Previously on Sins of the Fathers
--- The drug bust went bad, and Vincent killed the two dealers and wounded Tiffany
--- Anna advised Luc to let Vincent take the fall for the entire drug ring
--- Hasting feared that Tiffany was keeping something from him
--- Trey admitted his feelings for Tiffany and planned a mayoral run
--- Despite her financial worries, Annette rejected Ren's offers of friendship and business
Hasting stepped back and gave Vincent's lawyer a long look. "Bert Arrington," he thought, "favorite drinking buddy of Luc Sidarus' resident counsel. How convenient." Hasting assumed that Sidarus Enterprises was funneling a hefty payoff to Arrington. After all, he had no other reason to represent a low-life like Vincent.
"So," Hasting said, "finally ready to talk, Vincent?" He leaned over the table, trying to make Vincent feel even more cramped in the tiny interrogation room. He wanted to get in Vincent's space, make him squirm, rub his face in what he'd done. When Hasting remembered Tiffany hitting the ground at the warehouse, his hands clenched automatically, and he struggled to keep himself from pounding Vincent. Hasting swallowed hard.
Vincent looked at the floor and Arrington said, "My client has some information that you might find very useful."
"You know I can't make a deal with you, Arrington," Hasting said. "Now if you want to call the D.A. in here---"
"Not interested... yet. Vincent, wisely, distrusts prosecutors. But I've told him that I think you'll treat us honestly. We're willing to gamble on your recommendation."
Hasting smirked. "I can't tell you how much the respect of two upstanding citizens like yourselves means to me, Mr. Arrington. And since you want straight talk, I'll give it to you. There's only one thing I want out of old Vincent here. You see, I've already got the drugs. I've got the money. And I've got him. All I want is the man who started it all."
Arrington smiled. "You detectives are so funny. You can't see the facts even when they're right in front of you. I really expect more out of you, Hasting."
"Then quit beating around the bush. If you've got information for me, give it up. If not, I've got better things to do."
"Has it ever occurred to you that this whole drug ring was a scheme between Nick Rhodes and Vincent? Isn't that the most obvious answer?"
Hasting leaned back in his chair. "You expect me to believe this half-wit was running the show?"
Vincent glared at Hasting but still didn't speak.
"Well, really," Arrington said, "how difficult was it to set up? Rhodes knew the drug business and Vincent, via his position at Sidarus Enterprises, was able to import the heroin."
Hasting didn't answer right away. He stared at Vincent, assuming an expression of disgusted amusement. "You're telling me that he was smuggling drugs right under Sidarus' nose, and Sidarus had no idea?"
"It's a big corporation, Hasting," Arrington answered. "But Luc Sidarus started to notice discrepancies in shipping orders, and Vincent got nervous. That's why he was trying to unload his stash to Nick Rhodes. It's all very simple, really."
"Yes, and simple to fake as well because he killed anyone who could corroborate it. You wouldn't happen to have any proof that Vincent masterminded this, would you?"
"No," Arrington said, "but more importantly, you have no proof that anyone else did. And my client's willing to confess. You can close the case, so what are you waiting for?"
Hasting sighed. Arrington was right, after all the manpower spent on the investigation, they still couldn't prove that Luc Sidarus was the man behind Carmine Falls' thriving drug business. He'd been sure he'd get that link from Vincent, but apparently, Vincent was getting his back scratched by somebody else. Hasting stood. "We haven't got anything to talk about then."
Vincent turned on Arrington. "Listen you---"
"Calm yourself, Vincent," Arrington said. "I wouldn't leave just yet, Hasting. We've got something much bigger than this."
"Bigger than drugs, homicide, and the attempted murder of a police officer? I'm not sure what could beat that, Arrington." He continued walking towards the door.
"Try police corruption."
Hasting stopped. Cold fear seeped into his stomach, but he coated his voice in confidence and said, "I don't think he has anything to offer us."
Arrington smiled. "Then why are you still in the room?"
Hasting didn't respond, and Vincent spoke for the first time. "Why do you think it all went down like it did?" he asked. "Someone on your side wasn't playing straight."
"Impossible. No one knew about the bust until the night it happened. My partner and I were the only ones working the case."
"Yeah," Vincent said, "and you know we weren't paying you off..."
Hasting sat down across from Vincent. "Talk," he said.
