The Same End

by Gregory Ashe

  “How do you find a murderer?” Tean asked.

  “We found Benny’s murderer by looking for people who had a reason to want him dead.” Something happened on TV, and Jem scooted to the edge of the mattress. An explosion. Jem flinched, turning slightly as though to shield himself. This was how he watched TV, and Tean never got tired of observing. It was field research. A single-subject study of a man who had never been allowed to be a boy. Over his shoulder, Jem added, “And by trying to figure out where he’d been in the days before he got killed.”

  “And we found Joy’s killer by doing the same thing. So how do we find Tanner?”

  Jem flinched and twisted again.

  “Jem?”

  “Huh?” He leaned sideways a few inches, his attention still riveted to the screen. “Um.” He jumped slightly. “Same way.”

  “How much longer in your show?”

  Jem didn’t answer.

  Sighing, Tean pulled out his phone and did some light informational reading. He lost track of time and came back to the sound of his name.

  “Earth to Tean, hello?”

  “Sorry.” When Tean glanced up, the TV was off, and Jem was smiling. “How long have you been trying to get my attention?”

  “I only said your name a couple of times. What were you reading?”

  “It’s stupid,” Tean said, dropping the phone. “Let’s talk about—”

  “I love stupid. What were you reading?”

  “It’s so dumb. Please let’s drop it.”

  “I just watched a show about giant robots that turn into an even bigger robot. Please don’t make me feel like I’m on my own here.”

  “Why would they turn into a bigger robot? Why wouldn’t they just start as the big robot? Why do they need to turn into anything?”

  “Nope,” Jem said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

  Tean hesitated. Then he said, “If you have to know—”

  “I do.”

  “—and if you’re going to insist—”

  “I am.”

  “—and if you’re fine with ignoring all my attempts to avoid talking about this—”

  “Totally, perfectly fine with it.”

  “—then I was reading the Darwin Awards.”

  “That sounds very science-y.”

  “It’s not, actually. It’s, um, kind of a guilty pleasure.”

  “Is it science porn?”

  “No.”

  “Is it any kind of porn?”

  “No.”

  “Is it about any size robot turning into another size robot?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Then you’re really going to have to help me out here.”

  “It’s about, well, people who die in awful ways that are tied to being stupid. The name comes from Darwin’s idea of natural selection, with less well adapted individuals and species being passed over, in terms of their evolutionary success, in favor of better adapted ones.”

  Jem blinked. “What?”

  “And I know it’s elitist, and it makes fun of people who might have been very smart but made one very bad choice, and it celebrates a power dynamic that we should be trying to eliminate from our society, but . . .”

  Arms loose around his knees, Jem looked like he could wait all day.

  “But sometimes it’s just really interesting. And bizarre. And funny. And I know it’s weird, and everybody hates when I talk about this kind of stuff, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  “One example.”

  “It’s too weird.”

  “Quit saying that. Give me one example. Your favorite one.”

  “I don’t have a favorite.”

  “Oh my God, you are being really difficult right now. Do you understand that?”

  “Fine. If I had to pick one that I find gross and incredible and funny—”

  “Which you do.”

  “—then I would say this one from the 19th century. His name was Gouverneur Morris, and he was a pretty important person at the time. He’s one of the Founding Fathers, actually—he signed the Articles of Confederation and the Constitution. He died in 1816 from an infection.” In a rush, Tean finished, “From using a whalebone to try to clear a blockage from his urethra.”

  Jem’s eyes widened. “It is porn.”

  “It’s not porn!”

  “It is. It’s sounding porn. Historical sounding porn. And it’s megadark.”

  “Ok, can we please talk about—”

  “I love it.”

  “What?”

  “I love it. You find the coolest shit. And you know all these amazing, unbelievable facts. About everything, pretty much. And you’re the smartest human alive, even if you’re not smart enough yet to understand why big robots turning into a giant robot is actually incredibly fucking awesome. Why are you embarrassed about any of that? Except the robot part, I mean. You should be embarrassed about that.”

  “People don’t like hearing about that stuff.”

  “Trust me: some people like it. I’m at the top of that list.”

  “Ok. Well, let’s talk about—”

  “Who?”

  “What?”

  “Who doesn’t like it? You don’t get self-conscious like this normally. When we were in line at that ice cream place a couple of weeks ago, you spent the entire wait explaining to that little girl why her cat couldn’t enjoy ice cream.”

  “She was interested!”

  “Sweet Jesus, is this about Ammon? Is this because he told you to cut it out at lunch?”

  “No.”

  Jem raised two blond eyebrows.

  “Ok.” The word exploded out. “My parents hate it. My siblings hate it. Hannah pretends it’s not happening, and when she can’t, she hates it. And yeah, it . . . it sucks when Ammon says stuff like that because I am weird, and I know I’m weird, but it’s nice when I can forget about it for a little while.”

  Leaning back, Jem propped himself on one elbow, his face unreadable. Then he said, “Ammon wouldn’t know cool or fun or interesting or smart or awesome or a good time, not even if someone was sounding the fuck out of him with a whalebone.”

