Tough Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

houses and stealing cars, working his way up to the things he kept from her.
    She had asked him point-blank if he’'d ever murdered anyone, and he’'d crossed his arms and looked away when he’'d told her that he hadn’'t. The main reason he’'d gotten out was to keep Malcolm from going in.
    This is so damn twisted, Grace thought. We do crazy-ass things to save the people we love. Decades ago, she had nearly bitten off Father Patrick Satan Murphy’'s tongue rather than let him use it on her little sister, Paige. Like he had on her.
    “"Things was getting better for my boys,”" Mr. Briscombe ground out. “"Why did this have to happen?”"
    It was a question Grace asked a million times a week, as she watched lives fracture and go down the sewer; and it was one for which she had no answers. If Earl were here, he’'d remind Grace that life wasn’'t fair, and it was up to you to play the cards you were dealt as best you could. That was her main beef with her angel—--as far as she was concerned, the Great Dealer in the Sky was using a stacked deck, and the House always won. And Earl was like a pit boss, making sure everybody abided by the House’'s rules.
    Okay, I have sucked that metaphor dry, she thought.
    She waited a bit longer, but Mr. Briscombe had fallen silent. Then she said, “"Do you know why Malcolm was in that neighborhood last night? It was a school night. Shouldn’'t he have been home? It was after curfew.”"
    “"I thought he was in bed. He came in my room and kissed me good night. Must have snuck out.”" He shut his eyes tightly as if he could blot out the horror. “"I wish to God I had woken up. I’'d have stopped him.”"
    Grace wondered if Malcolm had joined the Sixty-Sixes, too. There were a hundred reasons for a thirteen-year-old to sneak out at night—--hell, she’'d done it—--and none of them were good. Less so, if you lived in a neighborhood like this one.
    God, she felt so sorry for this old man.
    “"I want to go to see Malcolm again,”" he said, opening his eyes. “"I got to see him. Maybe it’'s not him.”" He sounded too excited, a little manic. “"Maybe—--”"
    “"No, it’'s him,”" Grace said, gently but clearly. “"You shouldn’'t do that.”" That mangled carcass in Henry’'s fridge was Malcolm no longer.
    He went silent. She could hear him panting. His hand was shaking so hard she was afraid it would break off at the wrist if she continued to hold it.
    “"Then I want to go to my church. I want to see Reverend Stone.”" He started to get up.
    “"We can call him for you. He’'ll come over here,”" Ham said. It was the first time he had spoken other than offering his condolences to Mr. Briscombe. Grace’'s partner had great instincts about when it was better to let her do the talking. Sometimes it was a woman thing, sometimes it was because she was short and, therefore, less intimidating. Sometimes, it was just because she was Grace.
    “"I need to go,”" Mr. Briscombe said. “"I need to talk to my pastor.”"
    “"What if Jamal comes back? He’'ll need you. You need each other,”" Grace insisted.
    She didn’'t mention that the apartment was being watched. Butch and Bobby were in an unmarked car up the street, waiting for Jamal to show.
    “"I got to go. I’'ll take the bus,”" he insisted.
    Grace had seen grief before. She knew it was fragmenting him, scattering his thoughts. She had watched a wife do a load of laundry for a husband who had just died, a brother call a brain-dead sister’'s place of employment to explain that she wouldn’'t be in today. Your life just blew apart, and you worked overtime to put it back together.
    “"We’'ll drive you,”" Grace said.
    “"No.”" Mr. Briscombe emphatically shook his head. “"I can’'t be seen with y’'all. If Jamal’'s back with the Sixty-Sixes, it’'ll go even harder for him if they see his grand-pop with the police.”"
    “"This isn’'t Sixty-Six territory,”" Grace pointed out. “"And