, it was too late. Gibbs saw the truth. They had run out of time—no more chances.

“Get out,” said Lynch.

“I’m staying.”

“I don’t need you here. I can control myself.”

“No Peter. You can’t. You haven’t ever. And tonight won’t be any different. I’d be retired ten years if you could. I’m staying, and you know why? That one-legged Green Beret might show.”

The phone fell from Lynch’s left hand. Landed with a crack.

“Daniel Jennings?”

“That’s the one.”

“I didn’t invite… I won, I beat him. He’s prohibited by the court,” said Lynch.

“Think that’ll keep him away?”

“You should have kept that sergeant nobody in jail. You cops are worthless.”

“That’s why I’m staying. If Jennings shows, I’ll arrest him.”

“Daisy chose me.” Lynch was staring at the ceiling.

“Okay, Peter. Whatever you say. Enjoy your party. I’ll help clean up after.” Gibbs moved toward a chair, looking like an old man stretching his neck.

Francis had been right—now the day was here, Gibbs had woken that morning convinced he couldn’t murder his own son. Their plan, kill Jennings and Peter and stage it so they’d shot one anther, was solid but unthinkable. He’d arrived at the house, desperate for a way out.

But now?

Now he only saw a rabid dog that needed to be put down. That was the path to preserve the future of Francis, the future of his grandchildren, and his own legacy. The madness of Jennings would be blamed, and not the madness of Peter Lynch.

His powerful pain meds had taken the edge off too, he was certain. Provided his violence additional agency. More pills would be necessary later.

Through the wide front doors, the sound of laughter reached them. Ann and Homer helping with the decorations. The first guests would be arriving in two hours.

55

A bored bond officer watched Jennings pee in a cup. When asked why, the officer explained some people arrive with balloons full of clean urine to beat the system.

Afterward, Jennings took care not to look in the mirror. Didn’t want to dwell on himself. No longer a Green Beret and probably not a teacher for long. Wasn’t even invited to the Christmas party. On a Friday evening he was peeing in a cup while a bond officer watched at District 15 Probation and Parole.

“How many times do I have to do that?” said Jennings.

The front administrator checked her papers. “Once a week until your court date.”

“Not the finest five minutes of my life.”

“I bet.”

Jennings hurried to his car, the trunk full of food and luggage. Ready to retreat. Parked in the adjacent spot was a black Acura. The door opened and the Honorable Francis Lynch rose from behind the wheel. He remained where he was, giving him distance.

Jennings’ pulse accelerated. “Judge Lynch.”

Francis smirked. He called and his words came as fog. “Mr. Jennings, no need for alarm. I only need ten seconds of your time.”

“For what?”

“To chat.” Francis indicated the building he’d vacated. “We’re in a public parking lot, outside a parole office. A dozen security cameras are watching. You can trust me.”

Jennings was shivering. “Go ahead. Talk.”

Francis came near, close enough to touch him with his camel jacket.

“Don’t speak, only listen. Craig Lewis was someone I cared about. And he…” Jennings’ face, like his mind, was