  Tean burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he woke Scipio, who snorted, raised his head, looked around, and fixed Tean with a look of infinite disappointment. That just made Tean laugh harder. He laughed until tears ran down his face. And when he’d finally recovered, he was lying on his side, looking at Jem stretched out on the other bed, at the indecipherable smile on the blond man’s face.

  The list formed without Tean even trying: Jem knew how to cut a deck of cards like a magician; Jem knew how to cook a surprisingly good spaghetti and meatballs; Jem knew how to fix Tean’s hair so it looked like a real human haircut; Jem knew how to talk to anyone—old men about cars or horses or fishing, old women about their flowerbeds or church or, in one memorable case, about bull riding, kids about toys and cartoons, teenagers about clothes and shoes and Instagram; he knew how close to sit next to Tean without making him uncomfortable; he knew when to be quiet and when Tean wanted to talk, even if Tean didn’t know what to say; he knew how to make Tean laugh.

  And then Tean thought of Ammon: You need to be honest with yourself about what you want.

  “What’s going on under all that scarecrow hair?”

  “I’m just thinking about how great you are.”

  “Well, yeah. And you’re great too. That’s why we’re best friends.”

  “Normal friends,” Tean said, and he had to focus to keep his fingers extended, to keep himself from clutching Scipio’s fur as he ran his hand down the Lab’s flank. “Regular, ordinary, everyday friends.”

  “With soulmate-level intimacy and dedication.”

  “No. The same level of intimacy I have with the people who shrink-wrap my bulk underwear orders.”

  “God, you make it sound so sexy.”

&
nbsp; “Which happens to be the exact same level of intimacy that I have with that woman who drives the street sweeper past my building on the last Friday of every month.”

  “Stop, stop.” Jem flopped onto his back, plucking at his shirt, fanning himself. “You’re getting me all hot and bothered.”

  “Which is perfectly equivalent to the level of intimacy I experienced with that raccoon that got stuck in the dumpster last week.”

  “Hold on, hold on. The one that was wearing the onesie when we finally got him out?”

  “He wasn’t wearing a onesie. It was wrapped around him.”

  “That bastard! He told me I was the only man for him! I’m going to kill that cheating son of a bitch.”

  This, Tean thought, smiling into the pillow. This was what some lucky guy, some other lucky guy, was going to get to do for the rest of his life. When he looked over again, Jem was on his back, arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Do you want to tell me now?” Tean asked quietly. “Whatever it is that’s going on with you?”

  “He was a C-. Used his claws too much. And don’t get me started on his technique giving head.”

  “Jem.”

  In profile, Jem’s face revealed the tension in his jaw more clearly.

  “Ok,” Tean said. “You don’t have to. But I just want to help.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Jem’s jaw cracked when he opened his mouth again. “I can handle this. I’ve got it completely under control.”

  Except we’re here, Tean wanted to say. Except you’re not sleeping. Except there’s something in your eyes, and I don’t know how to help you stop hurting.

  “Jem, there’s nothing wrong with needing help—”

  “I just want to find Andi’s killer,” he said, swinging his feet off the bed. He headed into the bathroom. “And then I never want to think about these people again.”

  15

  Jem peed, washed his hands, and dried them on a towel. Then he stood there, listening. The only sound was Scipio snoring. Then voices up the hall, little kids, one of them screaming, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, give it back.” Jem hung the towel on its ring and let himself out of the bathroom.

  “Back to your original question,” he said as he lowered himself to sit next to the overnight bag he’d packed. “How do we find Tanner?”

  “How would you find him?” Tean asked; the Lab still had him pinned to the bed.

  Digging through the clothes and tools he’d brought—what little he’d been able to assemble on the spur of the moment—Jem said, “Well, most of my normal options are out.”

  “Because he might be dead?”

  “He’s not dead. No, because of this weird situation. Normally, I’d start with his last known location.”

  “Here, I guess. The lodge.”

  “Right. And I’d ask around, figure out who had interacted with him. Maybe he’s got a buddy who picks up night shifts here. Maybe there’s a girl he always buys drinks. That’s out because the police are doing the exact same thing. They’re going to be all over this place for a day or two, which also puts a hitch in the next thing I’d normally do.”

  Tean sighed and ran fingers through the Lab’s fur. “Dig through the trash.”

  “More or less.” Jem pulled out a wide leather belt with a buckle the size of his fist. He set it on the floor next to the bed, and the buckle thunked against the boards. “Although you don’t have to say it like I’m the human equivalent of your sex raccoon.”

  “You’ve already tried to get into their rooms, and I think you’re right that the police will have taken anything, including the trash, that seems relevant. I guess we can hope they slip up and overlook something, but it seems like a bad idea to hope for incompetent law enforcement.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to hope very hard. When I walked past the rooms earlier, one of them was covered in fingerprint powder. We might as well have Barney Fife up there. Thank God Ammon is on the case; I’m sure he’ll get the whole thing sorted out.”

  “I’m going to let that slide because you haven’t had McDonald’s in almost a day, and you’re probably in withdrawal.”

