Mox's choice of dinner was hamburgers and fries. Roman started to tease him about being a cheap date but then saw the look of utter bliss on his brother's face when he inhaled the aroma of the hamburgers. He shut his mouth and ate the hamburgers and fries.
Roman was clearing the table when Mox asked, "Where's today's paper?"
"Recycling bin downstairs next to the patio door," Roman answered. Before he could ask why, Mox had disappeared from the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Roman walked into the family room and turned on the television to catch the evening news. He frowned as he saw the fluff piece on the new casino which would be opening the next night. He'd bought some tickets for the event and planned on attending.
The next piece had him sitting upright in his chair. The Chief of Police was talking about Mox's case. He watched closely, eyeing both the special D.A. and the Mayor. Special D. A. Adam Cole looked calm and collected. Mayor Paul Heyman looked pleased. Too pleased as far as Roman was concerned.
"This deplorable incident has put a stain upon this city and this department. It undercuts the ability of the police department to do its job, and its credibility with the Court and the public. It will not be tolerated." Malenko eyed everyone in the audience. "I don't care if you carry a badge. I don't care how long you've carried a badge. I don't care who you are or who you know or who you're related to. This department will be held to the highest standards. There will be no exceptions." He turned to the man standing to his left. "Special D. A. Adam Cole."
"Huh. Drawing lines in the sand like that is likely to get you killed."
Roman looked over his shoulder to see Mox standing just inside the room, his eyes on the television screen. "This isn't his first rodeo. He knows what he's stepping into." He turned the television off. "Did you find what you needed?"
Mox shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. I was looking…"
"Jon," Roman quietly interrupted him. He slowly smiled. "You don't have to explain to me. I just wanted to know if you found what you were looking for. If not, you could use my computer to do any online searches. You're not in prison any more. You don't have to account to me for anything."
Mox's shoulders slightly slumped. "I owe you my life. What's an explanation?"
Roman sighed and stood. "No, I owe you an apology. And saying "I'm sorry" doesn't really cut it."
"Apology? For what?"
Roman rubbed the back of his neck and began pacing the room. "I should've been told when you were arrested. Nobody told me. Not Dad or anyone else. But then Dad wasn't telling me how sick he was."
"Jesus, Roman! You were down in Florida worrying about your kid's life!" Mox protested. "She had some weird genetic mutation that hardly anybody knows about that was killing her and you finally find some doctor in Miami who can help. I woulda kicked your ass if you'd shown up here! Your place was with her and your wife."
"I should've been told," Roman firmly repeated. "About you. About Dad."
"Little Princess needed her Daddy. Your wife needed her husband," Mox argued.
"You'd been in prison for nearly a year when Dad died and then I found out," Roman mused. "It took another year for my baby girl to get better so I could get back here and put things back to right. Dad had good men but they were content to just skate along. The Authority had made inroards by then. If Dad had known, he would've put a stop to them."
"Think the Authority bought 'em?" Mox asked.
Roman shrugged. "I brought people up with me and sent everybody here down to Florida. Dwayne's their boss now."
Mox chuckled, remembering Roman's cousin. "Probably got their fat asses running up and down the beach twice a day."
'Those that are left.' Roman absently nodded.
"Roman, I told you. You got me out. It took time, and your family came first."
"You're family, too," Roman gently smiled. "So, can we just say that I'm sorry and you don't owe me anything?"
"Can we say no apology is needed and I owe you my life?" Mox countered.
The two men stared at each other then both began to chuckle.
"This is where Dad would've smacked us both on the heads," Roman remembered.
"Yeah, and your Mom would've told him to leave us alone," Mox smiled.
Roman sat back down, pleased that Mox sprawled out on the couch. "I want you to take somebody with you tomorrow when you meet the cops." He saw the scowl on Mox's face and continued. "Things are going to get rough. The Authority's opening their casino tomorrow night. That's going to give them a hell of an influx of cash along with their new hotel." He sighed. "It's not like back in Dad's day, Jon. We could go where we want, and know we weren't going to get hassled. Except for the last couple of days, I've kept somebody with me pretty much all the time. Bodyguards take turns. Family members at times." He leaned forward in his chair. "Until they found out who killed that reporter, you should have someone who can verify where you've been and with who."
Mox sighed and nodded. "You're right. So who's got babysitting duty? And where the hell have they been the last couple of days?"
Roman grinned. "You'll meet them all tomorrow morning. They've been hanging back the last couple of days. Dad bought a lot of the surrounding property. They mostly live in houses around here." He saw the grimace on his brother's face and settled back in his chair. "While you were at Regal's, I went by Rollins' bookstore. Talked with Seth Rollins."
"He gonna keep the places open?" Mox curiously asked.
Roman hesitated then nodded. "I think he will. At least for a while. He definitely wanted to make sure if he sold them to me that the bookstore, at least, would remain functioning as is. I told him that I would because my brother would knock my lights out if I sold it." He laughed when Mox mimed shooting guns at him with his fingers.
"I told him I'd keep the deli and study hall just like his great-uncle planned," Roman continued. "That seemed to relieve him."
"But you think he's gonna keep them? Even though you wouldn't change a thing?"
Roman slowly nodded. "I can't tell you why I think that but…yeah, I do."
Mox shrugged. Roman's instincts were good enough for him.
"In fact, Seth was talking about putting real furniture into the study hall like there is in the bookstore," Roman casually mentioned. "I told him the guy who made that furniture had developed arthritis and retired." He saw Mox's blue eyes slowly narrowing.
"What else did you tell him?" Mox slowly asked.
"That I knew someone who'd apprenticed under Dawson and who was back in town." Roman managed to keep his voice casual. "That I'd see if the guy was interested if Seth decided to go that route." He nodded as though to himself. "Good idea, though."
"Roman," Mox groaned.
"You know Dad never stopped bragging about that desk you built for him," Roman pointed out. "And these end tables? They got mentioned to everybody who ever stepped food in this room. And that cradle you made for my baby girl before she was born? That's a family heirloom, man."
Mox shrugged. "I don't know if I want to do that."
"Fair enough," Roman nodded. "But you've got a ton of cash sitting in the bank. With more to come. You can do whatever you want."
Mox stared at his brother for several moments. "We'll see."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Seth Rollins sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard. This would be his last night in the hotel. He was moving back to the second floor of the bookstore and into his old room. He reread the text he was sending as three group texts to the bookstore employees, deli employees, and study hall employees.
'For those of you who don't know me, my name is Seth Rollins. I'm John Rollins' great-nephew and I inherited his businesses. I would like everyone to meet with me tomorrow at 10am in the bookstore to discuss the future of these businesses. I intend to run them as my great-uncle wished. I look forward to meeting with all of you and working with you as we proceed in making my great-uncle's dreams come true.'
Taking a deep breath, he sent the text. Then he found his Chicago landlord's name in his contact list and pressed the button to dial the number.
"Barry? How's it going? Great. Listen, I've decided to stay in Davenport. Turns out my great-uncle left everything to me. Yeah, shocked me as well. Can you pack up my stuff and ship it to me? Yeah, everything. Let me know how much, and I'll send the money. And I'll send you the balance of my lease. Yeah, I will do that. The address?" Seth stared out the hotel room window into the darkness. He'd honestly thought he'd never be doing this. "It's 315 West 3rd Street, Davenport IA 52801."