Rough Men (4 page)

“I’m going to wait a couple of hours,” Will said, “and then I’m going to call my brother and Lou. I need to give Isaac a heads-up about Alex, and I want to talk to Lou about getting our ducks in a row, legally speaking. Before I do any of that, though, we need to talk about what we want to happen.”

“You mean with Alex?”

“Yes.”

She sipped from her coffee. Will could feel her hollow eyes looking through him. Alex had been her son more than his, even though she shared no blood with the boy. It was at that precise instant that he realized just how awful a father he’d been and that there never was going to be a moment when Alex turned his life around or when the two of them could make things right, to correct the sins of the father and of the son.

“You mean like, what are we going to do with him, once the cops release the body? Because we had a plan. Do you want to change it? He’s still your son! He’s still my son, and nothing he did changes what we wanted for him, dead or alive.”

“I guess it seems weird,” stammered Will. “With what happened to him, I feel odd going through with a cremation. It seems morbid, almost cruel, and even if we do, are we still going to want—”

“We have had a will written since you turned thirty,” she said, her voice slowly rising, “and nowhere in it does it say that if our son does something too awful, we don’t want his ashes spread where ours are going to be spread. He is my fucking son, and you are not going to let something he probably did high out of his mind affect where he ends up now. He was a troubled boy, and he died a troubled death. That doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be sweet and that we didn’t love him.” Alison’s speech sputtered off and turned to tears.

Unsure if he should try to comfort her, Will instead did nothing, just sat at his kitchen table feeling like the worst person in the world, a man who had failed his child.

Her anger shocked him. He knew it had come from a deep well of dislike that she suppressed, dislike for him and his many failings as a man, husband, and father.

He took her hand. She didn’t snatch it away this time, not yet. “You’re right,” he said, “completely right. When I talk to Lou, I’ll have him do what needs to be done to get Isaac to the funeral home. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before, not as the person who has to help make things happen, and I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong somehow.”

Alison squeezed his hand and almost smiled at him. “We’re going to do fine. There are worse things ahead than just planning a funeral. This all feels like a dream; pretty soon it won’t feel like that at all.”

Will wanted to say something, to correct her, to let her know that everything really would be all right. Instead, he stood and poured himself a cup of coffee, feeling like he was watching himself in a dream.

Will left Alison in the kitchen, punching his older brother’s number into his cell phone as he went. As it began to ring, he took a seat on the couch and tried to settle on the last time they had talked and figured it had to have happened around Christmas, though he had no memory of it.
How sad is that? I’m calling my brother to ask him for help, and I can’t even remember the last time we talked.

Isaac answered on the third ring, and the call had obviously awakened him. In any other circumstance, Will would have felt terrible, but of course, this was different.

“Will?”

“Yeah, man, sorry for calling so early.”

“Is everything all right?”

“No, not at all.”

“When did she leave?”

“What? No, man, Ally is still here. It’s Alex. He’s dead.”

Will could practically hear his older brother waking up, as if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“What? Alex? How?”

“He was shot to death. We found out last night. Did you hear about the bank robbery here?”

“Yes, of course,” said Isaac, his voice broken. “I only live an hour away; we still get the news.” Then, slowly, Isaac understood. “Was he a part of that?”

This is it, the lowest point of my life, when I tell people that my son was in a bank when it got robbed, that he killed an innocent man.

“He was. I’m sure there will be more information on the news soon, but you can hear it from me first. Something got crooked with him and his dickbag buddies. One of them shot Alex, and then they set him on fire.” Will choked for a second, took a deep breath, and continued. “Cops found the body three days ago, within an hour or so after the robbery scene was secured, I would reckon. They’re going to pull dental records to confirm it for sure, but yeah, they’re sure it’s him. He’s in bad shape; I haven’t seen him, and think it might be best for my own sanity if I don’t.”

“When do you need me to come up there?”

“I don’t need you to, not exactly. Alison and I are going to give him the same sendoff we’d always planned—pour his ashes by the Mackinac Bridge. Same thing we want for our own when the time comes. I’d love if you were up north for that. I’m only calling so that you can know that your little brother is still fucking things up.”

Isaac sighed. “You can blame yourself all you want, Will, if that’s what you’re in the mood for. You and I both know that I
love that boy—loved that boy—as much as anyone. But if you and I were bad seeds—and we were—that kid was a bad apple tree, dropping rotten apples all over the place.”

Isaac stopped himself, as though he could feel Will’s rage rising through the phone.
Why I am I even mad? We both know it’s the truth.

Isaac broke the silence. “I know you’re going to blame yourself, and so is Ally, but she was a good mother to him, and you weren’t enough of a fuckup to undo all the good she was doing, at least not on your own. That kid was bad stock, no offense, and that led to him getting killed.” Another sigh. “You getting mad at me yet?”

“No.” Will grinned, in spite of himself. “He was a fuckup. And you’re right, so were we. And Mom and Dad were no carnival ride themselves. But we made it out OK. You’ve done great for years, and I’ve got my writing thing going now. Why couldn’t Alex come around?”