Arrington intervened, "Not until you---"
"I'll do what I can about the death penalty."
"Not good enough."
"No death penalty, okay? I'll call in a favor with the D.A."
"And he wants to be in a prison close by. So his mother can visit."
"I can't control what the Department of Corrections does."
"Your father is the mayor, Hasting. I know you have some pull, and if we can give you a dirty cop, don't the police have an immediate interest here?"
"Okay," Hasting relented. "Pending what he has to say." He turned to Vincent. "So talk. You've got exactly ten seconds before I leave the room."
Vincent stared at his hands. "It was the chick, the redhead. Felix said he had an in with her. He said they were, uh, close, if you get what I'm saying. He'd been working her up for a while. That's what screwed everything up."
Hasting paused and said, "Do you have any corroborating evidence?"
Arrington answered, "He has the withdrawal slips for payments made to her. Vincent asked Felix to act as an intermediary. He made payments to Felix, who in turn made payments to Detective Watts."
"Without the middleman it's worthless. You wouldn't happen to know where Felix is, would you?"
Vincent shook his head. "That bastard is probably on the other side of the world by now, but don't you get it? That's how he got away. He knew you were coming, and he was trying to double-cross me while he was at it. I bet he was trying to get out of there with the money and leave me and Nick with the drugs. Asshole."
Hasting massaged his temples. He didn't want to believe it, but it made some sense. Tiffany definitely wanted to pull out of the bust that night, and Felix had recognized her. Of course, none of that was hard proof, and he wasn't taking Vincent's word for anything, no matter how much his gut might jibe with it. He rose and said, "Thanks for the information, Vincent."
"Don't forget our deal, Hasting," Arrington said.
"What deal? Nothing you've given me is usable. Call me when you have some real evidence." He opened the door.
Just before it slammed behind him, Arrington called, "We can give you the withdrawal slips anytime."
**************** 
"Now," Oliver said as he stepped into his kitchen, "what have we here?"
"Oh, it's nothing, really. I just had Hazel's deliver some soup and sandwiches," Meredith replied. "I couldn't bring myself to make lunch today." She wound her linen handkerchief around her pointer finger.
"What's the matter, Meredith? Not feeling well?"
She glared at him over her reading glasses. "Oliver, you know very well what's bothering me. I really hate it when you go into denial like this."
Oliver smiled and sat at the kitchen table. "If I'm in denial, my dear, I don't know it." He laughed. "Of course," he said, "I suppose that's the whole point."
"How can you joke? Here, everything is about to come crashing down around us, and you're acting like it's all part of some grand amusement. Well, it's not."
"Let's see..." Oliver said as he perused the sandwich platter. "Do I want pimento cheese or..."
Meredith snapped her head in an effort to express her outrage. "As if that matters!" she said. "As if it's remotely important what you eat for lunch. My God, you could have Vienna sausages for all it would matter at this point."
"That would be nice," he said. "I like Vienna sausages."
"You know what I mean."
"Well, if you don't care what we have for lunch, why did you call Hazel's?"
"Because, Oliver, I recognize that at a time like this we need sustenance, no matter how far away our hearts are."
"Well," he said, "my heart is right here with these sandwiches. But I don't like it when my girl's unhappy. Why don't you just sit down here with me and tell me what's on your mind."
Meredith took a deep breath and sat at the table. With effort, she calmly said, "Oliver, what are we going to do about Trey Montgomery?"
"Oh!" Oliver smiled. "You mean his mayoral bid?"
"Of course. What else would I be talking about?"
"I didn't know. You know, it's something, isn't it? I just saw his announcement on the news."
She glared at him. "Well?" she asked.
"Well what?" He took a big bite of a turkey sandwich.
"How should we address it?"
"I don't know that we should."
"Of course we should. Oliver, do you want him to steal your position right out from under you?"
"It's called an election, Meredith, and it's all perfectly legal. It's a foundation of our country, in fact."
She watched him for a moment. "Is that all?" she asked. "You're just going to go on with your lunch as if nothing's changed?"
"Nothing has. I'm the mayor of this town, and I will continue as such as long as the people of Carmine Falls want me. Now, there's nothing to worry about."
Meredith's eyebrows dipped and wrinkled her brow. "Oliver," she said, "your idealism is touching, but it just won't work in this case."
