Crooked House by Joe McKinney, Wayne Miller

hard drinking and tons of dope had done their work on him. A little more each year, he’d put on weight, muscle turning to flab. His dad, never an assertive man, had been content to let Jay dip into the family’s money whenever he needed it, which was pretty much all the time. But then, four years ago, his father died, leaving Mama on her own.
    And his Mama and his Daddy were definitely cut from different cloth . She was a force of nature, a worker, someone who believed handouts made people lazy and morally bankrupt. Earlier that summer she’d called him to the table. Her detectives had been following him around, tracking how he spent her money. She knew about the drinking and the drugs and the whores. She knew all of it, and Jay had thrown himself on her mercy.
    Or pretended to at any rate.
    He’d sworn up and down that he would come clean, get sober, whatever the hell she wanted. He’d go to treatment, he’d do it cold turkey, just as long as she didn’t cut him off.
    But Mama Carroll was no fool . She knew his promises were little more than piss in the wind, and she told him as much. And, she added, she didn’t much care. She had washed her hands of what he did. He was welcome to booze himself to death if that’s what he wanted to do. But there was one thing she did want, and that was to have her granddaughter close to her.
    And what his Mama wanted, she got.
    “See,” she told him, “I’m dying.”
    That made him listen.
    “Oh, don’t get your hopes up yet. I have a few years still,” she said. “The doctors are telling me eight, maybe ten good years, with the medication they’ve got now. But I want to see my granddaughter before I go. I want to know her before the Alzheimer’s turns my brain to Swiss cheese. The idea of family may not mean all that much to you, but it does to me.”
    If her words were meant to sting him, they hadn’t . All that really registered with Jay was the fact that he’d stay flush with cash if he brought Angela back into his Mama’s life.
    And that meant getting custody.
    And that meant dealing with Mr. Thomas Kraft, Mama’s lawyer.
    Jay rallied and focused . To Kraft, he said:  “Okay, if she doesn’t have to cooperate, how do we do it?”
    “There are other ways around a refusal . We can demonstrate your emotional distress, for example. That’s a longer process, but in the end it’ll get us a blood test.” Kraft stopped there, took off his glasses, and polished them with a silk hanky. The two men watched each other for a long moment before Kraft spoke again. “May I ask you a personal question, Jay?”
    “Sure, shoot.”
    “Do you really want to get custody of this little girl?”
    “What the hell kind of question is that?”
    “A necessary one, I think. One that you will have to answer to the mirror before you can answer it before a judge.”
    “I’ll tell you what,” Jay said. “How about this? How about you do your job, the job my mom is paying you for, and I’ll do my part. Just get that kid back for me and everybody’ll be happy.”
    “Perhaps,” Kraft said doubtfully . “But you see, my concern is this: I’m also a father. I’ve adopted three children, Jay. Did you know that? I know firsthand everything that’s involved in taking a child into your life. I know the joy, the heartbreak, the long nights with no sleep, the constant commitment to the child’s welfare. There’s no time off, no vacations from that responsibility. I know how much of a sacrifice it is, and I also know how glorious the love between a father and his children can be. And I wonder if you have any idea how much of a life change you’re taking on.”
    “I know what I’m doing.”
    Kraft studied him for a long moment. “You’re sure about that?”
    “Why wouldn’t I be ? I told you I am.”
    “It says in your file that you’re not currently employed.”
    Jay stood up. “We’re done here, I think.”
    Kraft looked like he wanted to say more, but then seemed to