The bizarre encounter with the black Cadillac made Freddy recall the heated discussion he'd had with Larry about a career in law-enforcement. Considering that he had all the necessary credits to pursue enrollment in a post-secondary institution like a technical college, he couldn't help but revisit the possibility of joining the Academy as well. There was nothing rushing him into the decision except for the knowledge that even though he worked as many hours as he could squeeze out of Rufus, he was still a financial burden on his mom. He did his research quietly and in isolation; the decision that he finally came to was going to be his alone.

He spent his evenings sequestered his room, scouring brochures and publications, so he initially didn't notice Larry's absence. One night, about four days after his experience with the concealed vehicle, he wandered out into the kitchen and was struck by the house's eerie silence. After checking every room, he made his way onto the back porch, where he found his mother sitting alone. She was smoking a cigarette and staring up at the constellations, tear tracks dried on her cheeks. His stomach lurched.

"Ma, are you okay?" he asked gently.

Her blue eyes were piercing even in the dark. He swallowed hard and sat down next to her. She offered a sip of her beer, but he declined.

"It's nothing you have to worry about."

He gestured for her cigarette and she handed it over. The smoke filled his lungs and he automatically relaxed.

"I haven't seen Larry the last few nights..."

"He's been here, in and out."

"Everything okay between you two?" he asked, dreading the answer.

She nodded and took a deep pull on her cigarette, its billowing smoke a striking contrast against the night sky.

"He's been distracted lately. Impatient. I asked him something and he turned into a brick wall on me. Walked right out of the house and didn't even say a word."

"What'd you ask?" Freddy pressed, clutching his knees to his chest.

She rubbed a hand across her face and bit her lip, then knocked the ash of her cigarette into her empty beer bottle.

"Something to do with work."

It took Freddy only a moment to make the connection.

"How does Gus fit into this, ma?"

The tears welled in her eyes and she furiously blinked them away, rubbing her face against her sleeve.

"He asked me to confirm that Larry had been here with us on certain dates."

"How specific was he?"

"Specific," she whispered, looking away.

Freddy felt a chill deep in his bones. The wind picked up and he pulled his sweatshirt tighter around him. He was at a temporary loss for words.

"Larry's a good guy, ma."

"I know."

The door was open, but he knocked anyway, acutely aware that he was out of his element.

"Come in!"

It was a commanding voice, but not unpleasant. Freddy hesitated only briefly before shuffling inside, taking stock of the room around him. The walls were hunter green, offset by various diplomas and rustic wall sconces. Gus sat behind an oppressively large oak desk, twirling a pen and looking entirely too self-satisfied for a man with such an appalling comb-over.

"Cecile said you wanted to chat. What's your name again? Fred?"

"Fred or Freddy, sir."

"Not Frederick?"

"I'm afraid I've grown too fond of my teeth where they are, sir."

The resulting laugh was raucous and Freddy risked a small, answering smile.

"Sit down," Gus continued, gesturing to one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of the desk, "tell me what's on your mind."

"Sir, am I correct in assuming that you are currently being employed by Lawrence Dimick?"

Gus' indulgent smile vanished. He looked at Freddy with new eyes, cool and considering.

"I know you're not asking me this just because he's seeing your mom. I can tell you don't give a shit whether or not I played match-maker. And you're not the type of kid who'd come all the way down here just to waste my time. So, what is it about Larry that's got you so worked up?"

The question was much more direct than Freddy had been anticipating. He gulped and quickly re-thought his strategy.

"Well sir, I'm observant enough to know that you've got quite an eclectic client list. I know that Larry supposedly works down at the docks, yet he doesn't have a clue about longshoreman terminology. My mom was upset the other night because you asked her questions about Larry's comings-and-goings, like you were trying to build an alibi for him."

Gus opened his mouth to interject, but Freddy pushed forward, forceful.

"Now, all of these observations could be unrelated. I could just be some naive teenager talking out of his ass. But the concealed law enforcement vehicle that followed me for almost four blocks on my walk home from work earlier this week tells me that I'm not."

The room was utterly silent save for the furious clicking of Gus' fancy pen. His lips quirked in a reluctant but respectful smile.

"Have you told anyone else about this, Freddy?"

"No sir. I'll tell you what little I know, and then I'm gone. I'm guessing that you'll share this information with Larry because you're his counsel, but you can't tell him that I was the source. All he needs to know is that he's being watched, just not that I'm on their radar, too."

"Do you mind if I ask why?" Gus ventured, genuinely intrigued.

Freddy frowned. He could say the reason was personal, or it was complicated, but he knew Gus wouldn't be satisfied with such an obscure response. Instead, he elected to skate as close to the truth as possible without alighting on it.

"He's a good guy and he's good for my mom. He's also really protective of me; if he knows some cops or whatever were snooping around me, he might do something impulsive. I figured you'd know how to inform him without burdening him with unnecessary details."

"A filter."

"Yeah, exactly. That's what lawyers are for, right?"

"You have no idea how right you are," Gus smirked, placing the pen next to a pad of paper on his desk, "now Freddy, I need you to describe exactly what you saw, right down to the last detail..."

TBC