Rough Men (7 page)

His cell phone ringing broke his trance. Expecting to see another unknown number, Will was startled to see a 206 area code.
Seattle.

“Hello?”

“Will. Jesus, buddy. You know there are some times when you just pick up a fucking phone and call, right?”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Are you doing OK? How’s Alison?”

“I’m OK. She’s doing OK, I think. It’s been hard to tell. She keeps blaming herself for everything. That’s hard to watch.”

“That’s understandable, I guess. Of course, it’s not either of your faults, but it’s natural to feel that way. Do you have a time for the funeral set?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have one. My lawyer thinks I’m in for a shitstorm either way. Not that it really matters much—we had planned for cremation already, anyways. Got a jump on that, at least. That’s a good thing, right? Bastards that shot him in the head, they burned his body—”

“Will, you do not sound like you’re doing OK. Sit down, on the floor if you have to.”

“All right.”

“Are you sitting? I’m serious about this. If I hear the phone drop, I’m hanging up and calling nine-one-one. Are you at home?”

“Jack, relax. I’m sitting at my desk. I was letting my emotions get the better of me. I’m fine now.”

“Maybe you should try grabbing a drink. But not alone. You’ve got enough friends, go grab a beer, but don’t sit alone with your thoughts.”

“No, I haven’t been drinking. I think that’s for the best.”

“Most of the time, I’d agree. This is a little different.”

“I’ll run it by Alison.”

“Is there anything I can do? If there was a funeral, I know we would send flowers. I can fly in, but I’m guessing you want to be with your family.”

“I appreciate that, Jack, but, yeah, we’re kind of hunkered down. There’s nothing you can do. No need for the flowers, either. It’s going to be a very small get-together, and I think I’m going to discourage that sort of thing as much as possible.”

“Got it. Will, I’d like to respect your privacy, but part of me thinks folks around here should know, especially Terri. She and I are the two people most likely for the media to contact.”

“It’s fine if you tell the office. I don’t want everyone to think I’m some murderer-raising freak, but...”

Dead air for a beat.

Then, “Christ, Will. No one who knows you is going to think that. And we all know you pretty well, even the people here that only know you through your books.”

“Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate that. I did have one more question, though. I mentioned it near the end of the e-mail, and—”

“No, no, no, Will. For God’s sake, we’re not going to drop you for something like this, something that’s not your fault. Don’t even think about that.”

“Thanks, Jack. It’s good to hear the words.”

“Absolutely. We might need to delay the next book a little bit, is all. It won’t do you any good to have this be the only thing people think of when you’re mentioned as an author.”

“Thanks. I know it should be the least of my worries, but I have been thinking about that a lot.”

“Well, I think that’s one thing you don’t need to think about, beyond what I’ve said. I’ll talk to Terri, maybe even to Bruce, the VP, to be sure we even need to have a delay on your next book.”

“To be honest, Jack, a delay isn’t a bad idea either way. After the last manuscript was a no go, I’ve been bone dry in the idea department. I feel like I put everything that I had into it.”

“So you wrote a book, and it didn’t happen. Big deal. All that really matters is the next one, and then the one after that. I’m not going to give you a pep talk, because I don’t think you need one, but bottom line, writers write, so write.”

“Jack, I can’t say how much I appreciate this.”

“If you need anything—and I’m serious, anything—let me know, and I’ll do what I can. I’ll talk to Terri later and see what she has to say about everything, and on behalf of everyone here, I’m really sorry about what happened to your son.”

“Thanks again. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Will hung up the phone, shut off the light in the basement, and trudged back upstairs to the kitchen.

For Immediate Release:

We are deeply sorry for the actions of our son, Alex, and regret his role in the crimes committed at Lake Michigan Credit Union Branch 421 on February 18, 2013. It is our deepest wish that the men who committed these crimes with him be brought to justice, and that their victims can take some solace in their punishment. We do not wish to speak further with the media at this time, and appreciate your respect while our family grieves. Further inquiries can be made through our attorney, Lou Schultz, Esq., of Lou Schultz and Associates.

Sincerely,
William and Alison Daniels

The media release that Lou had drawn up was perfect. Lou sent it off from the kitchen table, and the thought that the constant media presence could soon be gone, its appetite sated, was welcome news, indeed.

“Well, that’s done,” said Lou. “Anything else I can do for you today?”

“I don’t think so, Lou,” Alison said, and to Will, her voice had a strength that it hadn’t before.
We’re moving forward
, he thought as she went on. “Is there anything else that we should be careful about?”

