It was late in the day when Lucas came across the cluster of police cars outside a dive bar. There were EMT’s loading a covered body into an ambulance and a young tall cop starting to tape off the entrance. Lucas went over to the cop, noticing how he looked every inch the blonde and brawny corn-fed country boy cliche.
“The bar’s closed. You can’t be here, said the cop as soon as he spotted Lucas.
Lucas glanced at the cop’s name badge. “You’re Hemmings, right? The reliable one - according to Dad,” he said, offering a smile.
Hemmings frowned, his mouth falling open.
Aw, the big idiot’s trying to connect the dots. How cute. “Oh, sorry. My Dad’s the Sheriff. I’m Lucas.”
“Ohh, right right, said Hemmings, stick his hand out to shake Lucas’.
He saw Finster start to approach them so he decided to lay it on thick. “Wow, that’s some serious guns you got there. Flex them?” Hemmings grinned and obliged him and Lucas gave the man’s massive bicep a squeeze. “Damn! These aren’t guns, more like tanks!”
Over the low background noise of the crime scene, Finster thought he heard a familiar voice. He turned and saw Lucas talking to Hemmings. Anticipation leavened with anxiety filled him, and without making the decision to do so he found himself walking over to them.
Hemmings, grinning, flexed his bicep and Lucas reached out to give it a squeeze. Finster felt something cold and hard lodge itself in his rib cage. Jealousy, maybe, but more than that, though he couldn’t put a name to it. The awareness that Lucas was young, handsome, with his whole life ahead of him. The reminder that Lucas wouldn’t be in his life at all if it weren’t for the charade, for...well, blackmail. I better scare up that money, before things get any more complicated, he thought to himself.
“Hemmings,” he said as he neared them, “I see you’ve met Lucas. Did you need something, kid?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to call him “son,” under the circumstances.
