Page 171 of Random in Death
“I said no!” Rhythmically, Francis beat his fists on the table. “I will not have it! I have rights!”
You see the monster now, Eve thought. And he terrifies you.
“We’re trying to help you.”
“Help me? Oh, that’s rich! If this is your idea of help, I can help myself, thank you very much for nothing! This is the best you can do?” He jerked a thumb toward Derwood. “This mealymouthed excuse for an attorney? ‘The boy’ this, ‘the boy’ that. I’m a man!”
He turned on Derwood. “You’re letting this bitch run all over you when you should be filing charges against her for police brutality. She bloodied my nose, bruised my wrist.” Now he turned on his father.
“I spent the night in a cell like an animal, and what do you do? You leave me there, then you come in and start on how I have issues, how I’m sick, how you love me and you’ll do everything you can to get me help. And you hire this idiot? Get out, Derwood. I’m smarter than you on my worst day. I can handle this idiot female myself.”
“Francis.” Derwood spoke with enviable patience. “You’re understandably overwrought. We’ll suspend this interview while we—”
The fists banged again.
“I said get out. Get out, Derwood. Do you have a problem comprehending a simple, declarative sentence? Let’s try another. You’re fired.”
“I do not have a problem with comprehension, but your father hired me.”
“He can get out, too. Love me? Oh yes, yes, that’s rich. You love having the sluts fall all over you. Sluts just like my mother.”
“Francis!” Bryce’s look spoke of genuine shock. “I never brought a woman home. You didn’t like it. I never—”
“But you got hot and sweaty with plenty of them, didn’t you? I’m not stupid! They’d spread out for you because of how you look, and because you have money. I should’ve killed you first.”
“Don’t speak again,” Derwood snapped. “Lieutenant—”
“You’re useless,” Francis said, his tone deliberately bored. “I said get out. I can file for emancipation, and I will. I’ll have your money one day, Dad. And all that comes with it. Then all the years I said, ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ and pretended to be fascinated by your work—which doesn’t hold a candle to mine—will be worth it. But now, I’m going to say what I’ve wanted to as long as I can remember. Go to hell.”
Bryce got to his feet. His body shook. “You’re my son, and I love you. And now I’m terribly, terribly afraid you have to pay for your choices, your actions.”
He looked down at the photos. “You have to pay. I’ll help you, all I can. All you allow, but you have to pay for what you’ve done.”
Francis feigned a yawn. “Sorry, did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”
“Lieutenant, you have parental permission to continue the interview. Mr. Derwood no longer represents my son. Mr. Derwood, please come with me.”
“Dr. Bryce, there are things I can do to—”
“No. No, I don’t think there are.” Grief lived in every word. “And if there are, I don’t believe you should. Please, come with me.”
Derwood got up. “Francis, you’re making a mistake.”
He aimed those dead eyes at the lawyer. “I don’t make mistakes.”
“Dr. Bryce and legal counsel, former, exiting Interview.”
Eve shifted, smiled at Francis. “So.”
“Fuck you. I don’t know why I never used that word before last night. It’s a fine, flexible Anglo-Saxon word.”
“I’m fond of it myself. Let’s start with Jenna Harbough.”
“I don’t know who that is.” He widened his eyes, did his best to fill them with innocence. “I’ve never seen her before. I’ve never been in that club you talked about. I found those shoes yesterday, and I thought maybe I’d look chill in them.”
“For somebody who everybody says is so smart, that’s a dumbass play, Francis. The clerk who sold them to you remembers you.”
“You must be lying. Police can and do lie. Store clerks don’t remember some kid buying shoes.”