Black Jack Point by Jeff Abbott

off the screen. ‘Probably not. What is photosynthesis? You dumb asses.’
    Whit leaned down, grabbed the remote, cut off the television in the middle of Botany for $600. ‘Pardon me. I’m speaking to
     you. As part of a death inquest. If you don’t want to answer questions here, you do it in a courtroom.’
    Roy stood. Whit was tall but this guy was an oak. ‘I told you, I don’t know shit. And I don’t like to miss my program.’
    ‘Roy.’ Suzanne shook her head.
    ‘I’m sorry, baby.’ For the first time Whit saw tenderness in Roy’s sun-hardened face. ‘Sorry. Okay.’ He crossed his arms.
     ‘I never got to know him, Judge. He decided in the first ten seconds of our acquaintance I was trash. So we declined to occupy
     the same place at the same time.’
    ‘Let’s talk prison records.’
    Roy walked into the kitchen, got another beer, offered a bottle to Whit. Whit shook his head. ‘I ran some dope for a school
     buddy, I got caught, I cut a little deal, school buddy didn’t. I did a short stint and I’ve been spotless. Now I got my life
     back together here with Suze, doing my art, and people just want to piss in my beer.’
    ‘Y’all do much gambling?’ Whit asked.
    Roy glanced at Suzanne and she said, ‘Lucy.’ He glanced back at Whit with a smirk. ‘Actually, we do, and we have the means
     to and we’re not in over our heads. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to anyone that maybe Mrs Tran was the target, not Patch.
     You grilling her family like this?’
    ‘I couldn’t say.’
    ‘You come after me just because I got a record, that’s the easy thing to do. Just as easy to get yourself sued for false arrest.
     For reporters to get a call to say some poor ex-con who’s become a model citizen is getting hassled. You can’t fucking bully
     people, man.’
    ‘I didn’t realize you felt bullied by me,’ Whit said. ‘Please don’t cry.’
    Roy took a step forward. Suzanne put a hand on his thick forearm. ‘Roy. Don’t let him bait you.’
    ‘I’m not baiting anyone,’ Whit said. ‘Thanks for your time. I can see myself out. I’ll let you know if you’re needed to testify
     at the inquest.’
    Whit drove out of Castaway Key. He remembered the time the land had been developed, this thin sliver of near-island, when
     he was a teenager. Once this was rough country, not too different from the Gilbert land, thick with salt grass, jutting out
     into shallow water with a handpainted sign that read PLEASE DON’T PET THE RATTLERS.
And how much is this land worth now?
Whit wondered.
Millions. So how much is that family landreally worth to Suzanne Gilbert? Or maybe to her way-smarter-than-he-looks boyfriend?
    He didn’t want to think about how much it might be worth to Lucy.

11
    Claudia wriggled her head through the open porthole, attempted to snake her body through. She eased one shoulder out. She
     turned, trying to navigate her head and the other shoulder out, but the opening was too narrow and the ropes, tight already,
     chafed hard, gouged her legs. She was angry enough to cry hot tears, and she hated to cry.
    The heavy blindfold slipped around her neck like a loose scarf.
Shit. No getting that back over my eyes. That’s probably worth a whole foot of broken toes.
    She pulled herself back in. A knot of rope caught on the porthole crank. Not good, not good. She caught her breath, eased
     herself free, and fell back against the bed. She tried to maneuver the blindfold back into place but she couldn’t; her hands
     couldn’t push it up far enough to cover her eyes and all her wriggling had loosened the knot too much.
    She heard Stoney’s shocked drawl over the speaker-phone. ‘I’ll give you the money. Okay? But these other items you’re asking
     for, I don’t have, please.’
    Gar said, ‘Number one,’ and Ben screamed.
    ‘That was finger number one,’ Gar said. ‘Broke it. A pinky. You keep arguing I’ll cut it off.’
    ‘I don’t have what you want!’ Stoney