"It's not idealism at all, Meredith. It's realism. If the people want to keep me as mayor, they'll vote to do so, and if not, they'll vote for him. I can't control it."
"But you can fight it."
"Meredith," Oliver said firmly. "I said no."
She frowned. "But what will we do? Where in the world will we go?"
"If he wins, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's a new atrium upstate that I'd like to see, so maybe we could spend a weekend up there, and if there's---"
"I don't mean for a vacation, Oliver. What will we do with ourselves once we're cast out?"
"I don't anticipate being run out of town, Meredith. I suppose we'll do the same things we do now, but we'll have a lot more time for them. I can finally get some real work done in the garden, and you can work on getting your cookbook published."
"Is this what we've come to?"
"No." Oliver smiled. "We haven't come to any of it yet. We won't know until after the election, my dear, and truth be told, I'm not worried. Trey seems like a nice, young man, but he has no experience. He's not what Carmine Falls needs."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"You have more confidence than I could ever dream of, Meredith. You're just letting yourself get all emotional over nothing. Now have a sandwich."
She looked down at the platter. "I suppose," she said sadly, "it's all I can do now."
Oliver bit his lip to keep from smiling. "There's my girl," he said. "My brave girl."
**************** 
Trey placed a large, black bag on an armchair in Tiffany's hospital room. "So what do you want to do tonight?" he asked as he slouched on the end of her bed.
"Well, I don't know," Tiffany answered. "There are so many options here."
"There are! We have all these different cable channels, and the waiting area has every National Geographic published in the last thirty years. What more could you want?"
"You sure know how to treat a girl."
"Yes, you'll have to forgive me. It's been a long time."
"Since?"
"Since I've... been interested in someone."
"I don't believe that."
"It's true. I've been so focused on work. I guess I forgot to take time for myself."
"I know what you're saying, brother."
Trey laughed. "Will you stop calling me that? It's sick."
"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell you." She smiled. "Okay, I'll quit it. You know, I have to say, Trey, that's something I like about you."
"What?"
"Well, you say what you want. You're a man about it, not that women can't be upfront, too, you know. Just well, I like to put my cards on the table, and that's caused me problems with with men before. I've always felt that if you want something, you should go get it. And if you don't try, you can blame yourself when you're unhappy."
"Exactly."
She frowned at him. "Sure, men all say that, but you all want little victims."
"I don't."
"You all do. Look at you; you said you didn't realize you had a thing for me until you thought I might die. But most men are even worse; they look for everyday kind of helplessness. They don't just want a woman who's been shot, although that is always a bonus, they want someone who can't decide what shoes to wear or change her own oil."
"I can't change my own oil. I don't want to be responsible for my girlfriend's as well."
"Maybe not, but I bet you'd like to do her taxes or you know what I'm saying?"
Trey considered for a moment and said, "I think men like to feel useful."
"Right, but isn't it better if you feel like you're useful to a woman who doesn't have use for most people? Isn't it better to be wanted for who you are than for how great you are at changing light bulbs?"
"Yeah, but we men are a practical species, so if we can't tell we're needed, we get antsy."
"So that's why a man will stay with a woman that doesn't excite him and make excuses about how she needs him or some bull---"
"Watch your language, beautiful." He touched her cheek. "You're getting worked up over this."
Tiffany blushed.
"Not something you should tell me about, is there?" Trey asked.
"Not anything I'm going to tell you about."
"Figures." He rose and reached for the bag he'd placed under her bed. "I think, Tiffany Watts, that any man who rejected you, for any reason, is crazy. You're an amazing, strong woman, and---"
"Right, right, right. I'm wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have me. You all say that, and then you can't stand it if a woman shows the tiniest bit of gumption. If I want to pay for dinner, or initiate sex, you'll freak."
Trey leaned into her. "I promise I will never freak if you initiate sex."
Tiffany tried to counter with something smart, something defensive, but nothing came to mind. Instead, heat welled up inside of her, and she became deeply aware of his breath on her shoulder. After a moment, she said, "So what's in that bag anyway?"
He moved away from her and said, "Something I'm not supposed to bring you."
"More egg drop?"
"No, that's day-before-yesterday style. I've moved on." He reached out and grabbed the bag.
"Well?"
As Tiffany watched expectantly, he pulled a gold foil wrapped bottle out of the bag. "For you," he said as he presented it to her.
