No Limits Read Free Page A

down. He needed this taken care of so he could get back to looking toward a future he’d never thought would come. “You can make Simon Baptiste believe anything you want him to, Lorna. Anything at al l .”
    LATER THAT NIGHT in his regular booth at Red’s, his usual drink in one hand, his unlit cigar in the other, Bear found himself facing the most aggravating of quandaries. How in the hell did his son survive the life of a deputy sheriff with a goddamn limp dick for a spine?
    “Jesus Christ, Bear.” Terrill Jr.’s voice was scratched raw and brittle like al l he’d done for days now was cry. “We should’ve found something by now. People don’t just disappear into thin air.”
    The boy sat with his shoulders slumped, his hands wrapped around a near-empty mug. He hadn’t gone home since Monday to do more than see if his wife had come home. Bear was fairly certain the boy hadn’t slept but maybe an hour or two in the same expanse of time.
    It showed in his eyes, which were bloodshot, his face, which needed a shave, his uniform, which smelled of sweat and long hours behind the wheel of his cruiser, driving aimlessly as if he’d find Lisa wandering the streets of Bayou Allain, or strolling through Vermilion Parish, lost.
    All in all, Bear was disgusted. “Terrill, take yourself home and get cleaned up. You look like shit. That’s no way to treat your uniform.”
    “I’m off duty,” Terril told his mug, rubbing at his rheumy eyes. “And if anything, I look like a man whose wife vanished without a trace. I doubt anyone is going to care about a few stains or wrinkles.”
    “I care, and that should be reason enough.” On this, Bear put down his foot. No matter their personal trials, the Landrys would maintain a strong front. They couldn’t have people talking, speculating, digging into their lives and their business. Not now. Not now.
    “If it’s not, then you should look to the people who put you where you are today.”
    “One and the same, Bear,” Terrill said, leaning his chin into the cup of his palms. “You put me where I am. You think I don’t know that?”
    Bear glanced away from his son and toward the two men sitting on stools at Red’s bar beneath the sign for Abita Beer. He looked around at the tables clustered to the side of the dance floor. He took in the members of the band playing from the small stage near the door.
    No one seemed to be paying his corner more attention than usual, so he turned again to his son. “What you need to know is that your appearance matters. Your appearance affects your reputation, and your reputation is what earns you the respect of the people.”
    “What matters is my wife,” Terrill said, his voice getting louder with each word, his hands coming away from his face to slam against the table. “You may run this town, but you are not going to tel l me how I should act when my wife is missing.”
    “People wil l see that you’re grieving whether you’re wearing a shirt that’s wrinkled or pressed.” Bear covered one of Terrill’s hands with his own.
    “Then at least they’ll be seeing the truth.” Terrill pul ed away, signaled Red to send him another beer.
    Agreeing it was time for a refill, Bear glanced in the same direction, catching King Trahan’s eye in the bar’s mirror. As if enough wasn’t enough; damn his indigestion. Dealing with Terrill and Lisa and Lorna Savoy already had his gut in an uproar. Now seeing King was souring the drink in his gullet. The Trahan boy hadn’t spent near enough time behind bars to Bear’s way of thinking, but then he had no one to blame but himself for the way that had worked out.
    Still…Bear could read a whole lot of what King was thinking in his eyes. And there was just enough wild-man hatred there to give Bear a good solid pause. When he finally tore his gaze away and checked in with his son, he decided the refill could wait. It was time for Terrill to call it a night. He reached for the mug, unexpectedly