Tag Archives: thriller

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty-Nine

AUTHOR’S WORD OF CAUTION: The climactic last chapter of Sins of the Family is graphically violent. If any reader dislikes criminal acts described with stark details, I recommend not reading it.

John burst through the door and turned on the light, revealing Heinrich stretched out on his bed. Drawing himself up to his full height, John put a hand on Randy’s wiry shoulder. Time at last had come to kill Pharaoh and to be freed of all the agonizing passion which confused his mind.
“Give me the knife.”
“I don’t wanna.” Randy jerked his shoulder away.
“Give me the knife.”
“I wanna slit his throat.”
John’s hand went up, his index finger thrusting upward.
“I am Moses! Give me the knife!”
With reluctance Randy handed it over, but his face darkened with growing hatred.
“Pharaoh!” John began to stride toward the bed. “Your hour of judgment has come.” He paused. “Pharaoh. Answer me.”
When no answer came, Mike and Randy loped over and peered around John at Heinrich on his bed, his eyes bulging wide and his hands still clutching at his bosom. His dried lips stuck to his yellowed teeth as his mouth gaped opened.
“He’s dead.” John shook his head in disbelief.
“Why, he’s just an old man.” Mike giggled as he punched Heinrich’s belly with his beefy fist.
“He ain’t no bad guy, like you said.” Randy spat in disgust.
“How dare you deny me my vengeance?” Bewilderment etched John’s tormented features. All this time, all this killing, and Pharaoh was not his to punish. He jumped on the bed and straddled the old man’s body. “How dare you rob me of my mission?”
“Forget it, Moses.” Mike turned away and laughed. “He’s dead.”
“I will not be stopped!” John screamed in hysteria as he held the knife high above his head. Once again, in his mind, he was the naked warrior standing on the stairs’ top step at the trading post, a growing tree limb behind him. He held his knife high then also, as he looked down with contempt on his own father’s flabby body. His father had to be punished for not following Cherokee ways and for persecuting him because he did want to follow the old ways. Now this other fat old man must pay for his sins. With a war whoop, John brought his knife down and slashed into the corpse.
***
Outside, coming down the dark mountain lane lined with antique and craft shops, a police car made its usual late night rounds. The officers slowed to notice the waterwheel lights were still on.
“The last time Mrs. Schmidt left her lights on after eleven was when the old man had his stroke,” one officer said to the other.
“Yeah, we better check this out.”
***
Inside the bedroom, Bob hugged Jill as he watched John over and over again plunge his knife into Heinrich. Blood splattered everywhere, speckling John’s deranged face.
“Hey, stop it.” Randy hunched his shoulders. “It’s just an old man.”
“No.” John shook his head with delirious determination. “I shall end injustice.”
“Hey.” Mike focused on Jill and smiled. “I think I’m gonna get the princess.”
“No, you won’t.” Bob pushed Jill behind him.
Laughing, Mike knocked him to the floor. When Bob tried to rise, Mike pulled back his foot and kicked him hard in the gut, sending him across the room gagging and gasping for air.
“Come on, baby,” Mike murmured as he stepped up to Jill and put his hands on her slender shoulders.
Her face twisted in abhorrence, she knocked his hands off and punched his mouth.
“I like it when they fight back.” Mike smiled.
Bringing her knee into his groin, which doubled him over with a moan, Jill rushed over to Bob who was pulling himself up on his haunches. Before she could help him to his feet, Mike pulled her hair, causing her to fall to the floor. As Bob stood, Mike kicked him in his gut again, sending him back down. Groaning and holding his midsection, he looked across the room to see Randy drag John off the bed.
“Stop it!” Randy said, grabbing the bloodied knife.
“No.” John was dazed.
“Shut up!” Randy thrust the knife into John’s belly. “I’m sick and tired of you telling me what to do!”
He twisted its blade up under John’s rib cage. Bob watched the fury in Randy’s eyes as he glared at the man who had called himself Moses. John’s face hardly changed expression when the knife entered and even appeared relieved as he sank to the floor.
“Stupid Moses,” Randy muttered.
Bob rose with deliberation to his knees again. In front of him he saw Randy kick John’s body. To the side he saw Jill trying to sit up as Mike straddled her, her hands grasping at his face to scratch it. Mike slapped her hard.
