Page 122 of Tito

“What big day?” I asked.

“I’ll be retiring next week,” he said. “Semi-retiring, anyway. If things go well, it’ll be permanent in a month.”

My heart raced at the thought of him being able to enjoy living life. I wondered if he could even make it though a day without police work. “Seriously? What about your little gang?”

“If things go my way, they’ll be behind bars next week.”

“Holy crap?” I gasped. “Seriously?”

He tilted the neck of his beer bottle toward me. “I’ll semi-retire after the arrests are made. After their conviction, I’ll retire permanently.”

“Oh. My God.” I alternated glances between my father and Tito. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a long, long, time.”

My father sipped his beer, and then lifted his chin slightly. “You’re looking pretty puny over there, Silva. You need to go puke or something?”

“I’ll be alright,” Tito said.

The color had all but drained from his face. He looked like a ghost. “You really look bad,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I need to sit down.”

“Let’s go in the living room,” my father suggested. “I’ll come back in here and finish this up in a few minutes.”

We gathered in the living room. My father took his favorite chair, and Tito and I sat across from him, on the loveseat. While Tito nursed his beer, my father’s mouth twisted into a ornery grin.

“Realized a guy I work with knows you,” my father said. “He had nothing but good things to say about you and your friends, which left me to wonder if his opinions were either bullshit or biased.”

I gave him a cross look. “Daddy!”

Tito wiped his brow. “Who was that?”

“Detective Marc Watson,” my father replied. “Said he knew you, and those five friends you run with. Said you were quite the Brainiac when it came to computer manipulation.”

My eyes darted to Tito. “You’re friends with a detective?”

He looked away before meeting my gaze. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. I’ve met him a few times. He’s more a friend of a friend.”

“He sure knew a hell of a lot about you and your crew,” my father said. “A man’s an extension of the company he keeps, and if he’s running with the likes of you and your crew, I wonder about him.” He chuckled. “I guess time will tell if he’s full of shit, or not.”

I couldn’t believe my father was acting the way he was. I scowled. “Stop being mean.”

He chuckled as if he was enjoying himself. “Looks like if I keep it up, he just might barf where he sits.”

I looked at Tito. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded. “I’ll be alright.”

“Well,” I said. “You sure don’t look like it.”

“That’s the damned truth,” my father said. “You look like you’re out of your element.” He crawled out of his chair and sipped his beer. “What can I get for you? To make you feel better?”

“I’ll be fine, really.”

My father shook his head. “Boy, you sure don’t look like it.”

“I feel like I’m being tortured,” Tito said.

I scrunched my nose and gave Tito a look. “Why would you say that?”