In Autumn's Wake

by Maguire, Megan

  The office space that I share with my dad is small. I set the take-out box on my cluttered desk and put on my black baseball cap, lowering it over my eyes.

  The warm swirl of Vicodin has left me without a smidgeon of pain. It’s a great high, easy to understand why people get hooked on the stuff. My addictive urges are already pining for more.

  I sit down and look at my bandaged hand, then stare at my phone, deciding to send Autumn a quick text. One final contact before I get lost at work for the rest of the night.

  Can’t wait 2CU Friday.

  I sit back and lock my ankles under the chair, jiggling my feet in anticipation. Her return text makes me chuckle: a set of emoji lips and an eggplant.

  Cute, Autumn.

  The nervous wave that takes over my stomach when a girl has me whipped has returned. Months spent taking home one-night stands from the bar was nothing but upsetting. Autumn’s different. She silences my thoughts of Heather and Jake better than alcohol, or ASMR videos, or having a quickie with a random girl. She’s the start of something good.

  I feel a twinge.

  A beat.

  Hope.

  I look up at a shadow growing in the hallway, not at all surprised when my smile for Autumn dies at the sight of Cockeyed Eddie.

  “Ed, we don’t open until five.”

  He walks in and closes the door, one eye surveying my dad’s empty chair, the other on me.

  “You alone?” he asks.

  “Yeah, my dad’s always off on Mondays. You know that.”

  I glance at his outfit. White sweatshirt and black sweatpants that have a hole in the knee and grease stains on the thighs where he wipes his hands after eating. He dresses like a slob when he’s not in uniform. The guy doesn’t care about a damn thing.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  He sits in the wooden chair across from me and folds his arms, a sneering grin on his face, his legs swinging open and closed. I bet he’s in a cheerful mood because of my busted face.

  “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.” He clucks his tongue. “Word on the street is that you got your ass kicked last night.”

  “So?” I pull my box of wings closer.

  “So, what were you doing at Autumn’s loft? I told you to stay away from her.” His sleeves are rolled up over his elbows, and I notice the tense muscles in his forearms. “You not understand English? Non capisco? Je ne comprends pas? Nie rozumiem? Any of that make sense? Italian, French, Polish? What language will make it stick?”

  I stare at the desk, avoiding eye contact.

  “You better listen to me about this one.” He raps the desk to get my attention, then leans back and crosses his arms again. “You may not like me or wanna take my advice. Why, I don’t know. We used to be best buds, but this—”

  “Yeah, I liked you until you started beating Sean and me with your baton for stupid shit.” I glare at him. “And do I have to repeat it? What about Heather’s note? You’ve kept her dying words from me for a year, and now you’re gonna tell me who I can hang with? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  His chunky legs stop swinging. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

  I pull in a lungful of air and drop my chin to my chest. “Every time I see you, it’s a trigger. A fight for Heather’s note. Either tell me or get the hell out.”

  “Stop acting like such a putz and tell me why you were you at Autumn’s place.”

  My lips form a thin line. “You don’t own my dick, Ed. It’s none of your business what I was doing over there.”

  “It is my business. You’d better stay away from her.”

  I fling open my box of wings and pry the lid off the blue cheese dressing. “I know who she is. I can handle it.”

  “Tell me then, who do you think she is?”

  “Farren Black’s daughter. Big whoop.”

  He laughs and goes back to swinging his legs.

  “And”—I pick up a wing and point it at him—“I know she works for Rick in his department, just like Sean and I are stuck working for you. She’s an informant, like us.”

  “Snoops,” he says.

  “Rats,” I say.

  “Moles.” He reaches across the desk and flips my cap off my head, pushing his index finger into the bridge of my nose. “Tell me what else, know-it-all.”

  “What do you mean, what else?” I swat his poking finger away.

  “That’s what I thought and why I’m here. I’m not against you, Dylan. I don’t spend my entire day planning ways to make you miserable.”

  “You sure about that?”