“That’s enough fighting.” Mike pulled down his pants and positioned himself between Jill’s legs.
If Bob were going to save their lives he had to do it now. A glint of the knife blade in the ceiling light caught his attention. He needed it to stop Mike from attacking his wife. At one time, the blood dripping from a sharp edge would have triggered cringing and running away, but not now.
“You ain’t so high and mighty now, are you, Moses?” Randy kicked John’s lifeless body again.
His body imbued with total outrage, Bob leaped forward, and with both hands clinched into fists he hit Randy on the nape of his neck, causing the boy to drop the knife as he fell to his knees. Bob grabbed the knife, reached around Randy’s face with one hand, pulling it back, and slashed his throat with the other. As blood spurted out, he looked around the room to see nothing but blood. Heinrich’s abdomen was a puddle of blood. John sprawled in a pool of blood. And as Bob threw Randy’s body to the floor, blood gushed from his throat. With the knife in his hand, he glared at Mike and knew he had to attack him next. What was right or wrong did not matter any more. He had to save Jill’s life. She was worth more than any of the others, including himself.
“Oh, baby, this is gonna be good,” Mike said as he unbuttoned Jill’s blouse, oblivious to the fact his brother had just been murdered. His big hands pawed her.
Bob grabbed Mike’s dirty brown hair and yanked his head back, pulling the knife deep across his throat.
“What the…” His words were lost in gurgling blood spewing from his mouth. Mike flexed his thick shoulder muscles to throw Bob off his back. As he turned he caught sight of his brother’s body lying in a pool of blood.
“Randy?” His voice sounded pitifully sad until it descended into a snarl.
With a bellow he pounced on Bob, heaving him to the floor and straddling his chest. Mike’s hands closed around Bob’s neck.
“You killed my brother!”
Squinting to keep Mike’s blood from dripping into his eyes, Bob secured the knife with both hands and thrust upward with all his strength into the hard hairy belly. As Mike’s grip on his neck tightened, Bob pushed the knife in again and twisted it. Blood gushed from the teen-ager’s mouth onto Bob’s face. Finally Mike’s grasp loosened, his eyes glazed, and a last wheeze escaped his bloodied lips. He collapsed on Bob who rolled him off with a grunt. Bob looked with vacant eyes at Jill who stared back, her fingers absently trying to button her blouse. He became aware of voices in the background.
“Mrs. Schmidt, we saw your lights on and–
“In there. In there,” Greta said with urgency.
“What is it?”
Bob heard steps coming into the room. He turned to see Greta and two policemen, standing in the doorway, their faces aghast at the scene.
“Oh no,” Greta said, her hands going to her cheeks.
“What’s going on here?” one of the officers asked.
Numbly, Bob stood, took a few steps toward them and handed the knife to the policemen.
“I just killed two men.”
Looking down at Jill, he contorted his face in agony and began to cry. She reached up to pull him down to her. Sitting aright she held his sobbing head close to her. Jill’s eyes roamed the room as Bob clutched her waist. Her lips crinkled, and her chest began to heave, and, tears poured down her cheeks. Greta went to them, crouching and putting her strong arms around them.
“My babies, my babies,” she said, kissing their foreheads.

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty-Seven

Leave a reply

Their car pulled back on the highway and started down the Tennessee side of the mountain toward Gatlinburg. Bob and Jill were in the front seat next to John who was driving. In the back, Randy sat close behind them with his knife drawn and alternately tickling their necks. Mike licked his lips, reached down for another can but found the bag empty.
“We ain’t got no beer.”
“Not now.” John clinched the steering wheel. “We’re almost to Pharaoh.”
Randy’s eyes darted from his brother to John. He hated Moses. John did not care about him and his brother. They did a lot of mean things for him, and he did not care if they wanted a beer or not. Randy did not really want more beer, but his brother did. Or maybe he did crave a beer. Beer helped him forget, and right now Randy wanted to forget how mad he was at Moses.
“I want a beer too.”
“I said no. Now be quiet. We’re entering Gatlinburg, and traffic makes me nervous.”
Pulling his legs up into his chest, Randy looked out the window as the car pulled through a green light, out of the park’s darkness and into the brightness of the tourist town’s busy main street, lined with shops, restaurants and hotels. He saw people on the street, laughing and having fun. He saw fathers holding their sons’ hands. No one ever held his hand, laughed or had fun with him, which made Randy even madder.
