Matt opens the front door and slips inside. Wall-to-wall gray carpeting extends to the empty front desk. Framed color photos of houses, interiors, and entire communities hang on the walls.
Mr. Jacobs strides toward the front desk from the right-hand hallway. He’s casual in his dress, with jeans and a polo shirt. He takes long strides, like he’s trying to stretch his legs. His expression is open and unworried, with an air of hubris. A Mr. Jacobs can be found in successful circles of all types. Matt pictures him as the military general who soldiers willingly die for or the ex-football-player-turned-coach who his players love or the titan of business who approaches now.
“Matt, how have you been?” Mr. Jacobs says, smiling, his hand held out.
Matt shakes his hand, with a firm grip, that’s returned a bit firmer. “Mr. Jacobs.”
“What can I do for you? I normally reserve Sundays for family time, but it sounded urgent.”
“I need you to lift up your shirt.”
Mr. Jacobs smiles and looks around. “Excuse me?”
“I need you to lift up your shirt. I have something important to tell you, and I don’t wanna be recorded.”
Mr. Jacobs chuckles. “You’ve been watching too much TV, kid.”
“Please do it, or I can’t continue.”
He lifts his shirt, exposing a muscular physique of a man decades his junior.
“Now empty your pockets, and leave everything on the front desk,” Matt says.
Mr. Jacobs shakes his head and frowns. He puts some change, his wallet, a folded piece of paper, and his cell phone on the front desk.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Let’s take a walk.”
Matt exits the building and paces toward the pond, with Mr. Jacobs matching him stride for stride.
“What’s this about?”
“I like your pond. You wouldn’t need that aerator, if you didn’t kill all the aquatic plants with herbicide.”
“The pond people take care of it. Matt, stop. What is going on here?” Mr. Jacobs stops.
Matt continues to the asphalt path.
“I’m done with this game.”
“Just a little farther.”
Mr. Jacobs breaks into a trot. He catches up, as Matt reaches the bench near the woods.
“I need you to sit down here and sit on your hands,” Matt says.
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do,” Mr. Jacobs says. “Why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”
“Sorry, I can’t do that. Please sit on your hands. This is my last request.”
Mr. Jacobs exhales, sits down, and shoves his hands under his legs. Matt stands off to the side, close to the woods.
Mr. Jacobs has to crane his neck to see Matt. “I’m not playing any more of these goddamn games. I’ve got better things to do. Now why am I here?”
“These are the rules. We talk this out, but, if I see those hands move an inch, I’m gone. Understand?”
Mr. Jacobs is red-faced. “Let’s move this along. You’re really trying my patience.”
Matt stares at Mr. Jacobs’s hands. “Here’s the thing,” Matt says. You’re a pretty successful guy—”
“Let me stop you right there. If this is about money, whatever scheme you think you got cooked up, my lawyers will bury you.”
“I don’t want a dime from you.”
Mr. Jacobs’s body relaxes.
“It’s your wife who wants money and lots of it too.”
“What the hell is this about?” His hands twitch. His muscles flex.
“Watch those hands, if you wanna know what this is about.”
He pushes his hands back to their original position. “I don’t know what you think you know.”
“I know your wife, Jill, has suspected you of having affairs. She’s never actually caught you, because you’re pretty slippery. I’m sure you tell her how crazy she is to think something like that. You’ve probably given the poor woman a complex. I’m gonna give her a new lease on life, a golden parachute if you will.”
“I know we have some history, but I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in right now.”
“Here’s the thing. I have evidence of your affair with Dr. Hansen that I plan to share with your wife, if you don’t give me what I need. I really don’t wanna burn your sham of a marriage to the ground. That’s not something I wanna be involved in.”
Mr. Jacobs cackles. “That’s funny, Matt. You actually think my wife gives a shit what I do? You think she doesn’t do the same? We have an arrangement. I’m sorry for laughing, I know you’re just a kid, but, believe it or not, married people can agree to see other people.”
“Nice try, John. Can I call you John? You call me Matt, so I should be able to call you John. I am swimming in the deep end now, right? If you don’t care that I expose your affair, go ahead, stand up, and I’ll be gone.”
John sits still, his face reddening.
“That’s what I thought. What I really want is evidence of the unlawful imprisonments of teenagers by Dr. Hansen and also, I suspect, Chief Campbell.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dr. Hansen and Chief Campbell get kickbacks for arresting kids and sending them to juvenile detention on trumped-up charges. Judge Toomey presides over these cases, so I’m sure he’s involved too.”
“If I knew about this stuff, I’d gladly turn them in for nothing, but I don’t. Maybe your judgment’s clouded. I know you got a raw deal with your land and what happened with your uncle. So maybe you want some revenge, but you’re wrong, and you’re gonna end up in prison, if you’re not careful. I could go to the police right now and tell them how you’re extorting me for money. Extortion is a felony.”
“Information, not money. And good luck proving that.”
