Page 13 of The Lie Maker

“What do you need?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Fifty?”

“Fifty...”

“Thousand. Fifty thousand,” he said.

It was hard not to laugh. The corner of my mouth went up.

“You think this is funny?” he asked.

“No. It’s just... you have an inflated sense of what most authors actually make. I could barely lend you fifty dollars right now.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

I shook my head.

He sat back against the bench, dropped his hands into his lap. “Fuck.”

“Sorry,” I said. I was about to tell him that even if I had the money, I wouldn’t have given it to him, but there was no sense making him feel worse than he already did.

My phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket, saw the name harry, and declined the call.

“Who was that?” Earl asked.

“My agent. I’ll get back to him.”

“That could be the call,” he said urgently. “That’s your fucking ship coming in.”

“Or yours,” I said.

We were both quiet for a moment. A bus went by. A kid on a skateboard. An elderly woman using a walker.

Earl was the first to speak. “Can’t believe my own kid won’t help me out.”

That one caught me off guard a bit. It wasn’t often he used those words to describe me. If he was trying to lay a guilt trip on me, it wasn’t going to work.

He put his hand on my knee, gave it a squeeze, and stood. “Anyway, it was worth a shot.”

“Hope you can sort it all out,” I said.

Earl nodded. “Everyone’s got problems, right?” He took a long look at me and suddenly appeared thoughtful. Concerned, even.

“So your car, the fire and everything. You don’t think it means anything, do you?”

I’d been wondering the same thing.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

Earl nodded slowly. “You’re probably right. It doesn’t make any sense. Been too long. And what would be the point? Why would somebody send a message after all this time?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said.

“Probably just some crossed wires or something like that.”

“You take care, Earl.”

“You want a lift?”