  His palm smacks the desk, and I jump back. “You little prick, I’ve known you since you were in the womb. I went to your football games when you were a kid. I made you and Sean a fortune when you were teens. I’m the reason you had a down payment for your house, and you’ve never even said thanks. Not once. Not for anything.”

  I shove my chair back and plod over to my dad’s desk, pulling out a metal box from the bottom drawer. I bring it over to him and drop it on my desk, counting out the amount of cash my dad said we owed.

  “Thanks, Ed. Thanks for all your frickin’ help.” I slam the wad down in front of him. “Yep. You’ve done a lot for our family.” I put my cap back on and sit down, pulling my chair tight to the desk. “Goddamn bully.”

  He counts it out, one eye on the money, the other on me, pushing four hundred of it forward. “That’s your pay from Friday night.”

  I push it back. “For a year I’ve been saying I don’t want these jobs. I went to that last house party only because you said I owed you. Payback for stepping in at the Andersons’, remember?”

  “Take it.”

  “No. That’s bullshit.” I tap the pile of cash. “We give you this money, and then my dad wants to give you a bonus for saving me from being arrested. You get paid twice. Then you want to give it to me for helping you out with a drug bust that turned sour, a bust that you clubbed me over. Screw that. I’m not taking my dad’s money from the bar for snitch jobs. You can keep it.”

  “Give it to Sean.”

  “He doesn’t want it either.” I wave my hands from side to side. “We’re done. Finished.”

  He counts the money a second time like he doesn’t trust me. “If some of the guys in my department need a favor, they’re gonna turn to you, not some new guy they don’t know.” He flaps the money at me. “You can’t back out, buddy. Not with the evidence stacked against you. Not with the men you’ve ‘mistakenly’ killed because you have the temperament of a rabid dog.”

  “I was a kid when I stepped into this!” Heat fires up the back of my neck.

  He smiles and smells the bills. “You were a greedy SOB who wanted to buy video games and other useless teenage junk.”

  “I’m far from greedy.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about Autumn? Hope you didn’t fuck her.” He sets the money down and looks me in the eye. “You’ll be dead if you did.”

  My nostrils flare, feet jiggling under my chair. “Why, because you want her? Is that the problem here?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Then what?”

  He strains to lift his foot onto his knee, but it slips to the floor. “Dylan, let me be frank with you.” He pulls his ankle back up by the cuff of his sweats and holds it on his opposite leg with one hand, downright uncomfortable, losing any semblance of authority. “You listening to me?” he asks.

  “I am.” But I’m not. I’m scrolling through my cell phone texts to Autumn from Sunday night.

  He knocks my cell away. “This”—he puts his hand on the cash—“isn’t anything new. Men have been paying cops for a hundred years. Be thankful your dad and I are friends, and it’s not some peckerhead coming in here once a month to screw him over.”

  “How are you not screwing him over? Us. Screwing us over?”

  He looks at my dad’s desk. “You’re just like your old man.”

  “Good.”


  “It’s not good. Marzniaks talk a lot of shit and can’t stay out of trouble. Your battered face and temper are proof of that. Stuff gets under your skin too easily.”

  “And?”

  “And, it’ll never happen that two people are equal. Someone always has to be on top.” He leans forward and gets in my face. His black hair is greasy as if he hasn’t showered in days. “That person can’t always be you. Learn to keep your mouth shut and behave.”

  “Is this going anywhere?” I dip a wing in blue cheese dressing and take a bite.

  “Yeah, don’t kill guys in the alley, especially ones you don’t know. He could’ve been a bigwig on the streets. And like I said, someone has to be on top. That’d be me in this situation.” He steals one of my wings and dunks it in the blue cheese, spilling the dressing over the sides of the container. “Every dark corner, every turn in life, there’ll always be someone against you. Could even be your family, or the woman you’re with. You need to stay cool and keep an eye out for yourself.”

  “Is that what you do? Fend for yourself?”

  “Always.”