“I’m actually trying to help you, Matt. Remember when I tried to buy your land and I told you it was the best thing for you. It was, wasn’t it? I told you the township was gonna come down on you. If your uncle had taken my offer, he’d be alive, and you’d be living in a nice house right now. I know you think your uncle’s death was your fault.”
Matt’s eyes are glassy. “That’s none of your business.”
“I felt really bad about what happened.”
Matt clenches his fists. “What exactly do you feel bad about?”
“Listen, I never did like adverse-possession seizures. They’re about as un-American as you can get. The HOA took the land. I just built on it. I really did want you and your uncle to walk away with a pile of money. Hell, I would’ve made a lot more money if your uncle would’ve just sold the land to me.”
“So Dr. Hansen and Chief Campbell must’ve done quite well?”
“I can’t speak for them. Business is pretty nasty these days. You can’t just be a good businessman anymore. Local governments, with their permits and zoning laws, you really gotta work with these slimy bureaucrats. I don’t make the rules.”
Matt glares at John. “You just benefit from them.”
“Maybe.” John looks at the pond, then back to Matt. “I do feel bad about what happened to your uncle. Believe it or not, you remind me of myself once upon a time. I grew up in Pottsville, dirt poor. I used to believe in right and wrong, the good guys always win.”
“So there’s no right and wrong? Is that the bullshit you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
John exhales and shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. When I started my construction business thirty years ago, I was gonna take care of my clients and outwork my competition. That was my business plan. I really struggled, and I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong.
“Then you take an inspector out to lunch, and, before you know it, the guy’s collecting a consulting check and your jobs don’t get delayed. You get to know the township board. You take ’em golfing and donate money. Before you know it, you’re dropping off envelopes filled with cash, and then projects—that others couldn’t get approved—start
to go through. Residents don’t care either. Everyone’s so apathetic. We’re lucky if we get five people at our township meeting.”
Matt rolls his eyes. “I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“My point is, you can’t go through life thinking in terms of black and white, good and bad. People are gray. Everyone in your life will disappoint you, if you can’t accept that.”
“Are you gonna give me what I need?”
“You’re not listening. I told you. I don’t have that information. I might have money and some power, but not that kind of power. I do have a counteroffer for you.”
“I’m listening.”
John leans forward. “Can I put my hands in my lap?”
“No.”
John frowns. “I have a copy of the original coroner’s report of your uncle’s death.”
Matt’s heart beats rapidly. “How did you get that?”
“Let’s just say I’m friendly with the doc.”
“You knew I was gonna do this.” Matt exhales and shakes his head.
“This isn’t my first backdoor deal. In fairness, I thought you were gonna try to shake me down for money. I wanted to have a bargaining chip. The deal is, I show you the report, and you hand over the evidence you have.”
“How do you know that I don’t have copies?”
“I’m sure you do, but I’m fairly certain that, if you make this deal, you won’t feel compelled to ruin my life.”
“I can’t make that deal, until after I see the report.”
“Fair enough, but I won’t show you the report, until I see what you have.”
Matt grabs six photos from his back pocket and steps toward John. He holds out the photos.
“Can I use my hands now?”
Matt nods. John opens and closes his fists several times, his fingers going from white to tan. He flips through the pictures with a small grin. He shakes his head and chuckles.
“That’s pretty definitive,” John says. “You’d make a good P.I.”
“I have one more request,” Matt says.
“Okay.”
“You can’t tell Hansen I took these.”
“Okay, fair enough, but, if you do contact my wife, I’ll tell Hansen.”
“That’s fair.” Matt and John stare at each other. “So, let’s see it,” Matt says.
“We’re gonna have to go back to the office.”
Matt scowls.
“You made me empty my pockets, remember?”
John walks toward his office. Matt follows five paces behind. They walk silently. The air is still, only the occasional goose honk to break the monotony. John disappears around the front corner of the building. Matt takes the turn wide, in case danger lurks. John holds the glass door open. Matt hesitates at the threshold. John lets the door go and strides to the front desk. Matt catches the door with his foot and enters. John holds out a folded piece of paper, his arm stretched from his body, revealing a basketball player’s wingspan.
“Before you read this, I want you to know that, if anyone finds out you have this, it could be dangerous for you,” John says. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“I do,” Matt says.
“This is only for your peace of mind. You cannot go to the police with this. Do you understand me?”
Matt nods, reaches out, snatches the paper, and takes few steps back. John sits down on a chair against the wall, looking up at Matt. Matt unfolds the paper.
Jefferson County Coroner
101 Anthracite Ave.
Jefferson, PA 17880
Case No. 10-272
Date of death 10/22/2000
White male, age 78.
Moyer, Jack M.
