Cradle Robber

by Staron, Chris

  He was ready.

  The data uncovered some interesting patterns. Carter ran on a tight schedule. Every day after work he left the lot around five and walked south through the square. Carter made the journey alone, his coworkers so fed up with him that they never hung out after hours. They made faces at him as he left, but Carter never noticed. Wade overheard their taunts one day as he pretended to inspect a sedan in the showroom. They labeled Carter as a drunk, a pretty boy who cost the company more money than he made. But he palled around with the owners and that earned him special privileges.

  When he left work, the kid donned expensive sunglasses to hide his gaze as he ogled beautiful girls that walked by. On Fridays he picked up a trashy newspaper from a display rack at the corner, flipped through the pages, then threw the publication to the ground in front of a group of kids. What a scumbag.

  But you could set your watch by him.

  Carter drank alone, usually beer, no “wing-man” to speak of. Though he behaved like a slob, he attracted plenty of girls too drunk to notice. Several of the nights that Wade followed him, Carter took a woman home and that’s where Wade stopped his spying. He didn’t need the gory details, only the facts. He must get data if he intended to off this kid. Or, if he forgave him, he needed to know the best time to get the kid alone.

  Planning was paramount. This encounter must go better than their chat at Jokerz. What a junk show. Wade couldn’t take another one of those. He was foolish to think that confronting Carter in a bar was productive. Of course it wasn’t. Nobody tries to forgive someone else in a bar. To do it right he must make amends before the lad got drunk.

  He calculated Friday evening at five o’clock as the best time for a confrontation. The weekends made Carter happy, easier to deal with. Why not catch him in a good mood? If Carter showed himself as the creature of habit that Wade suspected, he’d be on his way to the pub to find his next victim in a few minutes. That gave Wade six, maybe seven minutes to confront the kid before he reached the nearest watering hole. Six minutes to forgive, that’s all he needed. Once he got this out of the way, he could move on with his life, stop his ridiculous pursuit after nothing. Maybe he'd start dating again, go to the movies..., but first he should bury the hatchet. He needed to get the young man alone long enough to get the words out and then…, the rest was up to Carter.

  Wade slouched in his nondescript navy cardigan and red baseball cap. Pigeons pecked at the ground by his feet. Traffic rushed blindly past. He raised the camera and focused the telephoto lens. Carter sat at his desk playing Minesweeper on his computer. Lazy. Didn’t Carter’s boss ever check in on him?

  Wade’s hands were slick with sweat. Nervousness rose above the bacon cheeseburger in his stomach. You couldn’t ask for a better day. Blue skies, a warm breeze, light foot traffic. Nothing to obscure their conversation. The moment had arrived.

  At three minutes past five, Carter exited through the rear door and embarked on his usual trek toward the square. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his sport coat, and fussed with what remained of his messy hair. In one minute Carter would be up the hill.

  Let him come to you, Wade. Don’t jump the gun.

  Thirty seconds to get himself ready. So much to think about. Wade shoved the legal pads into his backpack and zipped everything up. Was his speech ready in his head? Could he say everything he planned? He yanked at the ball cap, bending the brim in an arc. Deep breaths.

  Fifteen seconds.

  The tension was palpable, his saliva thick. Too thick. The onion from the burger made his throat hurt. Acid reflux. Blood pounded in his temples. Carter approached, almost up the rise, fiddling with loose change to buy his dirty magazine.

  Ten seconds. Five.

  This was it. Now was his time. Wade stood, quickened his step, and was soon within a few feet of Carter. At the vending machine the young man inserted his quarters and pulled out the girlie magazine. Right on schedule. Wade took a deep breath and sidled up to his target.

  Carter did not seem surprised to see him. Instead, he smiled and patted Wade on the shoulder. “Had a feeling I’d see you again.”

  “I need to talk with you.”

  Carter flipped through the magazine and started walking. “Sure, big man, what you got?”

  Wade jammed his hands into his pockets. No amount of rehearsal prepared him for this moment. This was real. His vocal cords hurt. On top of the pain, he had to deal with the dirty magazine. He kept his gaze high to avoid the busty women in Carter’s hands.

  Stick to the script. Start positive.

  “You remember when I picked you up for MissionFocus the first time? We went out to pizza with some other guys. We talked for a while. Sound familiar?”

  That old swagger. Carter rocked back and forth, casting judging looks on Wade. “I don’t remember. That was a long time ago.”

  “I told you about your potential to change the world. You remember that?”

  There it was, the cynical glare, like Carter'd heard the stupidest comment of his life. It could curdle milk.

  “You don’t recall?” asked Wade.

  “Dude, you probably said that to every sucker that walked in the doors.”

  “I didn’t. Only to you. And Angela, oddly enough. I was right though. You changed everything…, for me.”

  Carter pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket. He offered one to Wade who pushed it away. “Well, I have a feeling you didn’t come here to thank me.”