  I shake my head. He doesn’t care that he sickens me.

  “This isn’t the safest neighborhood to have a business.” He picks chicken wing sauce out of his fingernails. “Anything can happen. Look at the sub shop two blocks down that was broken into last month, and the place next to the pool hall that burned to the ground.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped any of that from happening.”

  “You sure?” He raises a brow. “The break-in was by an East Side gang. They won’t touch a business paying a salary to a cop. We get the word out fast when a place is under our watch, which the sub shop wasn’t. But you, your dad, and the bar are safe under my watch.”

  I rub the nape of my neck. Ed’s presence is suppressing the Vicodin. “It’s your job to do this without us paying you.”

  “Hey, if it’s not me, somebody else will step in. This is the way it is. Be happy I’m on your side.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “On my side? If that’s the case, why don’t you tell me what Heather said?”

  “Don’t start that shit again.” He wipes his fingers on his sweatpants, licks his lips with his fat tongue. “That note you’ve been pining away for needs to be set on fire.”

  His comment steals my breath. I push back from the desk and spring out of my chair, slamming my fist down in front of him. “Maybe you need to be set on fire!”

  “See.” He waves a finger at me. “That anger is what I’m talking about. You’re better off not knowing.”

  I bare my teeth. “Better off? Having to guess what happened to her and making up stories in my head is better off?” I pace to my dad’s desk and back. “Being gutted like a fish and my heart ripped out is better off? How so?” I run a hand through my hair. “Come on, Ed. Tell me how that’s so.”

  “Did you ever think about who died that night?”

  “What?”

  “Who died first?”

  “Wait. That’s not what you just said.” My brows draw together. “What did you say?”

  “Was Twig dead first? Or was it Heather?”

  “Hold on.” I rub my forehead. “Twig? How do you know Jake’s nickname? Heather called him that.” I step closer, my heart racing. “Was it in her note? What’d she say about him?”

  He looks back at the closed door and then at my dad’s desk as if someone’s listening. “This is why you’re better off never reading it. Look at you. I mention one thing, and you’re a mess.” He motions a hand up and down my body. “You’re trembling from head to foot. It’s not good for you.”

  I take another step closer, raising my voice. “What did Heather say about Jake?”

  “Why’d you snap and kill Trevor in the alley? Did you do the same that night to your little brother?”

  “You think I killed Jake?” My body turns numb. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  I told myself I’d never punch a cop. I said I’d never strike my dad’s best friend. I said it. I did. But I’m on him in under a second. He manages to duck from my swing, but my second punch clips his chin. I grumble and swear while swinging at his face until our wrestling match ends when his nails dig into my stitches. I wither from the pain, which gives him time to grab my arm and secure it behind my back. My face meets the wall. My legs are kicked apart.

  “Get a hold of yourself.” He huffs.

  “I won’t. How could you ask me something like that?”

  “The question is, why, Dylan. Why did I ask it?”

  “I didn’t kill Jake. I’d never hurt him!”

  A knock at the door saves me from Ed. I’m released, and he steps back.

  “Dylan?” It’s Tim. “It’s five. Customers are here. Everything okay in there?”

  I steady my breathing before opening the door, whispering to Tim that it’s just a misunderstanding and that I’ll be out soon, that everything’s cool.

  “I’m not buying it,” Tim says, looking at Ed.

  “No, we’re cool.” I sit at my desk and bring my box of wings back in front of me, acting as normal as I can. “Go back to work. It’s just a minor argument.”

  “All right. Holler if you need anything.” He gives Ed the finger before he heads out, something he’d never do if Ed were facing him.

  I straighten my shirt and cap, questioning what Heather wrote. Her nickname for Jake was out of love. When she met him, he was in a growth spurt. No muscle, just skin and bones, tall and lanky, a younger stick-like version of me. A twig.

  “You can’t start saying stuff about Jake without telling me more.” I lower my voice so no one outside the office can hear me. “Tell me that part of the note. What did Heather say about him?”

