Rough Men

by Aric Davis

  Unsure if he should try to comfort her, Will instead did nothing, just sat at his kitchen table feeling like the worst person in the world, a man who had failed his child.

  Her anger shocked him. He knew it had come from a deep well of dislike that she suppressed, dislike for him and his many failings as a man, husband, and father.

  He took her hand. She didn’t snatch it away this time, not yet. “You’re right,” he said, “completely right. When I talk to Lou, I’ll have him do what needs to be done to get Isaac to the funeral home. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before, not as the person who has to help make things happen, and I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong somehow.”

  Alison squeezed his hand and almost smiled at him. “We’re going to do fine. There are worse things ahead than just planning a funeral. This all feels like a dream; pretty soon it won’t feel like that at all.”

  Will wanted to say something, to correct her, to let her know that everything really would be all right. Instead, he stood and poured himself a cup of coffee, feeling like he was watching himself in a dream.

  Will left Alison in the kitchen, punching his older brother’s number into his cell phone as he went. As it began to ring, he took a seat on the couch and tried to settle on the last time they had talked and figured it had to have happened around Christmas, though he had no memory of it. How sad is that? I’m calling my brother to ask him for help, and I can’t even remember the last time we talked.

  Isaac answered on the third ring, and the call had obviously awakened him. In any other circumstance, Will would have felt terrible, but of course, this was different.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah, man, sorry for calling so early.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “What? No, man, Ally is still here. It’s Alex. He’s dead.”

  Will could practically hear his older brother waking up, as if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

  “What? Alex? How?”

  “He was shot to death. We found out last night. Did you hear about the bank robbery here?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Isaac, his voice broken. “I only live an hour away; we still get the news.” Then, slowly, Isaac understood. “Was he a part of that?”

  This is it, the lowest point of my life, when I tell people that my son was in a bank when it got robbed, that he killed an innocent man.

  “He was. I’m sure there will be more information on the news soon, but you can hear it from me first. Something got crooked with him and his dickbag buddies. One of them shot Alex, and then they set him on fire.” Will choked for a second, took a deep breath, and continued. “Cops found the body three days ago, within an hour or so after the robbery scene was secured, I would reckon. They’re going to pull dental records to confirm it for sure, but yeah, they’re sure it’s him. He’s in bad shape; I haven’t seen him, and think it might be best for my own sanity if I don’t.”

  “When do you need me to come up there?”

  “I don’t need you to, not exactly. Alison and I are going to give him the same sendoff we’d always planned—pour his ashes by the Mackinac Bridge. Same thing we want for our own when the time comes. I’d love if you were up north for that. I’m only calling so that you can know that your little brother is still fucking things up.”

  Isaac sighed. “You can blame yourself all you want, Will, if that’s what you’re in the mood for. You and I both know that I love that boy—loved that boy—as much as anyone. But if you and I were bad seeds—and we were—that kid was a bad apple tree, dropping rotten apples all over the place.”

  Isaac stopped himself, as though he could feel Will’s rage rising through the phone. Why I am I even mad? We both know it’s the truth.

  Isaac broke the silence. “I know you’re going to blame yourself, and so is Ally, but she was a good mother to him, and you weren’t enough of a fuckup to undo all the good she was doing, at least not on your own. That kid was bad stock, no offense, and that led to him getting killed.” Another sigh. “You getting mad at me yet?”

  “No.” Will grinned, in spite of himself. “He was a fuckup. And you’re right, so were we. And Mom and Dad were no carnival ride themselves. But we made it out OK. You’ve done great for years, and I’ve got my writing thing going now. Why couldn’t Alex come around?”

  “You’re forgetting or lying to yourself,” said Isaac, his voice momentarily taking on the agitating static that cell phone users were so used to, then returning to normal. “Took you almost going to jail, maybe even prison, and then going on a bender that only ended when someone gave you a shoulder to cry on and said you could tell stories. Alex never got enough of an eye-opener to make him knock it off. I did, so did you.”

  “You? What the fuck ever happened to you?”

  “The same guys you were running with had older brothers, and if you recall, I quit when I got deep enough in shit. When I discovered that I’d been involved in ripping off a store run by actual tough guys, I decided I’d had enough.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Will, I’ve been telling you that story my whole life, you just never felt like listening until right now. I’ll be up this afternoon. I’d ask you to have Ally make me a bed, but I think I’ll let her mourn and let you do the busywork.”

  “Thanks, bro,” said Will. “I think I’ll feel better seeing you in person. I can’t feel any worse.”

  “The next few days, Will, every second is going to be worse.”

  Back in the kitchen, Will set his phone on the table and sipped at his coffee. In his dreams, the coffee was a whiskey, his son was alive, he still smoked cigarettes, and his wife didn’t look like she might be finally learning how to hate him.

  “Isaac coming up?” asked Alison. “It would be nice to see him. Shit, any distraction would be welcome.”

