The Second Son

by Martin Jay Weiss

  This spread and this wife were funded by tech money, Ethan concluded. So why isn’t she upset that he’s missing?

  “But I handle all our family finances,” she added with a giggle.

  Maybe that’s why.

  “Sorry you had to drive all the way out here,” she said.

  Ethan felt the gin go right to his head. “That’s not the only reason I’m here, actually…”

  Ethan opened the wedding photo on his iPhone, expanding it with his thumb and forefinger so that only Brooke was visible, and then showed it to Sarah.

  “Have you ever seen this woman?”

  Sarah took a hard look. “She’s pretty,” Sarah said with a clip, like a lady about to be scorned. “Who is she?”

  “You don’t recognize her?”

  “Should I?”

  Ethan prompted, “From Hounddog maybe?”

  Sarah took another look and shook her head. “I don’t know many Hounddog people. And I’ve never seen that woman before. Is that Anna Gopnik? The police told me that my husband might have been with a woman named Anna Gopnik—”

  “No, this woman’s name is Brooke Shaw.”

  “I don’t know her, no.” Sarah sat back resolvedly, unblocking Ethan’s view of a Dancing Rabbit statue on the mantel, the same kitschy eyesore he and Jack were given after their corporate retreat.

  “Maybe you would know her from one of the company functions,” Ethan said, “like Dancing Rabbit.”

  “What’s a dancing rabbit?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s a place in Big Sur. It’s popular with tech companies for corporate retreats. That statue is from there.”

  She turned around and her face soured. “I never liked that thing. My husband insisted on putting it there.” Sarah got up and headed back to the kitchen. “Would you like a refill?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Will you be staying for dinner?”

  He glanced his watch. “I should be getting back.”

  “Too late to go back to the office, especially with rush hour traffic.” She returned with the martini shaker and topped off both glasses.

  “Your husband must have mentioned going there,” Ethan pressed, “to Dancing Rabbit.”

  “I vaguely remember something. I don’t know.”

  Sarah sat next to Ethan on the couch this time. Ethan could feel her warmth and smell her perfume, which was as overpowering as she was. She touched the hand that Ethan was holding his iPhone with, the picture of Brooke still illuminated, and she asked, “Who is this woman? The truth.”

  “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “She’s also gone missing,” he told her. “I thought maybe you could help me, make a connection, something.”

  Sarah rubbed Ethan’s knee. “Maybe we can help each other forget.”

  Her intent was unmistakable.

  “I always have a hard time resisting tall, handsome young men,” she moaned as she leaned in and kissed his neck.

  Is that why Rufus ran?

  Ethan pulled away. “What about your husband?”

  She worked her tongue up to his ear and whispered, “He’s not here to complain, is he?”

  CHAPTER 21

  It was a suburban strip mall, broad daylight, and Jack felt safe. It didn’t even occur to him that he wouldn’t, or shouldn’t. The sun was shining. People were milling about, going about their business, and Jack walked over to the bank to get some cash. After he pulled some some out of the ATM, he headed back to his car, which was in the parking lot around the corner—out of view from the bank guard and the security cameras. Just as he reached for his car keys, he heard a voice from behind.

  “Nice day, huh?”

  Jack immediately knew it was not a friendly greeting, but a taunt, like a scrappy UFS fighter getting ready to rumble.

  Jack turned. He didn’t see anyone at first, and then a man appeared from behind a dark blue Dodge Caravan. He had a shaved head and bulked-up body covered in tattoos.

  Jack was not afraid to defend himself. Having a brother makes you a good fighter; having a twin brother makes you a better fighter; and studying Tae Kwon Do for seven years because you’re always picked on at school makes you a lethal weapon.

  Now that Jack was a full-grown, six-foot-five man, well versed in Tae Kwon Do, he rarely worried about getting mugged or harassed. But instincts told him he’d better prepare.

  “I’m Ace,” Shaved Head told Jack, as if the name made a difference. “Would you help us out with this thing over here?”

