this place, not stuck inside with a bunch of computer games. If you see him, could you spend some time with him?’
When Spencer returned to the house after his ride, the kid was in the screening room. Laid out flat in one of the loungers, he was watching an ancient Vin Diesel movie. The volume was turned so high that Spencer had identified the film before he’d even entered the house.
When Spencer grabbed the control for the metal blinds and pressed it, allowing blindingly brilliant sunshine to stream in, the kid screeched like a vampire.
‘It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, for God’s sake.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘I don’t want you sitting around indoors every day, all day. Go outside.’ Spencer turned off the television.
‘Fuck off!’ the kid cried and leaped from the lounger. Clutching the remote so that Spencer couldn’t take it, he went over and turned the TV back on.
Not wanting the little bastard to wreck the mellowness of his morning ride, Spencer gave in. If he wanted to rot his brain, so be it.
Spencer turned and nearly ran into Sidonie in the doorway, her arms clutched around a small stack of scripts.
‘As soon as I’ve put these away, I’m going in the kitchen to make some cookies,’ she said to the boy. ‘Do you want to help me?’
‘Leave him alone,’ Spencer said. ‘He’s being a little fucker.’
‘He’s bored, Spence. We can’t leave him doing nothing all the time.’
‘Sidonie, there’s a whole world of things out there for him to do, if he’d just get off his fat little ass and go do them. Don’t pander to him.’
‘But it can’t be very nice here. There aren’t any other kids around. He doesn’t know anybody. And I don’t mind doing things with him.’
‘You guys. I’m right here. Why do you stand there talking like I can’t hear you?’ the boy said.
‘Tennesee, would you like to come make some cookies with me?’
‘“Tennesee, would you like to come make some cookies with me?”’ the boy mimicked back sarcastically.
‘See?’ Spencer replied. ‘What’s the point of being nice to him? He’s got his mother’s genes.’
Sidonie could never deal with conflict. No matter how much you pointed out the contrary, the world was all bunnies and rainbows to her, so she kept on with the Care Bear routine. ‘I’m making three-kinds-of-ginger cookies. My grandma’s special recipe. I’ll show you how to make really cool gingerbread men out of them. Come on. It might be fun.’
‘Quit acting like you think you’re my mom.’
‘I don’t think I’m your mom,’ Sidonie said. ‘I’m just saying it might be fun to do.’
‘Why would I want to do anything with you? You think you’re so cool, but really you’re nothing but my dad’s latest fuck,’ the boy replied and flipped her the finger.
‘Hey!’ Spencer said sharply. ‘I’m not having you talk to her like that.’
‘You mean I’m not allowed to tell the truth?’ the kid said, widening his eyes in fake innocence.
Spencer came back into the room. ‘Apologize.’
The boy sprawled nonchalantly over the lounger like a basking lizard.
‘I said, apologize.’
No response.
Spencer crossed over and pushed the lounger sharply into the upright position, knocking the boy forward. ‘Go to your room then. Right now.’
The boy held out his hand. ‘You gonna give me the money for a ticket? Because my room’s in LA.’
‘Get your ass out of that chair. Now.’
The boy just sat.
Spencer grabbed hold of the kid’s T-shirt and yanked him up to his feet. ‘You fucking well do what I say.’
For all the stage-fighting Spencer had done in his career, this was the first time he’d had to fight with someone for real, and a fight it turned out to be. The boy refused to do anything he was told and Spencer had had enough. He would not take no. There was no alternative to physically forcing him into obeying.
When he grabbed Tennesee, Spencer had assumed all the time he had to devote to the gym in order to keep his six-pack would give him the advantage over a fat nine-year-old, but the kid had insane strength and no concept of fair fighting. He gripped on to door jambs, slid on rugs, squirmed, snarled and screamed. God almighty, did he scream; ‘I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!’ the whole time, at the decibel level of a death-metal concert. I hate you too, Spencer was thinking, but he hated Phoebe even more for managing to ruin Montana by sending the kid up. She needed serious paying back for this.
At last Spencer managed to get the kid down the hall and into his room. Slamming the door shut, he held the handle to keep it closed.
‘I’m not staying in here!’ the kid shouted.
‘Indeed, you are,’ Spencer shouted back. He could hear the kid trashing the room. ‘And you’re going to fucking pay for everything you break.’
‘I HATE you!’ the kid howled through the door. ‘I won’t stay here. I’m going to run away from here and never come back.’
‘Good!’ Spencer said, still hanging on to the doorknob.
‘I will! I’m not just saying it.’
‘Good. You do that then. See how much it bothers me.’
Chapter Eight
It was just after five thirty when Dixie got home. Billy wasn’t there. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Truth was, she didn’t really care. The previous night’s casserole was still in the fridge. That would have to be good enough, if Billy wanted something to eat. Popping open a can of beer, Dixie turned the TV on and flopped down on the sofa.
About eight in the evening the backdoor banged and there was Billy with a bag of groceries and the biggest, stupidest grin across his face. He plopped the bag down on the kitchen table.
‘You look in there,’ he said gleefully, ‘and you’re going to find two of the best T-bone steaks they had at the store!’
‘What’s going on?’ Dixie asked suspiciously. ‘We can’t afford hamburger, much less T-bones.’
‘This here’s our celebrating meal.’
‘Celebrating what? Being in the poorhouse?’
‘What would you say if I tell you that me and you are going to be millionaires pretty soon?’
‘I’d say go put your head under that faucet, ’cause clearly the heat’s done in what little brain you got.’
He grinned good-naturedly. ‘Nope. Just your Billy’s taking care of things for you. We won’t have to worry about that money for the funeral any more. You cook us them steaks and then after dinner, I’ll show you.’
‘Show me what?’
‘Show you how we’re gonna be millionaires.’
‘What fool thing you done now, Billy?’
‘You fix us them steaks first and then I’ll show you.’
Dixie turned uneasily away and took the frying pan out from under the stove. ‘I’m not going to be able to enjoy the steak if I’m worrying the whole time. I know you, Billy. So tell me what you done. Sold something? What? It wasn’t the truck, was it?’ She felt alarm at the thought. ‘Oh gosh, please tell me it’s not the truck.’
‘Truck’s