by A. M. Arthur
A familiar thump on the porch had Donata leaping off the couch, aimed for the front door. The residents all pooled their money for a Sunday morning newspaper subscription, each for different reasons. Sydney loved the comics pages. Donata and Cherie wanted to read the entertainment section. Will enjoyed the challenge of the crossword puzzle and any other games he could find.
They all took turns reading everything, of course, but it was often a battle to see who got their favorite section first.
Donata dashed outside to grab the paper, and she had it out of the plastic bag before she even had the door shut again. She tucked the bag under her armpit while she unfolded the paper, already absorbed in the front page.
“What’s so interesting?” Will asked. He never bothered trying to snatch the paper up first. No one else wanted the crossword.
“Cops had a massive drug bust last night,” she said without looking up.
Will went cold all over. “Really?”
“Yeah, brought down a kingpin and a bunch of lieutenants. I mean, those aren’t the words in the article, but that’s what I’m getting. Confiscated all kinds of money and drugs and guns.”
He hadn’t heard from Morrell since Wednesday, so it was unlikely the drug bust was related to his own case, but the timing made him wonder...
“This shit’s wild,” Donata said. “Basically, they pick up a guy for the murder of a former John Doe, who it turns out worked for the same guys the killer worked for, and in order to get a deal, the killer turned in his boss, who’s like a huge supplier of heroin to the area.”
Will hadn’t completely followed her on that. “Can I read it? Please?”
“Sure.” She shoved the front page at him, then took the other sections to one of the armchairs to riffle through.
Two mug shots decorated the paper beneath the bold headline that read Biggest Bust in WPD History. The first man was fat, balding and maybe blond, and he looked pissed at having been arrested.
The second mug shot ripped the floor out from beneath Will’s feet. He glanced at the print beneath the photos that identified each man by name to be sure, because he didn’t want it to be true.
The second man arrested—the man who’d turned against his boss for the murder of a John Doe—was Peter Callahan. Taz’s dad.
He skimmed the article, his brain already racing too fast to concentrate on all of the words. Certain things popped out like “identified as Christopher Mayes” and “Callahan left town” and “prior arrest.” Then the words blurred and swirled across the page.
Someone was talking to him, helping him sit, while Will’s entire world collapsed in on itself. It couldn’t be true. No way was Taz’s dad involved in any of this. No way did Peter murder Mayes. No way did Peter work for a major drug lord. It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense.
The paper fell from his hands, and then he curled in on himself. Rocked and rocked and he couldn’t even think of his rhyme. He wrapped himself up in his confusion and fear and existed in it for a while.
Distant voices never managed to break the cocoon of riotous emotions that had surrounded Will’s brain. They stayed muffled, far away, making no sense. Unwanted. He didn’t know what he did want, other than not to hurt anymore. Not to be naked and held down and brutalized. Not to be stripped of his identity and turned into a thing. Not to have found out his boyfriend—the most important part of his life, who held a piece of his heart and his future—might be distantly connected to the worst part of his past.
He wanted everything to stop. All the noise. All the hurt. All the confusion. Done.
Pills. He’d done it once. He could do it better.
No. I need you in my life, Will.
He knew that voice. He loved that voice. But that voice was only in his head, not outside it. He needed that voice to come to him. To make all of this go away.
“...bless the moon and God bless me. God bless the somebody I’d like to see.” A familiar female voice finally penetrated the cotton wadding around his mind. He knew her. “I see the moon and the moon sees me. The moon sees the somebody I’d like to see. God bless the moon...”
Jennifer.
His former foster mom—the caring, patient young woman who’d been so amazing with him after his rescue—was whispering the nursery rhyme she’d taught him into his ear. Gentle hands smoothed up and down his back, urging him to settle with the steady sensation. Keeping him grounded in reality now that he’d been sucked back in.
He moved a hand down and peeked. Yup, Jennifer, wearing that familiar expression of a scared mom trying to be brave for her kid. He was used to that look from her.
“Hey, baby,” she said. “You coming back to us?”
“Jen.” Will hated how broken that single word sounded. “You’re here.”
“I am.” She started rubbing his forearm, those same gentling motions. “When Gloria couldn’t get you out of your panic attack, she called Dr. Taggert. But he’s out of town celebrating his engagement, so he called and asked me to come over and check on you.”
What was with everybody getting engaged lately? “Something in the water.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Honey.” That was Gloria, hovering past Jennifer’s left shoulder. “What was this all about? Donata said you were reading an article about a drug bust, and you went white and started having a panic attack. Pretty severe one, too.”
The article. Will shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see that mug shot again.
“May I see the article?” Jennifer asked.
Paper rustled near his head. No one spoke for so long that Will thought they’d all left the room.
“Okay,” Jennifer said. “Will? Can you tell me what it is about this drug bust that triggered you? Did it remind you of when you were sixteen?”
Will shook his head no. It hadn’t been that, not really.