“Stop for beer, or I’ll cut her.” Randy grabbed Jill around her neck and flashed his knife across her face, causing her to gasp.
“Don’t be foolish,” John said in contempt.
“Yeah,” Mike added. “If he kills her, you won’t know how to get to Pharaoh, and you wouldn’t like that, would you, Moses?”
“Very well.” Looking for a convenience store, he spotted one on the left side of the street. Several minutes passed before traffic cleared so he could turn into a well-lit parking lot. Mike and Randy opened the door. “How are you going to pay for it?”
“What?” Mike looked back at John with a quizzical smile.
“With this,” Randy said, pumping his knife into the air.
“There are at least twenty people in that store. Were you planning to kill them all? Do you think all twenty would stand by and let you rob the store? Don’t you think someone would call police and give them your descriptions and the license number from this car?”
Randy stared at him, not understanding all John’s words which made him hate him even more.
“The Joshua and Caleb of old would have never made such stupid blunders,” John said with a sneer.
“Stop calling us those stupid names,” Randy muttered as he put his knife away. He did not like to be called stupid, even though deep in his heart he knew he was stupid, or else his mother would have never left him alone on the side of a road.
“Just give us money,” Mike said with cheer.
“I don’t have any money,” John replied.
Randy’s eyes darted to Bob. This man had money and was too much of a coward to fight back. He grabbed Bob’s hair, pulling his head back with all his strength. Jill suppressed a cry.
“You got money.”
“Give him your wallet, Bob,” Jill said.
“Yeah.” Randy yanked his hair again. “Do what she says or I’ll cut you bad.”
Reaching down to his pocket, Bob pulled out his wallet and held it up. Mike grabbed it and lunged from the car.
“Great. Now we can get some beer,” he said.
“Scaredy cat.” Randy threw Bob’s head forward. “Don’t move.” He brandished the knife in his face. “If you and her try to run I’ll cut your guts out. I don’t care how many people are standing around.”
***
After Randy left, Bob looked over at John who was staring out of his window. Harold failed to convince him to stop his mission, but Bob felt he had to make an effort or else they too would be murdered. He cleared his throat.
“Dr. Lippincott told me about their drinking problem.”
“That doesn’t concern you,” John said.
“He said once they start drinking they’re dangerous.”
“All the more reason for you and your wife to cooperate.”
“They’ll be dangerous for you too.” Bob paused. “It’s obvious you already don’t have power over them. They killed Dr. Lippincott when you wanted him alive. They’ve forced you to stop for beer when you wanted to keep driving. Don’t you think it’s time to end all this? Let’s stop at the police station, and then we’ll be safe. We pass right by it on our way to Jill’s grandparents’ house. You’ll be safe too. You’ll be safe from the boys.”
“I can control them.”
“Are you sure?” Jill asked.
“You, of all people, should do everything in your power to make sure I can control them.” He looked at her with an ominous glare.
Soon Mike and Randy were back in the car, giggling and slurping down cans of beer. After John pulled onto the street he glanced at Jill.
“Now where is Pharaoh?”
“He lives in the arts and crafts community on the other side of Gatlinburg, on the road to Cosby,” she replied.
Bob looked out his window at the contented vacationers with small sleepy children on their shoulders. They clung to stuffed black bears, wooden rifles and cones of cotton candy. Bob observed that as they waited at a red light he could call out to passersby if he rolled down his window.
“Don’t try to involve those people out there.”
Bob jumped, a bit startled that John in fact had read his mind, and turned towards him.
“Remember, Caleb has a knife and will use it on your wife at my command.”
“My name’s Randy.” He slid down in the seat to drink his beer.
“Yeah, Randy, Randy, candy, dandy, Randy, Randy,” Mike said.
“Shut up!” He jabbed his brother with his bony elbow.
“That hurt.” Mike turned toward a window and swallowed. “That girl there, walking down the street, she’s pretty.”
The passengers remained silent for the rest of the car’s stop-and-go trip through lit downtown. At last, the car picked up speed onto a darker stretch of highway.
“Turn left at the stop light near the supermarket,” Jill said in a blank tone.
“Thank you.”
