‘Angel Point’s own James Dean. Welcome home, prodigal son.’ Andy shook Ty’s hand. Then he gestured to John, or rather Steven Armstrong. ‘Dis...atch said a man called this in. Was that you?’ Ty nodded. ‘Dispatch is plenty peeved with you for hanging up on them. What happened here?’ Ty went first. I was grateful to have to time to order my thoughts. Andy jotted our statements down in his notebook in just a few minutes. I wished I could have given him something more solid than my public story. Even. This was not at all supposed to be how this scene was unfolding in front of my eyes, helpless to intervene. I had dreamt of this scenario hundreds of times since Shirley dumped me six years ago. In my fantasy it was her fancy new husband who was the one who was supposed to be on his uppers as all his investments went south with the economy; while she was supposed to be the poor fucking hard-done-by and abandoned waif and stray that I picked up from her cardboard box alleyway home in my smart. More

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