  “What thing?”

  He pointed at the van’s back door. “It’s in here.”

  Jack thought of his Sensei, Mr. Miyagi (not his real name, just what Jack called his Tae Kwon Do master), and his first rule: do whatever you can to avoid a fight.

  “I don’t think so,” Jack told Ace. “If you’d excuse me, I’m in a bit of a rush.”

  The back door of the van swung open. Another tattooed man wearing a ragged T-shirt with an auto parts logo jumped out.

  “Come on,” Ace said, “it’ll only take a minute.”

  “My mother taught me not to talk to strangers.”

  Rule two: run, if possible.

  Jack turned to take off, but a third bulked-up goon was blocking his way. This one had to weigh in close to three hundred pounds, leaving Jack no room to squeeze by.

  “We just have a few questions for you,” the big guy said, gesturing toward their van. “Come inside.”

  He wasn’t asking.

  By the time Jack opened his mouth to object, he was already being lifted and dragged. It happened in seconds, and he knew he would have to resort to Mr. Miyagi’s third rule: if there are no other options, fight.

  Jack jabbed Ace in the nose. He went back, blood squirting over his shaved head. The other two heavyweights, Dale and Wade, laughed at their driver and overpowered Jack like he were a flailing rag doll, shoving him into the back of the van.

  Ace hobbled back into the driver’s seat, bitching and moaning.

  Dale’s thick hand wrapped around Jack’s throat, and then he shouted at Wade, “Shut the door!”

  The van drove off, wheels screeching. Jack felt his phone vibrate. He reached in his pocket and glanced the incoming call. It was his brother. Just as he tried to push the accept button, Dale twisted Jack’s wrist, hard. Jack screamed as his phone fell out of his hand and into his lap.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Dale grunted.

  “What’s he doing?” Ace shouted from the front.

  “Trying to answer his phone.”

  Ace ordered, “No phones.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jack pleaded. “Let go. That hurts!”

  “No phones,” Dale repeated, then he slammed Jack’s phone on the floor. It shattered into pieces. Jack assumed they wanted the stack of twenties he had just pulled from the ATM. He prepared to take a few hits and capitulate a few hundred bucks. “My wallet’s in my back pocket,” he told them.

  “Thanks,” Wade said, reaching for it. “Bonus.”

  “Gimme that,” Dale said, reaching.

  Wade slapped his hand away.

  Ace shouted from the driver’s seat, “Put the wallet back.”

  Dale scowled at Ace and reluctantly stuffed it back in Jack’s pocket.

  They weren’t after his money. Jack noticed they were circling the road around the mall for the second or third time. “What do you want?” Jack asked.

  “You’re going to take us to her,” Ace shouted from the front. “Where is she?”

  Wade twisted Jack’s wrist for emphasis.

  Jack grunted, then caught Ace’s eyes in the rearview. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend!”
r />   Wade bent Jack’s entire arm back.

  “Agghh!”

  You can tell when someone gets pleasure out of inflicting pain. Jack needed to get out of there. These guys were just warming up.

  Dale jabbed Jack in the ribs as if it would make Jack more cooperative. “Start talking.”

  Jack keeled over and noticed the prison and gang tattoos running up Dale and Wade’s arms. He knew that these had to be the guys that tailed Ethan from the church. They were looking for Brooke. And they thought he was Ethan.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Jack told them.

  “Where have you looked so far?” Ace asked.

  “I haven’t—“

  “Liar!” Wade slapped Jack.

  Ace asked calmly, “Where do you think she might be?”

  “No idea.”

  “Try harder,” Wade said with a backhand across the face.

  Jack glanced down at his shattered iPhone. “I can call her and ask her where she is if you hand me my phone back.”

  Wade punched him in the gut and Dale crushed what was left of his phone with his giant steel-toe work boot.

  Jack shook off the sting. “I really have no idea.”