An even dimmer street emerged. Old homes converted into antique and craft shops were shuttered because they closed earlier than the downtown T-shirt and souvenir stores. A startling exception was the multicolored lights on the rotating waterwheel on the side of the Schmidt house.
“That’s it,” Jill said.

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty

Leave a reply

Bob sat across from Harold, leaning forward, his brow knitted in concern. The doctor sat back, his hands together in front of his face and his eyes studying Bob with distrust.
“Yes, it’s definitely John Ross, and the two teen-agers who murdered an elderly woman in Boone. They’re FAS.”
“FAS?”
“Fetal alcohol syndrome.”
“Oh.”
“You can tell by their looks.” Opening the brothers’ files, Harold pulled out their pictures and showed them to Bob. “They’re high grade mental defectives.”
“Does that explain the violent behavior?”
“Partly.” Harold put the pictures away and pulled out a report. “In my talks with them I found little understanding of right and wrong. Also, they are alcohol intolerant.”
“They have blackouts.”
“Yes.”
“Does John Ross know they’re alcoholics?” Bob sat back in the chair. “And does he know about they killed the widow?”
“He knows about her murder. I don’t know if he’s aware of their alcohol intolerance.”
“If he doesn’t, and he lets them have beer, for instance, he might be setting them up for another violent incident.”
“Even if he does know, he might give them beer to make them do whatever it is he has on his mind.”
“But what if once they’re drunk they decide they want to do something different than what John wants them to do?”
“That’s the problem, for both us and John Ross.”
“In other words, he’s got a ticking time bomb with him which he can use to blow up someone else or it may blow up in his own face.”
***
John turned off the interstate highway onto an old state road, winding through the lower Appalachians on his way back to the North Carolina State Mental Hospital. Jill tried to relax, but still peered into John’s eyes, trying to how decipher this man who had some unholy mission against her grandfather. Randy was rolled up in his fetal ball, while Mike hung over the seat staring like a vulture.
“We need gas,” John said.
“Good.” Mike smiled. “I want more beer.”
“Do you want anything?” John looked at Jill.
“No.” She folded her arms and looked straight ahead. She wanted to go home but knew he was not going to give her that.
“Hey.” Mike punched Randy. “Want some beer?”
“Yeah.” Randy raised his head, rubbed his eyes and smiled.
“We always want some beer.” Mike laughed and nuzzled Jill’s hair which caused her to shiver in revulsion.
***
Harold escorted Bob to the cafeteria. They passed several patients who stopped to say hello to the doctor and gossip about other patients who were not following the regulations, or to complain about unnamed attendants who were being callous by forcing them to adhere to the rules. The doctor nodded with forbearance and told them to remember to tell him again about their grievances during their next session. In between interruptions, Harold tried to fill in Bob on what happened immediately before their escape, including the incident with the broken television.
“I don’t understand.” Bob frowned as he paid for his coffee. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
As they sat with their coffee in the cafeteria, they continued to figure out what incited John. George came in for his break, buying coffee and a honey bun. Harold waved him over to their table.
“George, you were in the day room that day,” Harold said. “Do you know what could have made John Ross break the television?”
“It was the show on the TV,” he replied, munching his snack. “It was news, but I don’t know what channel.”
“What time was it?” Bob asked.
“It was five-thirty.” George slurped his coffee.
“Why are you so sure?” Bob leaned toward the attendant.
“I was on my way to clock out.”
“That’s the time my news show is on,” Bob said.
“But aren’t all news shows on at the same time?” Harold asked.
“We’re on for an hour and a half beginning thirty minutes before other stations. It’s a marketing ploy.”
“Do you remember what would have been on that day that would have upset John so much? It was about two months ago.”
“A former Nazi.”
***
Dusk was coming as John pulled into a small convenience store sheltered by tall pine trees. Mike and Randy jumped from the car and ran to go to the rest room while John with careful force took Jill’s arm and guided her inside. The clerk, a handsome young man, stood behind the counter, looked up and smiled.
“Evening, folks.”
“Hello.” John smiled as he tightened his grip on Jill’s arm.
“How can I help you?”
“I need gasoline. Ten dollars.” He looked at Jill and tried to appear affectionate. “Think that’s about right, dear?”
“Fine.” Fear and apprehension crossed her face.
“Okay.” The clerk punched the amount into his cash register and then he assessed Jill’s condition. “Are you all right, ma’am? You don’t look good.”
