Clement Atkins stood outside, lit a cigarette, took a puff, and slowly exhaled a ring of smoke, "She's looking for you."
She?
Cyril Atkins immediately bent over to look outside, "Who?"
Linda Roberts? Or Sean Bennett?
No, impossible.
Neither of these two could possibly control his son.
"You need to behave," the wind blew the ashes onto his hand, but he didn't care about the back of his hand, only wiping his beloved ring instead. Fumbling with the stone on the ring, he talked to himself, "You must listen to her."
It wasn't clear whether he was admonishing himself or Cyril Atkins.
Cyril Atkins couldn't understand who this "she" was, how she could have such power to make someone like Clement Atkins, who had no bottom line or respect for the law in his eyes, obey.
Out of the blue, Clement Atkins asked, "You still remember how your leg got crippled, right?"
He had done it.
He had crippled one of his own father's legs.