She unwrapped it and gave him a skeptical look. "Dom Perignon?" she said.
"Like it?"
"Well, I'm definitely not supposed to have any."
"They'll never know." He pulled two champagne flutes from the bag.
"What else have you got in there?" she asked.
"That's it. You'll have to wait for Friday for your next surprise."
"Friday?"
"When you get out of here, dear. I have something big planned. So tonight, we celebrate your quick recovery and newly-found cult-hero status. Hand me that." He took the champagne, pointed the bottle away from her, and twisted. The cork came off with a loud pop.
"Shhh!" Tiffany said, smiling. "You'll get me busted for sure."
He shook champagne from his hands. "I've got it all over me. I was trying to be so suave."
"Looks like you failed."
"Wrong answer, dear. You're supposed to suggest I take my shirt off so you can appreciate all those hours I've spent in the gym. Don't you ever watch any soft-core porn?"
She laughed. "Just give me the bottle." He complied. She filled the glasses and handed one to him.
"To you," he said.
"No, I think we'd better drink to you." She gave him a sly smile.
"What is that look for?"
"Well, I just can't believe you haven't mentioned it yet."
"What?"
"Trey, cut that out. You know what I'm talking about."
"Can't say that I do."
"Hello! Why haven't you told me you're running for mayor?"
He frowned. "I haven't told you because you're not supposed to know. Yet."
"Well, when were you going to tell me?"
"Truthfully?"
"Better be."
He paused and answered, "On Friday."
"Is that supposed to be your big surprise?"
"Part of it."
She smirked. "Kind of lame, Trey."
"Well, I assure you it wasn't the central component. How did you know about my mayoral bid anyway?"
"I am in the hospital, you know. I watch the local news four times a day."
"I see we're enjoying being a local hero a little more than we like to let on."
"Wrong. I only watch it to make sure I'm not on it."
Trey took a long slip of his champagne and said, "Maybe, Miss Watts, you could get used to all the attention."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged and lifted his glass. "Friday," he said.
**************** 
"Vodka martini, Rick," Annette told the regular bartender at Heebie Jeebies, "as dry as you can make it."
"Well, there's a surprise." Rick smiled. "I think I'd have a heart attack if you ever ordered anything else. Where have you been lately?"
She winked. "Around."
"I'm glad you're back. We need your pretty face in here; it's one of our biggest draws."
"Oh, I think the sweet-talking bartender is a bigger attraction. But thanks. Now go make my drink."
He turned away and Annette took a deep breath, relieved that Ren Sidarus was nowhere to be seen. She'd completely boycotted her favorite hangout in town, just to prevent anymore unwanted encounters. But this night, she just needed some familiarity. "I need a girlfriend," she thought, "someone to cat around with." She had never really had any close friends. After all, she'd spent so much of her life being fabulous, and truly fabulous people have a hard time with intimacy of any kind. But she hadn't felt fabulous lately; she just felt like a thirtysomething woman with no man and no money. "How'd I get here?" she wondered as Rick wordlessly set her martini in front of her. "Better yet, how am I going to get out? What's the next step? Life is too short for me to play around like this."
Her thoughts consumed her so much that she didn't notice someone sitting on the barstool next to her. He didn't speak for a moment, just watched her absent-mindedly trace the rim of her glass. She lifted it and drained her martini in a gulp. "Bad day?" he said.
She turned to him. "Oh my God," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Well," Ren said slowly, "Carmine Falls is a small city. There is a shortage of places to go for a drink. I happen to like this one."
"Sure you do." She raised her hands to the ceiling. "Sweet Jesus, why did you send this man in here to make me miserable? Haven't I suffered enough today? I know that I haven't been the best of people, but that will all change if you just deliver me from this torment." Annette faced Ren with a look of exaggerated disappointment. "You're still here."
"Yeah, I guess your prayer there didn't work."
"Well, who else can I pray to? Allah, maybe? Buddha? Do people pray to Buddha--- I've never been very clear on that point. Anyway, I don't care. I'll pray to Thor if he'll get you out of here."
Ren didn't answer but called to the bartender, "I think she needs another martini."
"No, I don't. I'm leaving." She wriggled off her barstool.
"Please stay," Ren said. "I'll buy."