  Ed sits down and takes out his cell. He snaps a picture of my face, taps a note, and sends a message. “We’re not talking about her note anymore.” He puts his cell away.

  “Who’d you just send that to?”

  “No one.”

  “And yeah, we are talking about Heather’s note.”

  “Dylan, enough. I didn’t come here for that. I came to talk about Autumn.” He raises a finger, stopping my response. “Don’t. Don’t you dare cut me off. Don’t open your mouth. You just attacked like a wild boar and wanted to kill me. You have no control. None.” He touches his jaw where I swiped him. “You know how close you are to getting killed? A body showed up in our district this morning, dumped by Rick’s guys. We got word that the kid was the one they picked up from Autumn’s place. The kid you got in a fight with.”

  “Yeah, and how many times have you asked me to do the same for you? Isn’t that the game? Put the body in another district, let them deal with it.”

  “This isn’t a fucking game. Whatever you’ve started with Autumn is over. The guy you killed in the alley and what happened last night puts you at the top of somebody’s hit list. I guarantee it.”

  I suck in a bitter breath. “Both of the guys came after me. It was self-defense. And who is this Trevor guy anyway? I got pummeled last night because of him. Just tell me what’s going on for once instead of keeping secrets stuffed up your ass.”

  He lunges forward, but I seize his hand before he has a chance to hit me.

  “And you talk about my rage?” I whisper. “Who is he?”

  He jerks his hand free and pats my cheek, then gives me a stinging slap. “Little twit.” He takes his money and walks to the door, stopping when my cell rings. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turns around. “Go ’head and pick up, Dylan. Someone wants to talk to you.”

  I pick up my cell. “Yeah?” I answer my dad’s call.

  I stare at Ed. He smiles back. I tap my desk as my dad rants and raves about the photo Ed just sent him. “Yeah, I was in a fight. What do you think it’s from?” Ed crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb, ecstatic that I’m getting grilled. “Uh-huh. Yep. No, I didn�
�t start it … No, I didn’t know him … No, I didn’t hurt him … No, the cops weren’t involved … No, it’s not that bad … Yeah, Dad, I can work … No, you don’t have to come here … I said, NO.”

  I drop my cell on the desk and whip my baseball cap at Ed. He doesn’t even blink when it bounces off his chest and falls to the floor.

  “Get out.” I point past the doorway. “All the way out. Get out of the bar.”

  “Is Pete coming in?”

  “Leave!” My fist hits the desk.

  “Figured so.” He laughs. “I think I’ll stay and have a beer with him. He’ll need a drink after he sees you. How many times is this now? Fifty fights? More? Think you might listen to him for once?”

  I rest my head in my hands. Heather, the note, Jake’s nickname, paying Ed, Trevor, the guy from last night, everything is exploding inside my mind. Plus my headache’s back. I can’t stand it. I’m pissed at myself and pissed off at being pissed.

  “Oh, and Dylan. One last thing, buddy.”

  “No last things. Just go away.”

  “I pray you didn’t fuck Autumn.”

  I sit up and hook my feet around the chair legs, so I don’t come after him. “Why?”

  “Because she belongs to the mayor.” He grins. “She’s his whore.”

  17

  Sean stamps snow off his boots in the entryway to the bar. He waves when he sees me across the room, and I point to an empty table under the front window. He gives me the thumbs up, claiming the spot.

  I pour a pitcher and grab two beer mugs from Tim, then head over to the table to meet him.

  “You look terrible,” he says, knocking his boots together, sending mini snowballs onto the floor.

  “Thanks. Stop getting snow all over the place.” I place the pitcher and two mugs down, sitting across from him.

  He takes off his trapper hat and unzips his coat. “The weather’s shitty. Your mom called the house and said a lake-effect storm is moving in.” He sets the coat and hat on the empty chair between us.

  “Look at me.” I wave a hand over my face. “This is more important than the snow. I almost got killed last night.”