  “I still think you can reach your full potential.”

  “Do you?” Carter took another pull and blew the smoke between his teeth. They crossed the road at the crosswalk and pressed through the small park at the center of town. “If I’m correct it's still a sin to lie.”

  Wade bit his thumbnail, fighting to stay civil. The mood swing came, rising like a pendulum ready to sway. A thick wave of heat rolled across Wade’s chest, around the shoulders and up the back of his neck.

  “Actually, no. I guess I don't think you can get better.” They stepped off of a curb and crossed Gower Street. Two well-dressed women skirted past, Carter's eyes locked on them. “My gut tells me that you'll never change. I’m not a fatalist, but…, you seem set to continue forward until…, until someone puts you to rest.”

  The smoke blew into Wade’s face. His sinuses flared up, like someone clamped his nose with a vise.

  Carter coughed hard. “When you say nice things like that it makes me wonder why we don’t talk more often.”

  “I think we should get this out of the way.”

  Carter stopped in his tracks, plowing his fingers through his hair. “I mean, what’s your problem?” He stared down at his old mentor, condescending. Carter towered over Wade, blocking the evening sunlight. “You're making too big a deal of this, Wade. I'm not Hitler. I'm an average schmo in eastern Indiana. Not much of a Stalin either, if we're talking dictators. Just a small town used car salesman looking to make a buck. If you want to get angry at something, go to Africa and stop a genocide. Maybe nobody told you, but I’m not that big of a deal.”

  Wade drew a breath. No, the kid was not Stalin, but that didn’t disqualify him from justice. Missiles and guns stop genocides; economic pressure can help, too. But what about the little devils in our own lives? Why must they prevail? Whose job is it to stop them?

  Wade spit a blob of mucus into the grass.

  “I should say that I have to believe in a world where people can change,” spewed Wade. “I can't imagine what I'd do if….”

  “...if losers like me kept being losers?”

  The kid did not show any sign of shame at his self-deprecation. Instead, he wore it like a red badge of courage, like it pleased him to be a dirt bag. Wade quickened his pace to keep up with Carter. It was impossible to stay side by side and talk at the same time.

  “Ten years ago there was a young woman walking this earth. She loved you. Thought the world of you. You promised her love, that you’d always stick around. As soon as she gave you what you wa
nted, you told her to get an abortion.”

  Carter didn’t say a word. A cocky smirk broke across his lips. Wade continued.

  “Murder. You made her commit murder for you. Against an unborn child. A child who would live and breathe right this very minute if you’d mustered the guts to do the right thing. But you didn’t, did you? You decided to take the easy way out. Didn’t want your responsibilities to get in the way of your immediate desires.”

  Carter kicked at an old beer can in his way. “And you’ve held on to this for the last ten years?”

  “Yes. Every night I lie awake and wonder what I could have done to stop it.”

  The streets narrowed. They could not stand next to each other on the sidewalk. Carter pulled ahead, flicking ashes from the Camel. Wade fought to stay nearby, like a child walking behind his mother. It only increased his anger. He could not give in to his mood swing. The warmth of it lingered, urging an outburst, but he fought back. Uncontrolled anger was useless. Do it right.

  Carter pursed his lips and stared into the distance. “Don't you see how pathetic it is that you're still holding on to this?”

  “Pathetic?” Pathetic? How can you forget a crime?

  “It happened a long time ago.”

  This was not the plan. Instead of being on the offense, he ran defense, justifying his actions to a murderer. He'd rehearsed it differently. Carter should have begged for forgiveness by now.

  Carter set his hand on Wade’s back. “She made her own decisions. Nobody pushed her in front of that train. Not you, not her parents, and, if you remember, not me either.”

  “But abortion is murder,” growled Wade, shoving his way past a group of pedestrians.

  “Also not my fault. I didn't do the operation. I wasn't the one who walked in there.”

  Wade grabbed Carter by the scruff of his sport jacket, pulling him back. “What are you responsible for? When are you going to realize that your actions have consequences?”

  Carter remained cool, surprisingly cool, face relaxed, voice even. He stared at Wade until he released his grip.

  “When are you going to let the past stay the past?” Carter straightened his jacket and started walking again. “Wade, we have a history. I understand that. You feel bad that your protégé didn't follow you. Well, guess what? I still don't care. If you need to blame me, blame me. But at the end of the day, Angela walked into that clinic. Angela jumped in front of that train.”

  How could the kid be so insensitive? “And what about her parents?”

  “What about them?” Carter flicked the cigarette from his fingers, not bothering to put it out.

  “You put them through a nightmare. Their only daughter is dead. She's gone. Barb was so mortified she died blaming herself. How can you live knowing you caused that to happen?”

  A laugh. Carter laughed. The gall of this kid. “Having sex doesn't cause those things.”

  “No, but ignoring the consequences of sex does.”