“No. All right. Do you recognize a name in the article? Other than Detective Morrell?”
He didn’t remember seeing Morrell’s name in the article; he also hadn’t read it all that closely. They were waiting for him to answer, so he said the least painful name first. “Christopher Mayes.”
“The man you saw at Daffy’s back in July?” Gloria asked.
Will nodded yes.
“What man?” Jennifer asked.
He bit back a snarled remark about how couldn’t she remember which man, but it made sense she hadn’t heard about the incident. She wasn’t his foster mom anymore, and she wasn’t in contact with Gloria or Jimmy, that Will was aware of. She was totally out of the loop on this one.
Thank God Gloria was there to explain. “Earlier this summer, Will was out one night and he spotted one of the men—” she lowered her voice “—his mother invited over, if you get me, and Will had a major attack. Ended up in the hospital.”
If Gloria was speaking in code, other residents must have been lurking. But Jennifer knew all about Will’s past, so she didn’t need any more information to understand who he’d seen. “Oh my God,” Jennifer said. “Oh, Will.”
The pitying tone of voice made Will sit up fast. Too fast. Everything tilted a bit, and he had to brace a hand on the cushion to steady himself. “Don’t!”
Jennifer moved from her crouching position in front of the couch to sit on the cushion next to him. The only other times he remembered seeing her this scared were the times she’d rushed him to the ER for not eating for days on end. He’d scared her then because he was an emotional mess.
I still am. I’m just more in tune with my inner mess.
“Do not pity me,” Will snapped. “Not now, not when you never did before.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like pity.” Jennifer’s face scrunched up. “I’m just shocked. I never imagined you would run into
one of those men again.”
“Me either.”
She glanced at the newspaper on the floor, the headline facing down. “So the man in the article, the John Doe who was pulled from the river. He’s the one you saw in July?”
“Yes.” Now that things were focused again, Will could tell his own damned story. “Detective Morrell contacted me last week to say they’d confirmed Mayes was dead, and that he’d died no longer than a week after I saw him. Mayes was executed and dumped into the river.”
“And they’ve arrested the man who killed Mayes.”
Will’s stomached hurt so badly he nearly doubled over. “Yes.”
She picked up the paper; Will looked away to avoid seeing the mug shot again. “Peter Callahan. He killed Mayes, and then flipped on his boss for a deal.”
He had no energy to be ashamed of the distressed noise he made.
“You know Peter Callahan?”
All Will could manage was a nod.
“Oh, God, baby, he wasn’t another one who—that your mother invited over?”
“No!” Christ, no. At least Will knew that with certainty. He’d have recognized Peter that first day if he’d ever heard his voice before.
“It’s funny, because when I told him your name, he acted like he knew you for a second. But you probably aren’t the only Madden in the city, right?”
“He knew me, though.” Will had no reason for his certainty of that fact beyond instinct. If Peter and Christopher reported to the same person, it was reasonable to assume that Peter knew about Marjorie Madden and her unusual method of paying her debts—if not during, then most certainly afterward, when it all came out at trial. “He knew me, but instead of saying anything, he killed Mayes and then left town.”
It made sense, and it also made no sense whatsoever. None of this did. This wasn’t his life. He wasn’t a guest star on an episode of Law & Order: Wilmington. This was insane. Except it all still made a horrifying kind of sense.
But why?
“Why would he do that?” Jennifer asked.
The million-dollar question.
“And how do you know this man, Will?” Gloria asked. “Where did you meet him?”
Technically? “Here. Outside on the curb.”
“What? When?”
His throat closed, making more words so fucking hard. “The day after I saw Mayes, when my friend Taz came over to see me.” So strange to call Taz a friend, but that’s all he’d been back then. A friend.
And if Jennifer was startled that he’d made a friend, she didn’t show it.
“I don’t understand,” Gloria said. Then she looked at the photo again. At the red-haired man with a similar height and build as the guy she’d let in the house that day. “Oh, no. Oh, dear.”
“What?” Jennifer demanded. Getting aggravated at being so out of the loop on Will’s life. “Who’s that man to your friend?”
Somehow Will forced out the razor-sharp words. “Peter is Taz’s father.”
And that revelation left one burning question that desperately needed an answer—Taz claimed to be close with the father he’d only first met two years ago, so how much, exactly, did Taz know about his father’s criminal history?
Will wasn’t sure he could handle any answer besides “not a thing.” Anything more might break him completely.
* * *
Taz wasn’t certain why he deviated from his routine Saturday night. Probably because the route made more sense for the taxi to drop him off first and then take Will back to Carter House, so that’s what they did. Taz would have preferred dropping Will off first, just so he knew Will was home safe and sound, but Will had walked those seven blocks at night before, so a taxi was perfectly safe. And he gave Will money to help pay for the ride before he stood on the apartment building stoop and watched the taxi drive away.
Still. Not their usual routine.
