I stood there and watched Frank come up from below. His flagrant hand-painted tie streamed over his shoulder. He held a fresh unlit cigar in one hand. “Is she all right?” he said. “I got Bantram. He’ll be right over.” Something inside me began to expand. Blood pulsed and pounded in the back of my head. Nearing me, Frank thrust his face out, brown eyes glittering. “You did this,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “It’s your fault, coming home this way. Why didn’t you stay up there? We don’t want you here.” Then I saw it. He was scared. Fighting to attain a dominance over things that had long since left him. The big brother who wasn’t a brother at all, but still trying to wish himself off as a god, preparing the ritual in his mind so you could see the cogs working. Scared way down to the soles of his feet, his eyes all sick with sudden belligerent hope. Because he knew I knew plenty. And he had to play his hand out, fast, before the man on the other side of the table opened his eyes any further.
