Astra pins him with a glare. “And you’re sure that’s all everyone has here.”
“I… um…”
“Tyler, listen to what I am saying. We are not here to search anything or to arrest you. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about what you and your friends do in your own backyard. We’re not the drug cops. We simply need to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?” he repeats.
“The sooner you get out of the pool and speak with us, the sooner we’ll leave and let you all get back to your little… shindig,” I tell him.
His friends immediately start badgering him to get out of the water and talk to us. Looking annoyed, Tyler paddles his floatie over to the side, then flops onto the deck like a fish pulled out of the water and dropped onto the bottom of a boat. Getting to his feet, he pads over to us without shame and stops a few feet in front of us, folding his arms over his chest, his face tight with irritation. He shares a body type with Shaggy from Scooby Doo, and his Speedo isn’t very flattering on him. Astra and I share an uncomfortable look.
“Can you like, put a robe on or something?” Astra asks.
“What is it with Americans? You’ve got issues,” he asks with exasperation. “In Europe, nobody gets all weird and hung up on the human body.”
“Dude, you were born in Virginia. You’re American,” Astra says.
“I’ve spent a lot of time abroad. I’m practically European.”
“Yeah, that’s not how that works.”
“Whatever. I happen to think the human body is a beautiful thing, and I’m not ashamed of mine,” he says as he whips his sunglasses off. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll get over your issues with the beauty of the human form. Otherwise, there’s the door.”
I grimace. “Fine. Let’s talk someplace where we can have some privacy then.”
“Swell,” he replies cheerily. “I suppose I can’t talk you two into appreciating the human form by slipping into some bikinis—”
“Don’t make me shoot you, kid,” Astra grumbles.
“Right,” he chirps, then turns to his crowd. “Carry on, my people. Carry on.”
The kids gathered in the backyard cheer, the music comes on, and more joints are lit, the prospect of two federal agents in their midst not deterring a single one of them from partying on. The boldness is almost impressive. Not walking too close to him, Astra and I follow Tyler to a pool house that’s set off to the side. He throws the glass sliding door open and steps inside, then turns and beckons us to follow. Once inside, Astra closes the slider, muffling the party raging outside.
“This pool house is larger than my first apartment,” Astra says.
“Furnished a lot nicer too,” I add.
“Right?”
The Speedo-clad faux-European walks over to a full-sized refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of beer. Import, of course. Tyler is not what I was expecting. I walked in here expecting to find some doped up burnout with barely two brain cells to rub together. But he’s intelligent. Sharp. He’s shrewd and seems able to quickly size up and assess a situation. But he hides it behind a veneer of party boy eccentricity. I mean, he is those things, of course, but in really looking at him, I see that image is largely calculated. He takes great pains to not let others see behind his mask.
What I don’t know is why. It could be something as simple as insecurity and a deep-seated need for approval and acceptance. You’ll always have boatloads of friends if you’re always hosting raging parties and handing out drugs like Halloween candy. If I had to guess, I’d say it has to do with his relationship with his parents. I’d say it’s probably lacking, and he doesn’t get what he needs from them, emotionally speaking, so he finds other ways to fill that hole inside of him. Seen in that light, it’s actually kind of sad.
He turns, holding the bottle out toward us. “Don’t suppose I can offer you two a wee drinky-poo, can I?”
“Kind of you to ask,” I say. “But we’re going to have to pass. We’re on duty and all.”
“Your loss,” he replies. “This sweet brew was shipped directly from Belgium and is one of the finest ales in the world. You just don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“I’m more of a scotch woman myself,” I say.
“Well, if that’s your poison, I have a fine selection of—”
I hold up my hand and laugh. Given that you can practically smell the money in the air around this place, I have no doubt he’s got a first-rate selection of scotches. He’s probably got bottles I’ve never even heard of and some I’d likely never be able to afford even a taste of.
“Thank you, but no,” I tell him.
“Suit yourself,” he says as he cracks open his bottle. “So, what can I do for you, Agents?”
“We need to talk to you about Ashley Barlow,” Astra says. “You went to school with her at the Weatherton Academy. She was obviously a few years behind you.”
“Yeah, sure, I know Ash.”
“We understand that you two dated?” I ask.
Tyler takes a long swallow of his drink and eyes us skeptically. “Is anything I tell you going to be used against me?”
“No, this is all off the record,” I say.
“Can I ask what this is about?”
“We’re just doing some background checks on behalf of Senator Barlow,” I say. “We’re looking into people connected to his daughter, and your name came up.”
Tyler gives us a knowing smile. “I knew it. He’s running for the presidency, isn’t he? This is him doing all his due diligence before announcing his run. Can’t have any nasty little surprises popping up, huh? That’s it, right?”
“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to say,” Astra says. “We’re just doing our job.”
He tips us a wink. “Your secret is safe with me, Agents.”