“Stay the course,” said Lou. “Don’t watch TV, avoid the web—aside from e-mail, of course—and keep that thick skin on. You’re not out of the woods yet—quite the contrary, in fact. Let me know the second the police are willing to release the body, and I’ll get my man on it. Will, any interactions you have with the fuzz that involve more than a yes-or-no question should make you prick your ears up. I highly doubt that they’ll try anything, but you never know with a cop. They want a name to put on this, and it doesn’t matter who it is as long as the crime sticks to the name.”

“Thanks, Lou,” said Will, and the two shook hands over the table.

T
hat night, Will sat up in bed next to Alison.
They were both pretending to read the books they’d been working through up until their lives had been thrown into a blender that was set to
Destroy
. Will found himself staring at his wife, and after a few minutes of that, she noticed, turning to him to say, “What is it?”

“It was a really special thing you did for Alex,” he said. “You took a risk with me, and you raised that boy basically on your own. I love you for so many reasons, but I think that’s the one that stands out above everything else. You took Alex and me and made a little family, despite my best efforts to fuck it up. I’m never going to be able to pay you back for that.”

Will could feel his eyes welling with tears, and he shook the sad thoughts of his young son and beautiful Alison from his mind. He’d done everything he could to destroy what they had, and she’d just kept chugging right along, making them work, making the family work, struggling far harder than he had to make his son into a man.

“Will, it’s fine,” Alison said. “There’s nothing wrong with being emotional—probably better to just let all of that stuff out. You know that. How else could you write like you do?

“We just have to keep going. We need to get Alex from the police, give him a proper send-off, and remember the good things in his life. Just because he never saw redemption doesn’t mean that we can’t find redemption for him.

“You’ve got your writing, and I’m going to find something for myself, whatever it takes to fill this hole in my chest and replace
it with something good. I need it to make his life have purpose, so I can say in twenty years, ‘I never would have gotten this good done if my son hadn’t had such a stupid death.’ Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely,” said Will, pulling her to him. He wanted her to find that peace; she deserved it. He wanted it for himself too, but he couldn’t even see it from the dark place he was living in. Peace, at least right now, seemed the least likely option for him.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” she said to his chest. “It’s the only thing that keeps the bad stuff away. Sort of like being little and knowing that as long as I had my stuffed bunny, Doug, that nothing bad was going to happen to me. Just like how Doug kept the monsters away, the good thoughts are doing a number on the bad ones.”

She pulled back and smiled at him then, and it was all he could do to stifle a sob of joy that this wonderful woman had seen through his dark side for all these years and was still fighting to make a good life with him. At the same time, though, a truly black thought, urged on by the black pool of rage still boiling in his stomach, took root. For the first time, Will had an idea about justice that didn’t involve the police.

He kissed his wife, then asked if she’d mind if he went to talk with Isaac for a bit.

“I think that sounds great,” she said. “You guys should take advantage of him being here. Catch up. I don’t know what it is with you two. You aren’t estranged, exactly, but it’s like you go out of your way to avoid contact with each other.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure what it is, either. It’s all kinked up. It’s like being apart so much eats at us, and then being together makes us resent all the time apart, and then we just do it all again.”

She blinked at him; then they both laughed. “Well, that
is
messed up,” she said. “Whatever it is, you have my blessing, and tell Isaac hello for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Will clambered out of bed, she said one last thing. “Will? If he has a bottle, you stay out of it, OK?”

The words nearly broke his heart, and he said yes.
Some demons never get all the way gone, no matter how many stuffed bunnies we line our beds with.

W
ill stood at the top of the basement steps.
His feet were cold, and he was already regretting not bringing socks. His good slippers were downstairs under his writing desk, so at least the cold-feet issue would be settled in a minute.

“Isaac? You awake?”

“Wide-awake.”

“I’m coming down.”

Isaac grunted at that, and Will began to make his way down the stairs, his frozen feet feeling stupid on the wooden steps, which were covered only in the middle, and there only with very cheap and thin carpeting.

When Will arrived at the bottom of the steps, he found Isaac sitting at his desk, browsing the web on his computer. And wearing his slippers.

Will settled onto the couch next to Isaac’s stuff. If his brother was bothered by the intrusion, he didn’t show it; he just kept browsing on Will’s computer and was currently looking at the Yahoo sports page.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Will said, “and I think it’s important that you know that, no matter what you say, I’m going through with this.”

Isaac turned wearily from the computer and looked at his brother. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“So do I.”

Isaac sighed, leaned back in the chair, and gave the computer one last look. “You know March Madness starts soon.”

“I don’t watch college sports, except for hockey sometimes.”

“I’m not worried about what you watch; there’s money to be made on State this year. Spit it out.”

“I think we need to do something for Alex.”

“You mean like, more than the cops are doing?” Isaac looked at him for a long moment. “I think that’s a horrible idea.”