“Shut the fuck up so I can read it.”

“Alright, pussy ass. Read it already.”

I scan the article, looking for anything that stands out about Paul, his porn company, anything... but there’s nothing. It’s a run-of-the-mill write up about a new online site called Cooch Shell Island. I remember when it came out; the only flop his company ever had. Island sites were all the rage back then, and he made the classic mistake most business owners make at one time or another; he wanted to imitate everyone else, jump in on a bogus gold rush instead of sticking to his own original seedy performances. Figuratively speaking, that is.

He lost a lot of money with that one. I remember hearing that a shitload of people were fired and wished I had been one of them, but most of it was just hearsay, and knowing Paul they were probably just given new porn names and passed along to other sites in his company.

“Come on, fucker. What does it say? It shouldn’t take you that long to read the thing.”

“It’s random. There are hundreds of articles like this one circling around the world.” He takes it from me and has a look. “Unless Kaitlyn was part of that site, which I highly doubt, then it means nothing. And even if she was, it still means nothing. Maybe she knew Paul from somewhere and had a crush on him, or they were friends, or he was just an acquaintance, or it’s a weird coincidence, or...”

“Or she’s obsessed with you.”

“What?”

He holds the article in front of my face then turns it slowly around. “Two sides to everything, Cove.”

The page is a grid of photographs taken at one of Paul’s many company bashes. He was known in Vegas for his pay to play parties, a set price to enter and have your choice of any porn star for thirty minutes, or pay a bit more for an hour. I was young and brought in a shitload of money for him on those nights.

“What are you, like fucking fifteen in that shot?”

“Maybe.”

“Pretty sick, buddy. Sorry you went through all that. You know I would’ve...”

“Don’t say it, everyone always says the same thing.” I scan the photos, remembering some of the people who were there, who I met, and wonder if they have any meaning to Kaitlyn, or to myself.

“Seems unusual to have you in a magazine shot. From what I’ve heard you weren’t open to the public until you were of age.”

“Could’ve slipped by Paul, or it was a marketing ploy to get even more people interested in me, or again, nothing. I’m fully clothed and it looks like a sophisticated party. You can’t tell that I work for the company.”

He laughs and snatches it out of my hand. “Yeah, you were there to sell cheese and sausage to raise money for the Boy Scouts, right?”

“Well, at least it doesn’t seem like a major issue. So what if she wants me, it’s not the end of the world. I can deal with that.”

“Yeah, and you think she wanted you when you were this young?” he asks, flapping the paper. “That’s why she has it? She’s been pining away for your dick for over a decade? Doubt it. Try again.” He glances over the back page photos as I swivel in the chair, admiring the quiet, empty space that will be full to capacity in another eight hours.

“I’m going to ask her about it tonight, alone. I need you here to watch over things, keep Sophia occupied.”

“Are you shitting me? Sophia will go full-out psycho if she finds out you went out alone to meet a woman. Has she ever seen Kaitlyn Moore? She’ll go into a jealous rage. Plus, you wanted me to get out of bed at the crack of dawn, act like a tough guy around these women ‘cause you thought you needed security, but now you plan on meeting one of them alone? You’re so fucked up, you know that?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” I laugh. “Since when is that the crack of dawn?”

“To those of us who still need our beauty sleep, it is. You should consider getting some, by the way, you look like hell and your breath smells like your wife’s...”

He stops. Smart move. I was about to bring up the time his woman denied him head for weeks until he stopped using roids. Enough with my sexual habits, let’s talk about his for a while.

“Cove, buddy,” he says in a soft voice, uncommon for him. “This one, here,” he taps a photo as he passes it along.

Bottom of the page, lower left, a photo of Paul with my father. “Yeah,” I whisper. “My dad.”

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. I think that’s your answer.”

“Better not be.”

“You think Kaitlyn knows your father?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Has he ever cheated before?”

“Long ago. He said it was a mistake, that he was wasted, I thought it was just that one time.”

“Could be another. People cheat.”

“If that’s the case then why would Kaitlyn try to feel my dick and not my father’s? Doesn’t make sense unless she’s that much of a whore.”

“Maybe she’ll take what she can get; my offer still stands by the way. Or, she fucked him and now she’s enticed by a younger version of him.”

“I’m starting to realize I’m nothing like my father, not if he was with this woman.”

“Cove, it’s all about appearances; you knuckle-head. I’m talking about the way you look. It’s the body, not the personality. You didn’t escape the womb without your father’s face and build. Dumbass. She could fuck you and it would be like fucking him years ago.”

“You’re one bizarre shithead. We don’t even know if that’s what happened, or if it’s why she has this photo. This could still be about Paul.”

“Doubt it. Do I have to think of everything for you?”

“What?”

“Call your father and ask him.”

I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. “I’m not going to ask him about this on the phone. I want to see his face; his expression will be telling, and I’m not going to ask with my mother around.”

“Fuck!”

“What the hell was that?”

My first reaction is to duck as shards of glass hit the floor but I gain composure quickly and catch up to Haverty who’s already standing next to the broken window on the ground floor.

“A rock,” he groans. “Bastards. Stay back.” He opens the front door and looks around while I take off my hat and hurl it furiously across the room.

“Anything?”

“Nothing,” he replies.

“What the fuck! Haverty, get back in here and get a window company on the phone, let’s try to get this repaired before we open tonight. Jesus. You think it was Ivy?”

“Could’ve been random.”

“Another coincidence, right? Bullshit,” I steam.

“I’ll go make some calls, but use this to your advantage. It’s a good excuse to get your father down here so you can talk to him. You also want me to call the cops so they can file a report?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I exhale and kick a piece of glass. “Fuck!”

He heads to my office and I head to the bar. I can’t handle the unexpected and I hate unknowns. Downing one shot, and then a second, I feel a little better.

“Cove,” Haverty’s voice echoes through the space. He’s peering down at me from the balcony. “Enough. If you touch anything else, one more bottle, one drop, I’ll call your wife.”

The biggest threat of all. “Fine, just get someone down here, then help me clean this mess,” I yell, as I take out my phone and call my father. Two rings... three rings... come on.

“Son,” my father says. “Where are you? Your mother made French toast for everyone this morning.”

“We have a fucking broken window at the Scarlett.”

“Everything okay? Anything stolen? And why didn’t Sophia just tell us that in the first place? We’ve been worried sick.”

“I told her not to, I didn’t want to interrupt breakfast, and I didn’t think it was going to take this long. Looks like it was just vandalism and not a break-in.”

“Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

“Don’t know. You think you could head over?”

“Be right there.”

I tap the end button on my phone and grip the counter, trying to hold in my anger.