Annette paused. She sat back down and said, "I suppose I can let you buy me another drink."
"It's sort of a tradition, isn't it? Me picking up your tab?"
"Oh, that. Well, I figured it was the least you could do considering you ruined my night."
Ren laughed. "Let's not forget who sent whom the first drink that night."
"I know I sent you a drink, but it doesn't really count because I didn't know your real identity. If I'd had any idea---"
"---that I'm the spawn of Satan?"
"Something like that."
Ren didn't speak for a moment while he watched Annette sip her fresh martini. He noticed, as he had that first night, that even in the smoky darkness of the bar, her eyes sparked like two pieces of flint. He said, "I got your note."
"Hmmm... Then I guess you know I got your flowers."
"Yes. I was very impressed. So few people send thank you notes at all these days. And even a rude one is nice. My mother always said it was the mark of good breeding."
"As if your mother would know."
Ren took a long sip of his beer before answering, "My mother was a very nice person, but you wouldn't know that, Annette Montgomery, because you spend so much of your time judging and categorizing people that you never get to see who they really are."
"Now who's judging?"
"I'm making an assessment based on multiple encounters with you; that's different. You decided you didn't want to have anything to do with me as soon as you heard my name. I just don't understand why."
Annette clenched her teeth. She felt dangerously close to crying. "It's the liquor," she told herself, "I shouldn't have drunk it so fast." She took a deep breath and said, "You have siblings, don't you? You love them?"
"Very much."
"Then I would think even you could understand." She sipped her martini.
"I'm afraid I'm still in the dark," Ren said. He gestured to Rick to bring them fresh drinks. "You see, I haven't lived in Carmine Falls for the past ten years or so, and I know that everyone here follows the Montgomery family like you're the Kennedys, but it really hasn't meant that much to me. So if you could fill me in..."
"You don't know what I'm talking about?"
Ren shook his head.
"About my brother Jeremiah?"
"No," he said.
"My brother Jeremiah is dead."
"Yeah, I heard about that. Some kind of boiler accident, wasn't it? It's very sad."
Annette gave a short, bitter laugh. "Right," she said.
"So I guess I just don't understand what that has to do with me and my family."
"Hmmm... Yeah, I guess you don't."
"But if you---"
"No, forget about it, Ren. It's not important."
After a moment, he said, "Why do I feel like something major is going on here that I'm not in on?"
Annette smiled. "Maybe because it is. But that's obviously the way you want it. Ignorance is bliss, right?"
"Well, if you just tell---"
"Look, Ren, something is clear to me now that wasn't before. You've chosen to live in a certain world, and it's not my job to ruin that for you. I mean, we all have our delusions, don't we?"
"I just don't like being left out of things." She didn't answer, and he watched her.
She glared at him. "Why are you staring at me?" she asked.
"I just... I like to look at you."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? Well, I don't like it--- this is all too weird for me. Look, I think I made a mistake here. I think I should just go."
"Are you sure? Are you all right to drive, I mean?"
"What? You want to give me a ride now? We've bonded enough for the night, Mr. Sidarus." She climbed down from the barstool and waved goodnight to Rick.
"I don't want you driving after three martinis. I live in this town, too."
"Do I seem drunk to you?" When he didn't respond, she continued, "Yeah, I didn't think so. You have to remember I was raised by Anna. Vodka is mother's milk to me."
He laughed. "What does that mean?"
"She's part of your family now; I'd think you'd know. Goodnight, Mr. Sidarus."
"Ren?"
"Fine--- goodnight, Ren. You can change what people call you, you know, but you can't change what you are."
"Such wisdom in one so young." He grabbed her arm. "Seriously, Annette. I'd like you to stay."
She glanced down at where his fingers clamped her arm. "You know what's funny?" she asked without looking up. "I'd kind of like to stay, too." She raised her eyes. "Which is why I'm going." She pulled away from him and started out of the bar.
"Annette," Ren called to her back, "I really enjoyed being with you tonight."
She stopped and turned to him. She bit her lip then said, "I'm sorry for what I said about your mother. That wasn't very nice."
"No, it wasn't." He smiled. "But it's okay."
She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind. She turned and marched out of the club.
Ren watched her retreat and pondered how the smoke rose up in her wake, making her look like some mythical creature. "And maybe she is," he said to himself. "Maybe she is."
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