  Dale hit him in the sternum. Hard. He gasped and wheezed and glimpsed Ace watching in his rearview again, enjoying the show. “Easy,” Ace said, “we need him to be able to talk.”

  Jack sat back up and hissed, “Okay, I’ll tell you.” He focused on Dale, held his ribs as if he were hurt, and whispered, “I know where she might be…”

  Dale leaned closer so he could hear better.

  Jack sat taller so he had leverage, “She might be…” And Jack head butted Dale.

  Crack!

  Dale went back. His tremendous bulk bounced and made the van shudder. Dale’s eyes stayed open but he looked comatose, which Jack thought was an improvement.

  Wade sprung at Jack, but Jack used his heft for momentum, and the leviathan slammed into the side of the van.

  Jack had never had to defend himself as an adult, especially in a life or death situation, and never knew if the years of Tae Kwon Do had served any real purpose besides giving him the ability to hold his own in the sixth grade. But, even though the back of the van prevented him from standing up fully, and every turn Ace made challenged his balance, it proved to be more effective than he could have imagined. Mr. Miyagi used to make them do exercises on their knees to emphasize speed, agility, and reaction force, using the principle that as the striking limb is brought forward, the other parts of the body should be brought backward in order to do damage to the striking limb.

  This shit works!

  Wade came back at him, angrier and sloppier. Jack snapped his right leg up, his right arm back to provide the force, and nailed him square in the nose.

  Ace yelled from up front. “What’s going on back there…? Talk to me!”

  Wade grabbed his bloody nose and howled, “I’m going to kill this fucker.”

  Jack heard Ace object, but when he turned, Wade’s colossal form was heaving at him, this time with a knife. Jack ducked and dodged, twisted Wade’s arm behind his back, and shoved it hard. Jack heard Wade’s limbs crackle. The knife dropped out of his hand and Wade collapsed like a rag doll. He appeared benumbed, but Dale was moving again, and reaching for a Glock 19, his hand already gripping the handle. Jack leapt forward, shoving his elbow into Dale’s neck.

  Dale tried to aim the gun at Jack. Jack latched onto Dale’s wrist. The gun wavered back and forth.

  Dale thrashed; Jack pummeled.

  Ace slammed on the brakes. The van skidded. Jack hit the floor, his head bouncing off the door handle on the way down. The gun exploded. Everything went dark. Jack blacked out, probably for only a minute or two. When he opened his eyes, Ace and Dale were shouting at each other.

  Ace said, “He’s no good to us now, is he?”

  Dale said, “I didn’t mean to fire. You were driving like a maniac!”

  Jack realized they thought the bullet had hit him. That is until Dale noticed that Wade’s clothes were soaking wet, a bloody bullet hole in his back. Dale turned Wade’s body over. A prosaic gaze stared back.

  Wade was dead.

  Dale screamed, a guttural hateful cry.

  Jack took the opportunity to release a sidekick into Dale’s shoulder. The gun flew out of his hand and Jack leapt up, grabbing it midair.

  “Nice move, if I do say so myself.” Jack had never handled a gun before. It was heavier than he thought it would be. He pointed it at Dale and ordered, “Open the back door.”

  Ace shook his head at Dale. “You idiot.”

  “Open the door,” Jack repeated.

  Dale obliged.

  Jack jumped out, stumbled, and fell onto the pavement. As he got back up, he saw Dale roll Wade’s body out of the back. The corpse landed with a thud. The back door slammed shut and the van screeched away like a bat out of hell.

  It all happened so fast. Jack stared down at the corpse in disbelief. He didn’t know how long he was standing there before he heard a few people screaming and shouting from the curb. When he looked up, he saw the security guard from the nearby bank ordering everyone to stay inside and get down. One of the bystanders didn’t obey, a young woman standing on the curb in front of the bank pointing her cell phone. Jack knew that she was videotaping him. He also realized that he was standing over a dead body, and he was holding a gun.

  It looked bad.