John squeezed her arm even harder.
“No. I’m all right.” Her eyes darted from the attendant to John and back again.
The young clerk cocked his head with curiosity and was about to say something when Mike and Randy bounded from the rest room.
“I want some ice cream,” Mike said as he went to a refrigerated chest.
Whatever the clerk was going to say to Jill must have slipped his mind as he smiled at Mike.
“Just slide up the top.”
“I can’t get it up.” Mike tugged at it.
“I said slide it up, not pull it up.” The clerk came around the counter and went to Mike. “I said slide it up, not lift.”
Randy was circling around the clerk’s back, beginning to unbuckle his belt and pull it from his jeans. Jill saw what was happening and began to cry out, but John twisted her arm. A bell on top of the door rang as another customer entered. The clerk looked up and smiled, just as he slid the ice cream chest top up. Frowning, Randy returned his belt to his waist.
“How’s it going tonight, Pete?” The customer was about the clerk’s age but was somewhat overweight.
“Just fine, Bill,” Pete said. “Got a date for the dance tomorrow night?” He looked at Mike. “There you go.” He returned to the counter.
“Naw,” Bill said. “I don’t think I’ll go.” He looked around at the others and then whispered, “Got some cigarette papers?”
Pete gave his friend a disapproving glare and then turned to a shelf behind the counter and took out a pack of cigarette papers.
“You still use that stuff?”
Bill handed him a couple of bills.
“That stuff’s going to kill you.”
“Oh, stop preaching at me. See you later.”
Pete handed him his change and smiled.
“See you.”
John watched Bill as he opened his car door, entered and drove off. Pete caught John’s eye and nodded.
“Pump’s all set. You can pump your gas.”
Randy pulled the knife from the front of his jeans and threw it, hitting Pete in the middle of his chest. His eyes wide with shock, Pete moaned, staggered toward the end of the counter and fell, his hand grabbing a display of Mr. Peanut snacks which came crashing to the floor. Running over to Pete’s body, Randy pulled the knife out, stuffed his pockets with little bags of peanuts from the floor and then hurried to the cash register where he grabbed as many bills as he could. Mike walked over, gnawing on an ice cream bar and picked up some peanut bags.
“Be sure to get all the money,” John said. “We’ll need it.”
“And beer,” Mike added. “Let’s get some more beer.”
With her free hand, Jill slapped John, pulled away and ran for the door.
“Get her!” he screamed at Mike and Randy who were preoccupied at the cold beer section.
“Stupid woman,” Randy said, and he ran for her, followed by Mike guzzling a can of beer.
Jill was out the door and scrambled into the woods behind the convenience store, stopping several yards into the thick brush to catch her breath and peeked around to see if Mike and Randy were far behind. Her mind raced trying to figure out how to escape them. She jumped when she heard voices muttering nearby.
“Which way did she go?” Mike’s voice was charged with energy.
“That way,” John barked.
“I don’t like her,” Randy muttered.
Jill crawled under a rhododendron bush as she heard them hurrying toward her. They paused, said something incoherent then stalked away. She stood and turned to scamper in another direction but stopped when she heard herself step on a branch and crack it.
“What was that?” John’s head turned.
“I don’t hear nothing,” Mike replied.
“She went there.” With determined steps, John started back the other way.
Fear welled in Jill’s head, and she could not think rationally. All she could do was run, not remembering from which way she had come. Out of the shadows Mike tackled her, slamming her down on the soft, moist pine needles. The smell of the ice cream, peanuts and beer on Mike’s breath made Jill gag and heave.
“That was foolish,” John said as he sauntered up.
“Boy, she feels nice and soft.” Mike rolled Jill over and planted his beefy body on top of hers.
“I say we slit her throat.” Randy arrived and bent down to put his knife to her neck. “We don’t need her no more.” He pressed the sharp edge into her skin, almost to the point of puncture. “She told us where that guy is.”
“No,” John said. “She’s our means to force him to take us to Pharaoh.”
Randy spat into Jill’s hair as he stood and put the knife back into his jeans.
As John began to walk away, Randy pulled back his foot and kicked Mike hard in the side, sending him reeling off Jill.
“Get up!”
“Come,” John called over his shoulder, “we must go.” He looked at Randy. “Caleb, bring the woman.”
