He moved with heavy-man deliberation toward the glass doors, his lips moving in an angry conversation with no one. Intent on the door, he didn’t notice me until he’d pulled it open. “Hey!” He immediately picked up his pace and made his way toward us, looking for all intents like a linebacker about to go for a tackle. I pulled my arm out of Jordan’s grasp and decided to meet him head on, closing the gap in three strides. “Barton?” I said. “What the hell is going on?” I feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?” “You’re avoiding me, that’s what the hell I mean. I sat out here in your lobby for over three hours this morning, waiting for you. You said you were going to help me. This is how you help my mother? The old lady’s dead, and this is how you treat her son?” “Barton—” He interrupted me, again. The man was apparently never interested in what anyone else had to say. “Don’t you give me no lies about how you’ve been working on this and that’s why you weren’t here.