  “Yep, sounds that way. Might crash on the sofa for a couple days.” Pain, again. Alex’s room could finally be a guest room. Throw what was left of his stuff out, and there would be a spare space for anyone who needed one. The way things were headed, he himself might need that room. Will felt insane, both desperate for a drink and scared of what might happen were he to have one.

  “I’m going to call Lou,” he said. “He’s either in the office by now or not coming in at all.”

  Lou answered on the first ring, putting on a feminine voice, and not doing a terrible job of it. “Lou Schultz and Associates.”

  “Lou, this is Will Daniels.”

  “One moment please,” said the phone, and Will roared back, “Goddamn it, Lou! I know you fired Jen months ago. This is Will Daniels. Can we speak straight? I need to set up a time to see you today.”

  Nothing but hold music. He hadn’t started yelling quickly enough. Or else he had, and his beyond-shady lawyer hadn’t liked the sound of it. This was how Lou had always been, all flash, but he’d been even worse since his last divorce. Will sat listening to the Boss doing “Dancing in the Dark” while he waited for his stupid lawyer to stop playing games. Roughly two minutes later, long enough for Will to have to stop himself, twice, from singing along with Springsteen, Lou was on the line.

  “This is Lou Schultz, of Lou Schultz and Associates,” said Lou in a syrupy sweet voice, the one he’d used years earlier taping the ad that still aired on late-night cable, luring in idiotic drunk drivers and low-level drug offenders. “What can I help you with today, friend?”

  “Goddamn it, Lou, knock it off; this is Will Daniels.”

  “Oh, good to hear from you, buddy.” The forced accent had fallen away. “Glad to hear from you. How are things?”

  “Not good. My son, Alex, is dead.” Will took a deep breath. “Hang on, don’t talk yet. There’s more to it. The cops are pretty sure he was involved in that credit union shoot-up and that something went wrong later between him and his partners.”

  “Damn, Will. I’m reall
y sorry to hear that. This is the part where I would usually ask what you want me to do, but how about you just tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll offer advice when you’re done?”

  Will noticed that he was unconsciously drumming his fingers on the table and forced himself to stop.

  “The cops are holding Alex’s body until their forensic team is done with him. I want you to make sure my son’s body makes it to the crematorium. And that’s another issue. Alison and I have known for a long time what we wanted done with our bodies, but we never picked a place to do it. Assuming you know of someone you trust, I’d be happy with your advice on that. I think that’s everything.”

  “Well, that’s a good start. Do you want me to lean on the cops, see if we can get Alex released any faster?”

  “No. He’s dead, and I’d rather he was able to help them find out who killed him.”

  “That’s the sensible thing,” said Lou. “I thought it was worth asking, though. Makes some people sick, the idea of autopsies and such. All right, well, it does so happen I know a guy who works in the business of cremation, and he does a serious job of it, not one of those assholes you see on the news, you know, triple-stacking bodies and then handing out bags of ash of whomever.” A patch of dead air. “Shit, Will. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like that.

  “Anyways, I assume the press doesn’t know yet, because if they did know, they’d be crawling up your ass by now. First thing you do when we hang up is to change your mailbox messages on your phones and say something like, ‘To speak with Will or Alison Daniels, please contact them through their attorney Lou Schultz,’ and then tack on my phone number. I’ll drop by in a couple hours with a sign that says the same thing that I’ll put up in your yard.

  “I’m not going to lie, at some point, you’re going to have to release some sort of statement, but using me as a buffer will add some time. The next thing you need to do is be ready. I mean, thank god you’re not some household name, but people are going to be saying nasty things about you on the web; you might even get a nasty phone call or two. Your son and his friends hurt a lot of people, and no one knows why. It sounds like you’re not planning a funeral, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t have to deal with some serious assholes. That all sound good so far?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Lou. I won’t say you made me feel better, but it’s nice knowing you have a plan for this sort of thing.”

  “Will, I hate to be flip in such a sad time, but I’ve got a plan for just about everything. One last thing, stay away from the news, stay away from the Internet. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch, and you can call me if somebody tries to put your nuts in a vice.”

  Lou was good to his word; in fact, he was still in the yard installing the sign when the first news van rolled up, this one from Fox 17. Watching Lou and the falling snow through a barely cracked window blind, Will considered going outside, after all. Fox had given him coverage for both books, and he recognized the reporter.

  “That’s Michelle DePalma,” Alison said, now standing next to Will and peeking out. “She looks a little older in person.”

  “I told you that,” Will said, watching Lou shake the reporter’s hand. The van drove away just a few minutes after arriving, and Lou went back to his sign. “She’s really nice, though.”

  “She was. She might not be so nice now. I bet a lot of people that we thought were nice are going to treat us differently. The paper and television are going to make Alex into a monster, especially if the other people aren’t caught.”

  Alison closed her eyes for a moment, like she was bearing down against a sharp pain. When she opened them, they were burning into him. “God,” she said, “I just realized how bad I want them to get caught. And not just for Alex, either. They did something really horrible, and not only to our family or Alex. All those people who died at that bank. All their families.”

