“I’m in a tournament right now,” the older man grumbled back.
Why were these people not at work?
“Mrs. Wright, would you please join us in the living room?” Brantley stated, his tone a bit firmer than Reese’s had been.
“If you boys wanna talk, you can come in here,” she said snidely, stabbing her cigarette out in an ashtray. No, wait. That was a plate.
When Brantley cast a look his way, Reese nodded toward the kitchen. Might as well get it over with.
They strolled through the dingy living room, past a table holding an ashtray filled to overflowing with butts, and an empty bowl with God only knew what caked around the sides. It was orange, that was all he knew.
Reese stepped into the kitchen, pausing to take a look around. Besides the disgustingness of the whole place, the kitchen wasn’t in bad shape. Countertops had seen better days, but the cabinets were level, the refrigerator running.
That was a good sign, right?
Continuing toward the mother, Reese circled the small breakfast table, peered out the window into the backyard.
Just outside on the chipped concrete porch was a bowl of water that was so grimy it would’ve likely been toxic if it had a drop of water in it, beside it a chewed-up bowl that probably held food every now and then.
He cut his eyes over to the woman. “Do you have a dog?”
Mrs. Wright nodded toward the window. “He’s an idiot, that mutt.”
Reese moved to the other window, squinted beyond the plastic blinds that were cracked and bent to find…
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Nope. No fucking way.
Outside, chained to a stake in the middle of the yard, was what was supposed to pass as a dog. There was no shade, and though it was November, he doubted the reason for the lack of shelter had anything to do with the season. The poor dog—it almost resembled a German shepherd but not quite—looked to be a good ten, maybe fifteen pounds underweight, its ribs protruding beneath the dull brown and black fur. From what Reese could tell, the hair was relatively short but matted in a few places. It looked like it hadn’t been tended to in—he glanced over at the mother—well, probably never.
The dog was in bad shape and these people didn’t give a shit.
“Why’s your dog chained up out there?”
“Can’t let the fucker in the house,” she snarled. “Pisses on the carpet every chance it gets.”
“How long’ve you had it?”
“Too damn long if you ask me.”
Not an answer.
It took everything in Reese not to yank the woman up by her food-stained T-shirt and march her outside to feed the dog.
Instead, he held on to his temper, turned his attention toward the woman.
“Mrs. Wright, when’s the last time you saw Tanner?”
She shrugged, not bothering to look up from her tablet. “Sometime yesterday. Why?”
“Mrs. Wright, you understand your son’s missing,” Brantley stated firmly.
“He ain’t missin’,” Mr. Wright shouted from the living room. “He’s out gettin’ himself a piece of ass. It’s all good.”
A piece of ass. Wow.
“We told the police already, he’s fine,” Mrs. Wright chimed in. “Tanner does this all the time. Long as he ain’t gettin’ no girl pregnant, I don’t much give a damn what he does.”
Reese would’ve bet money these people had no idea what their son was up to. Ever.
“Tanner disappears for days at a time?” Brantley inquired.
“Yup. Ain’t got no respect for his parents. Never around to help out with the chores or take care of that damn dog.”
And it appeared no one else could be bothered with it, either, Reese thought. Based on the pile of dishes in the sink, they hadn’t cleaned in … a while.
Brantley stepped over to the back window, his boots making a sucking sound on the peeling linoleum, as though he was sticking to it. He used a finger to pull down one of the slats, peered out. When he turned back, Reese ensured he saw the fury that had ignited. Based on the glare he got in return, he suspected the man was as irate as he was at the audacity of these people.
“Mrs. Wright,” Brantley demanded. “Put the game down.”
Her head snapped up, dull brown eyes narrowing on his face. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“My name’s Brantley Walker,” he bit back, gesturing to the badge clipped to his belt before setting his hand on the weapon holstered right beside it. “And I’m here to find your son.”
Mrs. Wright popped another cigarette between her lips, spoke around it. “We didn’t ask you to come here. We don’t need your damn help.” She paused to light the thing. “Tanner’ll come back when he’s good and damn ready.”
Reese saw Brantley’s shoulders tense, but before the man could launch into a tirade, Reese put a firm hand on his shoulder. They were getting nowhere here. Anything they said or did would only make matters worse.
