Chapter 8
The ceramic c***k of pool balls drew me into a part of the basement I hadn’t yet explored. I’d thought Keith was still sound asleep, recovering from his near-shift the day before, but instead my nephew was carrying on the family tradition—practicing to be a world-class pool hustler. He had his feet apart, one hand resting on the table as he lined up a shot with the cue stick.
“I’ve been thinking,” the kid said without looking up, knowing with a wolf’s sensitivity to the surrounding world that I was standing in the open doorway behind him.
“Your grandfather likes to think at a pool table too,” I answered, my mind inexorably drawn backwards to childhood memories of my father honing his skills. Business meetings always happened in the pool house, which for us had nothing to do wi