  Another group of women passed by and Carter followed them with his eyes. He stopped and flipped through the magazine, as if comparing the girls to the smut in front of him. Wade burned. They entered the bad part of town. It changed quickly from pristine brick buildings to burned out factories. This area was grayer, dilapidated. The bar lay only minutes away.

  Wade knocked the magazine out of Carter’s hands. “Have you listened to a word I've said?”

  Carter glared at him, his eyes pinched tight. “I don't have to listen to you anymore, Wade. I done growed up.” Carter took off, marching toward the bar, leaving the magazine on the ground.

  Wade ran at him. He grabbed Carter's shoulder and spun him around with a force neither man expected, stopping him cold. “You listen to me. None of us knows the power hidden inside of any man. I could have a gun. I could kill you right now.”

  “You have a gun?”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Carter put his face inches away, his hot breath grating against Wade’s cheeks. It was the same breath that dripped down his neck ten years earlier when a shotgun stood between them in Carter’s room. It sent a chill down Wade’s spine.

  “Pull the trigger, old man.”

  Wade was stunned. The kid called his bluff, strutting his bravado for the world to see. It made him furious.

  “Stop it.”

  Carter stared at his mentor. Incapacitated, Wade stood helpless in the judging eyes of the youth.

  “Pull the trigger, Wade. Let’s see what you've got. We both know that you don't have it in you. You're too chicken. You serve a God of love, right? Why don't you spread happiness around? That will change me. Invite me to potlucks, get your small group to pray, see how far that gets you. Or maybe you should do us both a favor and pull that trigger right now.”

  Wade breathed quick, short gasps. His face burned. All of the safety cables came unleashed. This was not the healing that he sought. Carter liked it. He liked picking a fight. Well, he’d get his fight. They stood face to face, in the middle of the sidewalk. A brick wall towered over them. They were only a hundred feet away from the nearest bar. One hundred feet. Another minute and the kid would disappear.

  “You may not be Stalin,” growled Wade. “But you take the emotions of these women and you toy with them, robbing them of what they long for, using their needs for your own pleasure.” Wade ran in front of Carter, blocking him from the bar. “You're not taking their lives, but you are suffocating their souls.”

  “They do so willingly.”

  “I came here to forgive you,” growled Wade.

  “You can keep it.” Carter tried to walk past, but Wade shuffled in front of him.

  “You don't know what you're up against.” Wade tightened his grasp on the kid, digging his fist into his chest. “You don't know what this means.”

  “I know that you're a frightened little man that doesn't have what it takes. You're afraid of me. Maybe you secretly want to be me. Wish you hadn't spent your life trying to make everyone into little versions of yourself. You're envious that I've got women everywhere. You're jealous because you've spent your life on your knees, and I've spent mine getting high and romancing beautiful women. Is that what this is about? Is that it? Do you want to be like Carter?”

  “Stop.”

  Carter inched closer. “You wish you could get rid of Angela like I did. She means nothing to me. None of these women mean anything to me. It’s a game. A beautiful game where I tell them lies and they give me sex in return. It's great not living under your rules. You can stand there in your baggy clothes and judge me all you want. I'm going to go to the bar, get myself good and drunk, and see who I can take home tonight. And you're going to go back to your little house and curse the day I was born. Now which of us would you rather be?”

  Silence fell between them. Carter slipped out of Wade's grasp and continued his journey to the pub. Wade bit his lip, angry, dejected, and alone.

  Nothing changed. The young man didn't pay for the crimes he committed. If only he’d brought a gun. He could take care of it all right now and watch as fear filled the leech’s eyes moments before death took him away. How satisfying. That would be justice.

  Wade ran and pulled Carter from behind.

  “This moment has weight, Carter. You need to take it very seriously. I promise that you will never get another chance to live this again, to plead your case.”

  With a shrug of his shoulder, Carter broke loose. “I don't need your threats.”

  “They are more than threats, I can assure you.”

  Carter leaned in, inches away. “I'm not afraid of you. You can do nothing to me, old man. And if you do, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself. Now get out of my face before I give you something to be angry about.”

  Carter pushed past an oncoming group of people, leaving Wade in the background.

  Let the past stay in the past? Carter had no idea how much grief he caused. He killed a baby and wrote it off as something that society can forget. Like he could sweep it under a r
ug. The Bible says that God hates murderers. Carter was a murderer. He killed that baby and walked away with no recourse for his sin.

  Someone ought to make him pay.

  If there was any justice in the world, the ingrate would taste it.

  The rage of ten years alone in his garage welled inside of him. All of those teenagers he mentored and all the hearings he attended. Jail sentences, drug court, welfare. This was about more than Angela. This was about all the times a kid crushed his soul. What about Linda's wedding? He was supposed to stand at that altar with Linda. He’d missed his chance because of Angela's death. Actions don't have any consequences? What about that? What about the woman he was supposed to marry? Wade couldn’t just get over it.