12 Church Road
Jefferson, Pennsylvania 17880
On October 22, 2000, Jefferson County Hospital reported Jack Moyer dead on arrival at 8:48 p.m. The Jefferson County Police investigated and reported that the deceased died of blunt force trauma to the head. After reviewing the evidence and completing the autopsy, it is the finding of this office that Mr. Moyer died from asphyxiation caused by strangulation and pulmonary edema. Mr. Moyer had bruising around his neck, subconjunctival hemorrhages, and an accumulation of fluid within the parenchyma and air spaces of the lungs.
Patricia Davis, M.D.
Acting Coroner, Jefferson County, Pennsylvania
Matt stares at the carpet in a daze, his head sagging. Tears spill down Matt’s face. He staggers to a chair along the wall. He sits, drops the paper and buries his head in his hands. His body shakes; tears slip between his fingers.
“It wasn’t your fault,” John says.
+++
Matt lays awake, his eyes open, listening to Ryan snore. Whenever Matt closes his eyes, he sees Chief Campbell, with his thick hands around Uncle’s frail neck. Matt removes the covers and slides out of bed. He dresses, grabs his boots, and slips into the dark hallway. He tiptoes downstairs and opens the front door, holding the doorknob under control to avoid the loud click, as he allows the latch bolt to seat in the doorjamb.
On the front porch he steps into his boots and laces them up. He strides to the backyard and into the woods. He’s guided by the occasional moonlight, peeking through the forest canopy, as he hikes toward Kingstown.
He comes to a familiar clearing. He avoids the motion-activated light along the back of the vinyl-sided McMansion. He creeps under the deck, next to the hot tub. He grabs a handful of pea gravel and shoves the rocks into his pocket. He hugs the side of the house to the front. The windows are dark. He sprints to the garage, and crouches between the garage and the repaired Mercedes SUV. He glances at Tyler’s lifted Jeep parked along the curb. I wonder if he still keeps his baseball bats in there? He shakes his head. It’s just stuff. They can always fix stuff. I can never fix Uncle.
He wipes his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He steps back, standing between the Mercedes and Mr. Hansen’s Toyota 4 Runner. He looks up at her window over the garage. He grabs a few pebbles from his pocket. He throws one. It misses, landing short on the asphalt shingles. He throws another, hitting the window dead center. He stops, watching the window. No movement inside. He continues to toss pebbles. After five minutes of consistent plinking, the bedroom light clicks on.
The window opens, and Emily sticks out her head. Her face is radiant and glowing white in the moonlight. Her blond hair is tied back in a ponytail. Her lips are full and pink, without lipstick. Her features are round and soft, no hard edges. Matt motions for her to come down.
She puts up one finger and mouths Hold on.
After a few minutes, she opens the window wide. She steps onto the garage roof in hiking boots, light blue pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. She shuts her window and inches to the edge of the garage, looking down at Matt. She sits on the edge and dangles her feet. Eight feet of air stand between her dangling feet and the concrete driveway below.
“I’m gonna jump,” she whispers.
“I’ll catch you.”
Matt positions himself underneath her, his arms held up. She pushes off, her body in free fall, her arms flapping like she’s trying to fly. Matt braces himself for impact. He positions his arms under her armpits. Her boots slam onto the pavement, her knees bend, and Matt gives some support. She stands with a smile, Matt’s arms around her in an embrace. She tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. She stays, letting him hold on to her. He holds tighter, burying his face into her neck. Her skin is soft and smells like vanilla. Her smile turns down.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
He doesn’t answer.
“Let’s go to the trail,” she says. “We’re gonna get caught out here.”
He lets go; they walk through the woods to the mulch trail that used to connect Kingstown to his farm. Now it’s advertised as a nature walk, a welcome respite from hectic workdays. Once in the woods, she stops.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yes. No. … I don’t know.” He shakes his h
ead. “I want you to go home with me, to the farm.”
“You’re scaring me. You do know it’s gone.”
He smirks. “I know, but I need you to see. You’re the only one who knows it like I did. Nobody cares about what happened. It’s just progress. I need someone else to justify …”
She grabs his hand. “I care. What happened was wrong.”
“You didn’t see what I had to do. I want you to see.”
“Okay, show me.”
They walk hand in hand through the forest, their steps softened by the mulch. He points to a clearing off to the right.
“That’s where I dumped the chickens,” he says.
She looks at him with her eyebrows raised.
“We were gonna lose the farm with all the code violations, so I had to kill the chickens. I didn’t even have enough time to harvest all the meat. I just cut the breasts out and dumped the carcasses over there. They were still laying, and I killed them for nothing.”
She squeezes his hand. “You had to, or you were gonna lose the farm.”
He looks at her, his eyes glassy. “We lost the farm anyway … and Uncle. This happened because I compromised what I believe in. I thought I’d make one concession, and then it would be over, but it wasn’t. I can’t lie to myself anymore. I didn’t have to do it. I should’ve said no. If I can’t stand up and do what’s right when things are hard, what’s the point? Someone will always be able to push me around, if they apply the right pressure.” Matt looks down.
Against the Grain Page 19