  Again, she shut her eyes against the hurt in her. When she opened them this time, they were huge and wet. They broke his heart. “They got Alex into a situation where he was doing things that he never would have done,” she said, almost whispering now, “and then they killed him.”

  “It’s awful,” Will agreed, aware for the first time of the rage building in him. Anger was an emotion he’d gotten skilled at suppressing—booze worked well, writing even better—but now he was angry like he’d been through most of the latter, bitter years of his youth. It had a taste, like iron in his mouth. What if they don’t catch them, and I spend the rest of my life wondering who was with my boy when he died, wondering why they killed him, wondering if he knew he was going to die? Will’s mind wandered to the Sig 1911, and he knew in his heart that, given the chance, he could and would kill the person who had done this to Alex.

  Lou waved at them, got into his Cadillac SUV, and drove away. When the truck for News 8 showed up, Will let the blinds fall closed and left the room. Alison followed him.

  “When will Isaac be here?” she asked his back.

  “As soon as he’s able, from the sound of things.”

  “Good,” she said, grabbing Will, spinning him around and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m scared, Will. You keep getting this look on your face, and it’s not a good look. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but when I said I wanted those bastards caught, I meant by the law.” She tightened her grip on him and said into his chest, “You need to remember that you’re a bartender turned writer. You haven’t been in a fistfight in years, you’re going to see fifty before you see forty again, and the law is going to handle these guys when they find them. No matter what happens, you need to accept it, even if it’s not enough to satisfy either one of us.”

  Will nodded but knew he was lying when he did. He had a hard streak in him. Those things don’t go away; they lay dormant until they’re needed. Like a housewife able to lift a car off of a trapped child, Will knew in his heart that if he had half a chance, he would kill the men who had hurt his son.

  Will offered to help Isaac carry his stuff in, but his brother had only brought one bag and insisted that Will stay in the house. Once he was settled into Will’s office as a temporary bedroom, Isaac assembled with Will and Allison at the kitchen table. Will laid out what Lou had told him, and Isaac agreed with all of it.

  “Well, these are about the worst possible circumstances,” said Isaac, “but it is nice to see you both. It’s been too long.”

  “We’ve all been busy,” Will said. “That’s just how it is when you get old.”

  “And we’ve all accepted that’s how things are supposed to be,” said Alison, “that’s the real problem.” She took a napkin from a caddie at the center of the table, wiping both eyes and then blowing her nose into it. “I’m glad you were able to come be with us, Isaac. It means a lot. How’s Daisy?”

  “Daisy’s good. She sends her love. She wanted to come, but I told her this wasn’t the trip she needed to make. Besides, she has classes all week, and she only gets so much time off. I, however, wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Have either of you two eaten since you found out what happened?” Will and Alison shook their heads, and Isaac stood up. “Well, no one ever accused me of being Tom Colicchio, but I imagine I can whip up some food for us. And I don’t want to hear any crap about not being hungry; of course you’re not hungry, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to eat.”

  Isaac set to banging around in their cupboards, and neither Will nor Alison stood to help. Alison took his hand and squeezed it, but Will felt nothing from the gesture, no warmth, just the rage building in his stomach, and he knew that, eventually, he was going to need to release it on something.

  The doorbell rang constantly despite Lou’s sign, but none of them answered it, nor did they check to see who was standing on the stoop. Both Will and Alison’s phones rang constantly as well, and after the second reporter called, Isaac switched Will’s inbox message to what Lou had suggested.

  The two brothers talked little to each other, the old frigidity coming bac
k without effort. Alison seemed not to notice, but Will knew that she could see the divide growing slowly between them. Try as he might, Will knew that Isaac held him at least partially responsible for what had happened to Alex, and knowing that his older brother was right, and polite enough not to mention it, made Will resent him even more, whether it was fair or not.

  They slept a fitful sleep, Will with unspeakable and thankfully unremembered nightmares, Alison tossing and turning at his side.

  The second day went the same as the first. Alison was quiet, the two brothers’ interactions with each other forced. Lou called twice, once to see how they were doing, the next to schedule a meeting for the following afternoon to prepare a press release.

  Late in the morning, Will’s cell phone rang for what felt like the thousandth time. This time, the screen said Kent County Sheriff’s Department. Will answered immediately.

  “This is Will Daniels.”

  “Mr. Daniels, this is Detective Van Endel.”

  “Do you have information on my son?”

  Isaac and Alison had gone dead silent; a pin dropping would have been an explosion in the kitchen.

  “Is your wife with you? I’m comfortable with being on speaker if you want her to be able to hear this right from me.”

  “She is, so is my brother, but this fine.”

  “All right. Mr. Daniels, this is going to sound like bad news. It’s not—at least not all bad—but it’s probably not what you were hoping to hear. First off, your son’s remains are going to continue to be analyzed by the medical examiner for at least three more days.”

  “I was hoping to hear you’d caught them. Anything else is all the same to me.”