He’d loved almost everything about tonight. Not only the sweetness of the proposal, but spending time with other guys their age. Making friends. Being social. Not spending every moment worrying if he was scaring anyone with his face. And believing more, with each passing day, that he could have a somewhat normal life outside his confining apartment walls.
Will’s episode still concerned him. He’d played off those ten minutes in the bathroom as taking a long dump, but Taz knew better. Something had set him off, and they hadn’t really talked about it.
He would call Will in the morning and plan a day where they could talk privately about whatever was bothering Will. Something clearly was, and Taz didn’t like it when Will was bothered or upset.
Stupid curfew.
The building door behind him swung open. Taz instinctively stepped to the side to give whoever was exiting space. Something hard pressed into the small of his back, and Taz jumped. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder, freezing every muscle in his body.
“Start walking,” a man said close to his left ear. “Now.”
Taz couldn’t move. His joints were locked tight, his vision blurry. Nothing made sense, not even the order to walk.
“Look, kid, there’s a gun in your back. Walk. Now.”
He wanted to. He really, really did, but he couldn’t. The guy, whoever he was, needed to know Taz couldn’t! His body was doing its own thing, freezing up in the face of overwhelming fear, but Taz didn’t want to be shot. If that was really a gun, he needed to listen and move.
Ankle first. Bend your ankle. Good. Now the knee. Down a step. Good!
“Jesus fuck, man, faster than that.”
Taz couldn’t go any faster. Why didn’t the guy just reach into his pocket and take his wallet? It was there in his back pocket, easy enough to see. His phone, too. Why did they have to go anywhere? Why was no one else around?
The supposed gun in his back pressed harder, sharp against his spine, and the bright flash of pain released the hold on his muscles. Taz descended the cement steps and followed the path to the sidewalk, no idea where he was supposed to go after that.
I’m never going to see Will again.
That thought made him stop dead in his tracks. No way was he letting some faceless numb nut take him someplace, just so he could end up dead in an alley. Or dumped in the river. No way was he going to idly let someone take him from Will.
“I didn’t say stop,” the guy snapped.
“What do you want?” Taz finally found his voice, and with it came anger. “Take my wallet and go.”
“Don’t need your wallet, kid, I need you.”
“Why?”
“Walk.”
“No.”
The gun pressed harder. “Walk.”
“Freeze! Police!”
“Fuck,” the guy said. He shoved Taz hard, and Taz collided with someone.
The pair of them tumbled to the ground in a heap, and whoever was below him shouted, “Don’t let him get away!”
Did I fall off the steps and into an action movie? What’s happening?
He’d landed on a police officer, who helped him stand while speaking into his shoulder radio. Codes or something Taz didn’t understand.
“Wait here, all right?” the cop said. “Backup is on the way.”
“Okay.” Taz didn’t know what was happening, so it was easier to follow orders from the officer. He stayed on the sidewalk while that cop joined what he assumed was his partner in chasing the gunman down the street.
Lights were coming on in windows on both sides of the block, thanks to the ruckus, as well as the sound of approaching sirens. Taz hadn’t been this confused since the day he’d woken up in the hospital two years ago.
“Dude?” someone said as they approached from behind. “What’s happening?”
Taz turned, vaguely recognizing one of his neighbors. Guy his age.
“I’m not sure.” His back kind of ached where the man had pressed the gun right against the bones of his spine. “I think someone just tried to kidnap me.”
“What? You’re fuckin’ with me.”
A patrol car and an unmarked sedan pulled up and double-parked on the street, lights flashing on both vehicles. Taz stared dumbly as Detective Morrell climbed out of the sedan and approached him.
“Are you injured, son?” Morrell asked.
Taz shook his head.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Taz nodded.
Morrell tilted his head. “With words, son.”
Oh, right.
“I was, uh, I mean, I just got home,” Taz said, the words as jumbled as his thoughts. “From a party. A taxi dropped me off. I was up there, on the stoop. Someone came outside. Said he had a gun. He told me to walk.”
“And did you?”
“I tried.” His episode could have gotten him killed as much as it might have saved his life, and the thought made Taz double over gasping.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Morrell helped him sit on the cement, then squatted in front of him.
Someone’s radio squawked, and then another officer said, “Suspect is in custody.”
“Excellent. Mr. Zachary, I know you’ve had a terrifying experience, but I need you to come with me.”
“Why?” Taz asked. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, you are not under arrest. However, we need a full statement about your movements tonight. And it’s also for your own protection.”
“From who? Who was that guy?”
Morrell’s expression got firm and intense. “I don’t know his identity yet, but he’s tied to a much larger case, as are you. I only got here this quickly because I was en route to question you again.”
At eleven o’clock on a Saturday night? What the hell happened today?
“I need you to come with me,” Morrell said.
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.” All Taz wanted was the safety of his apartment, and the calming comfort of Will’s voice, even if only over the phone.