  Jem tried to hide his smile as he continued to search the bag. “Anyway, if the trash was a bust, I might try breaking into his house or office. Credit card statements, phone records, bills, anything from his bank. I’d talk to the neighbors if I thought it was safe, although that’s hard to pull without them warning off the guy. But that’s all a bust; we don’t even know where he lived.”

  “You could ask Tinajas.”

  “That’s actually a really good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Withdrawal. Jesus Christ!” Tean leaned forward to rub the spot on his calf where Jem had slapped him with the belt, and Scipio snuffled and scrambled off his lap. “That stung.”

  “Swear jar,” Jem said with what he considered his angelic smile.

  “Defend your master,” Tean said, nudging Scipio. “Bite. Attack. Maim. Kill.”

  Scipio rolled onto his back, and with a sigh, Tean scratched his belly.

  When Jem placed the call, Tinajas answered on the third ring: “Fuck off.”

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “It’s not morning. It’s late afternoon, you debauched cuntmonger. Now leave me alone so I can enjoy this fucking drip of a four-year-old’s birthday party.” Her voice changed as she spoke to someone nearby. “No, Martha, I will not watch my language. Go fuck yourself on a railroad spike.” To Jem again, “Hold on, we’re singing happy birthday.”

  Jem held the phone away from his ear and told Tean, “They’re singing happy birthday.” A chorus of voices was barely audible from the phone’s speakers.

  “She’s at a four-year-old’s party?”

  “Well, she might now technically be five. It wasn’t clear if that was her age before she blew out the candles or after.”

  Tean blinked several times. “You realize that it’s not actually blowing out the candles that makes you a year older, right?”

  But Tinajas was talking again, so Jem said, “I’ll explain the science behind it later,” and held the phone to his ear.

  “It’s not a question of science,” Tean muttered.

  “—so I’m going to hang up now,” Tinajas finished.

  “No, wait, I need help.”

  “I know. If you’d been listening, you would have heard the first part of that sentence where I said, ‘I don’t care if you need help, I’m spending time with my family, so I’m going to hang up now.’ Now I’ve said it twice, and I’m wasting time talking to you in the foyer. If you made me miss the chocolate cake, I’m going to borrow Martha’s railroad spike and shove it so far up you that your vet will be able to pull it out of your throat.”

  “He actually probably could do that. He’s very good.”

  “Goodbye, Jem.”

  “No, no, no. Tanner Kimball. Can you find his address for me?”

  “Hold on. Guillo, I swear to Jesus Christ himself that if you don’t get back into the kitchen with that plate, I will whip your ass so you can’t sit for a week. I’ve got to go; this place is a madhouse. I think I saw Dionica letting the dog eat cake out of her mouth.”

  “What about Tanner?”

  “I can’t get it for you until Monday. I’m not going to work just to get you an address.”

  “Tin, please, I really need it!”

  “Dionica, you’re mashing frosting into his fur!”

  The call disconnected.

  “Well, so much for that,” Jem said. When he glanced up, he was surprised to see Tean on the phone.

  “No, Amos, I didn’t promise to meet you at the hotel. I didn’t say anything like that. I said I would think about it. Well, I don’t care what Seth told you. I’m telling you right now that I never promised to go on this trip. I’ll pay for the room. That’s not the point, Amos; I said I’d pay you back.” He listened, k
nees pulled to his chest, free hand pushing back his wild, bushy hair. “That’s not fair. You can’t say this trip was all about me when you’re only there because Bailey got free tickets to—no, don’t put Cor on the line. I don’t want to talk to anybody. Hi, Cor. I’m going to hang up now. No, I’m not going to have this conversation with you. I do care. I appreciate that. No, I don’t want that.” His forehead dropped to his knees. “Look, I said now is not a good—ok, ok, I understand, and that means a lot to me, and I love you guys too, but I—”

  The doc looked up, surprise on his face when Jem took his hand and worked the phone free of his grip. Jem made a crackling noise that he hoped passed for static, disconnected the call, and powered down the phone.

  “That probably crossed a line,” Jem said, “and you can borrow a page out of Tinajas’s book and whip my ass with this belt if you want.”

  Tean hid his face against his knees, and his shoulders moved once. Not a sob, but maybe a very tense exhalation. Jem squeezed the back of his neck. A soft hiss in the ducts said the AC had kicked on again.

  “You’d probably like it,” Tean finally said, lifting his head. His eyes were red but dry.

  Jem nodded. “Probably. Want to tell me what that was about?”

  So Tean told him. “And, of course, now the whole story is that I promised to go, and they booked me a room, and how could I change plans like this, and the whole weekend is about me and rebuilding our relationship as brothers, and—and it’s a bunch of crap. They feel bad because you shamed them in May, and now they think they can bully me into a weekend—which they’re also spending with their wives, by the way—and pretend everything’s ok.”

  Jem’s hand was still on the back of Tean’s neck; it was a minor miracle the doc hadn’t shook him off, hadn’t squirmed away or found another escape. He scratched lightly at the warm skin. “And if they’re telling the truth?”