  Jack started toward the guard thinking of a way to explain the situation, but before he could say anything, the guard shouted, “The police are on the way!” and then ran back inside the bank.

  Jack could only imagine what the bystanders would tell the police, and what the video would corroborate.

  It looked really bad.

  Jack did the only thing that made sense at the time.

  He turned around and ran.

  CHAPTER 22

  Ethan sped away from the Walls’ McMansion and called his brother to see if they could affirm their findings about Rufus and Sarah. But when he called, Jack’s cell phone went right to voicemail.

  So he called Bailey, who picked up right away, “Talk to me, Gov. What did Wall’s first wife have to say for herself?”

  Ethan told him, “She hit on me.”

  “She hit on you?” Bailey repeated, now even more intrigued. “Did you close?”

  Ethan heard Emily whack Bailey in the background, and call him a pig. Ethan had to smile. They made for a cute duo. “She’s right,” Ethan said, “you are a pig. And no, I didn’t close.”

  “Then why did you mention it, just bragging?”

  “Because it indicates that the Walls had marriage issues. She looked like the kind of lady that married for money, and by the way she handled her liquor and came on to me, I’m sure I wasn’t the first guy she made moves on.”

  “So instead of asking for a divorce and letting her take him to the cleaners, you think he faked his death, stole an identity, and married Brooke?”

  Ethan knew Bailey was mocking him, and the theory did sound far-fetched, especially when Bailey added, “So his cheating whore of a wife could cash in on his life insurance policy or something?”

  “It might be a shrewd way to avoid an expensive divorce,” Ethan said, “just become another person.”

  “Nice exit strategy for him, I suppose, but then why did he need to marry Brooke?”

  “Don’t know,” Ethan said. “But I have a good idea how they know each other—”

  Ethan heard Emily say to Bailey, “Tell him.”

  Bailey whispered, “I will.”

  “Tell me what?” Ethan asked.

  “Just finish what you were saying,” Bailey said. “How do they know each other?”

  “Dancing Rabbit,” Ethan told him. “They must have met there. Ther
e was one of those rabbit statues in the Walls’ home. Remember those silly rabbits Brooke gave us when we left the retreat—?”

  “‘Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids,’” Bailey laughed and performed the entire TV commercial from the seventies. “Did you have those ads here?”

  Bailey had started his career in advertising and had a slogan ready for every social reference. Ethan thought it was funny sometimes.

  Just then, he did not.

  “Stay with me,” Ethan said, “planet earth. Sarah Wall didn’t know what the rabbit statue was. She had never heard of Dancing Rabbit, which was strange, considering. Remember the Dancing Rabbit mantra—”

  “A place to transform.”

  “Exactly. We assumed they were talking metaphorically, about internal growth and all that psychobabble, right? But maybe they were talking about actual transformation, or as you put it, ‘exit strategies.’”

  Bailey laughed again and said, “Come to Dancing Rabbit for the kale, leave with a new name?”

  “I don’t know why you left advertising, Bailey.”

  Bailey sighed. “You think the tech biz is a young man’s game, advertising’s worse.”

  “Tell him,” Emily said again.

  “Tell me what?” Ethan asked. “Did you find out who CG is?”

  “Not yet, but Emily has a theory.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Don’t take it the wrong way—”

  “I don’t like the sound of it already.”

  Bailey took a deep breath and then said, “What if Brooke was with you just to get close to Stalker?”

  “Why should I take that the wrong way?” Ethan snapped back, considering the possibility. “You think she was a corporate spy?”

  “I don’t know,” Bailey said, “but I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, ‘Keep your enemies close.’”

  Ethan scoffed. “So I’m supposed to be the enemy in this theory?”

  “Just think about it…You met her at Dancing Rabbit where she was living this alternative lifestyle and she immediately gives it all up, everything she was doing, and moves down to Santa Monica to be with you. Always seemed a tad dodgy—”

  “We fell in love,” Ethan interjected.