“You’re forgetting or lying to yourself,” said Isaac, his voice momentarily taking on the agitating static that cell phone users were so used to, then returning to normal. “Took you almost going to jail, maybe even prison, and then going on a bender that only ended when someone gave you a shoulder to cry on and said you could tell stories. Alex never got enough of an eye-opener to make him knock it off. I did, so did you.”

“You? What the fuck ever happened to you?”

“The same guys you were running with had older brothers, and if you recall, I quit when I got deep enough in shit. When I discovered that I’d been involved in ripping off a store run by actual tough guys, I decided I’d had enough.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Will, I’ve been telling you that story my whole life, you just never felt like listening until right now. I’ll be up this afternoon. I’d ask you to have Ally make me a bed, but I think I’ll let her mourn and let you do the busywork.”

“Thanks, bro,” said Will. “I think I’ll feel better seeing you in person. I can’t feel any worse.”

“The next few days, Will, every second is going to be worse.”

Back in the kitchen, Will set his phone on the table and sipped at his coffee. In his dreams, the coffee was a whiskey, his son was alive, he still smoked cigarettes, and his wife didn’t look like she might be finally learning how to hate him.

“Isaac coming up?” asked Alison. “It would be nice to see him. Shit, any distraction would be welcome.”

“Yep, sounds that way. Might crash on the sofa for a couple days.” Pain, again. Alex’s room could finally be a guest room. Throw what was left of his stuff out, and there would be a spare space for anyone who needed one. The way things were headed, he himself might need that room. Will felt insane, both desperate for a drink and scared of what might happen were he to have one.

“I’m going to call Lou,” he said. “He’s either in the office by now or not coming in at all.”

Lou answered on the first ring, putting on a feminine voice, and not doing a terrible job of it. “Lou Schultz and Associates.”

“Lou, this is Will Daniels.”

“One moment please,” said the phone, and Will roared back, “Goddamn it, Lou! I know you fired Jen months ago. This is Will Daniels. Can we speak straight? I need to set up a time to see you today.”

Nothing but hold music. He hadn’t started yelling quickly enough. Or else he had, and his beyond-shady lawyer hadn’t liked the sound of it. This was how Lou had always been, all flash, but he’d been even worse since his last divorce. Will sat listening to the Boss doing “Dancing in the Dark” while he waited for his stupid lawyer to stop playing games. Roughly two minutes later,
long enough for Will to have to stop himself, twice, from singing along with Springsteen, Lou was on the line.

“This is Lou Schultz, of Lou Schultz and Associates,” said Lou in a syrupy sweet voice, the one he’d used years earlier taping the ad that still aired on late-night cable, luring in idiotic drunk drivers and low-level drug offenders. “What can I help you with today, friend?”

“Goddamn it, Lou, knock it off; this is Will Daniels.”

“Oh, good to hear from you, buddy.” The forced accent had fallen away. “Glad to hear from you. How are things?”

“Not good. My son, Alex, is dead.” Will took a deep breath. “Hang on, don’t talk yet. There’s more to it. The cops are pretty sure he was involved in that credit union shoot-up and that something went wrong later between him and his partners.”

“Damn, Will. I’m really sorry to hear that. This is the part where I would usually ask what you want me to do, but how about you just tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll offer advice when you’re done?”

Will noticed that he was unconsciously drumming his fingers on the table and forced himself to stop.

“The cops are holding Alex’s body until their forensic team is done with him. I want you to make sure my son’s body makes it to the crematorium. And that’s another issue. Alison and I have known for a long time what we wanted done with our bodies, but we never picked a place to do it. Assuming you know of someone you trust, I’d be happy with your advice on that. I think that’s everything.”

“Well, that’s a good start. Do you want me to lean on the cops, see if we can get Alex released any faster?”

“No. He’s dead, and I’d rather he was able to help them find out who killed him.”

“That’s the sensible thing,” said Lou. “I thought it was worth asking, though. Makes some people sick, the idea of autopsies and such. All right, well, it does so happen I know a guy who works in
the business of cremation, and he does a serious job of it, not one of those assholes you see on the news, you know, triple-stacking bodies and then handing out bags of ash of whomever.” A patch of dead air. “Shit, Will. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like that.

“Anyways, I assume the press doesn’t know yet, because if they did know, they’d be crawling up your ass by now. First thing you do when we hang up is to change your mailbox messages on your phones and say something like, ‘To speak with Will or Alison Daniels, please contact them through their attorney Lou Schultz,’ and then tack on my phone number. I’ll drop by in a couple hours with a sign that says the same thing that I’ll put up in your yard.

“I’m not going to lie, at some point, you’re going to have to release some sort of statement, but using me as a buffer will add some time. The next thing you need to do is be ready. I mean, thank god you’re not some household name, but people are going to be saying nasty things about you on the web; you might even get a nasty phone call or two. Your son and his friends hurt a lot of people, and no one knows why. It sounds like you’re not planning a funeral, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t have to deal with some serious assholes. That all sound good so far?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Lou. I won’t say you made me feel better, but it’s nice knowing you have a plan for this sort of thing.”

“Will, I hate to be flip in such a sad time, but I’ve got a plan for just about everything. One last thing, stay away from the news, stay away from the Internet. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch, and you can call me if somebody tries to put your nuts in a vice.”