Jerking her up by the arm pit, Randy glared into Jill’s eyes and whispered, “I don’t like you.”
***
Harold and Bob sat in his office trying to piece together the puzzle of how John Ross escaped, why he was angry at Heinrich Schmidt and what he planned to accomplish. The building was quiet with the departure of the day staff.
“Where do you think they are?” Bob asked.
“I don’t know.”
“My report said Mr. Schmidt lived in Gatlinburg.”
“We can notify police there.” Harold picked up his phone, dialed nine one one but the line was dead. He sighed. “Well, there’s nothing else we can do tonight.”
“Was there anything in your sessions with John Ross to give you an indication he might do this?”
Again someone questioned his judgment. First there was his father, then George and now some young television reporter. Maybe Bob somehow recognized problems in the Rosses’ house. Maybe everyone was aware of his parents’ hysterical outbursts. Only Harold did not comprehend how they had affected their son. He held finger imagining the pang of the glass puncture, expecting to see a drop of blood there. He then stared into Bob’s eyes.
“Do you think I’m a bad doctor?”
“What?” Bob blinked.
“Sometimes I think I’m a bad doctor.”
“What could any other doctor at an overcrowded state mental hospital have done to prevent a patient from escaping?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.” Bob paused to smile. “Maybe more security around the building, but you can’t hire more guards, can you?”
“No, I can’t. It’s not in the hospital budget.” Harold sighed. “I think I need to go home.”
“That’s a good idea,” Bob said. “It’s been a long day. I just got married, and this is supposed to be our honeymoon. ”
Harold laughed as he opened the door, and they walked into the hall. One of the night attendants ran up.
“Doctor, all the phone lines are down.”
“Yes, I know. When I get home I’ll call the telephone company.”
“What do you think caused it, doctor?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He patted the attendant’s back. “It’ll be fixed in an hour or two.” The parking lot was empty and foggy, eerily lit by lampposts. Harold walked Bob to his car. “I’ll call Gatlinburg police when I get home to have the Schmidt residence put under surveillance.”
“I think not, Dr. Lippincott.” John stepped from the shadows holding Jill’s arm. Mike and Randy stood behind them, each sucking on a can of beer. “That’s why we cut the phone lines, so no one could contact police.”
Mike giggled and then belched.
“Oh no. Jill.” Bob focused on her face. He could tell she was afraid even though she was very good at hiding her emotions.
“John,” Harold said with fake bravado, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned. Let’s go inside.”
“I’m not back, doctor.” John smiled. “You know that.”
“What are you doing with my wife?” Bob asked.
“We went to Knoxville to find you,” John explained, dragging Jill further into the lamppost light. “To have you take us to Pharaoh.”
“Pharaoh?” Bob shook his head.
“Grandpa,” Jill interpreted.
“You are the granddaughter of Pharaoh?” John turned to her, his eyes lit with the power of new knowledge. “This is better than I thought.”
“You mean she’s like a princess or something?” Mike stepped closer to Jill and leered.
“Shut up.” Randy hit Mike hard on his shoulder.
“Ouch. Stop hitting me.”
“You must be hungry, Mike,” Harold said. “Why don’t you come in? We’ve got ice cream.”
“Oh, I’ve had lots of ice cream. And beer.”
Bob and Harold exchanged glances.
“Take us to Pharaoh,” John demanded.
“He lives too far away to get there tonight.” Bob looked down.
“You said he lives in Gatlinburg,” John countered.
“You lie.” Randy took a step toward Bob. “Just like all other bad people in the world. Lie.” He shot a hot glare at Harold. “You lie too.”
“I didn’t lie, Randy,” Harold said.
“I ain’t Randy no more. My name is…” He looked at John, his eyes blank.
“His name is Caleb.” He focused on Bob. “Take us to Pharaoh.”
“Not until you let go of my wife.”
“I’ll slit her throat.” Randy pulled out the knife and held it to Jill’s neck.
“I think we better do as they want,” Harold said.
They entered Jill’s car with John behind the wheel and Randy and Harold next to him in the front seat. Mike, Bob and Jill sat in the back. The brothers popped open two more beers and began drinking.
“I’m sorry I told them where you were.” Jill looked at Bob.
“That’s all right.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I wanna do that, but she won’t let me.” Mike leaned over, breathing beer and peanuts on them.