Rough Men

by Aric Davis

  “To be honest, Jack, a delay isn’t a bad idea either way. After the last manuscript was a no go, I’ve been bone dry in the idea department. I feel like I put everything that I had into it.”

  “So you wrote a book, and it didn’t happen. Big deal. All that really matters is the next one, and then the one after that. I’m not going to give you a pep talk, because I don’t think you need one, but bottom line, writers write, so write.”

  “Jack, I can’t say how much I appreciate this.”

  “If you need anything—and I’m serious, anything—let me know, and I’ll do what I can. I’ll talk to Terri later and see what she has to say about everything, and on behalf of everyone here, I’m really sorry about what happened to your son.”

  “Thanks again. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Will hung up the phone, shut off the light in the basement, and trudged back upstairs to the kitchen.

  For Immediate Release:

  We are deeply sorry for the actions of our son, Alex, and regret his role in the crimes committed at Lake Michigan Credit Union Branch 421 on February 18, 2013. It is our deepest wish that the men who committed these crimes with him be brought to justice, and that their victims can take some solace in their punishment. We do not wish to speak further with the media at this time, and appreciate your respect while our family grieves. Further inquiries can be made through our attorney, Lou Schultz, Esq., of Lou Schultz and Associates.

  Sincerely,

  William and Alison Daniels

  The media release that Lou had drawn up was perfect. Lou sent it off from the kitchen table, and the thought that the constant media presence could soon be gone, its appetite sated, was welcome news, indeed.

  “Well, that’s done,” said Lou. “Anything else I can do for you today?”

  “I don’t think so, Lou,” Alison said, and to Will, her voice had a strength that it hadn’t before. We’re moving forward, he thought as she went on. “Is there anything else that we should be careful about?”

  “Stay the course,” said Lou. “Don’t watch TV, avoid the web—aside from e-mail, of course—and keep that thick skin on. You’re not out of the woods yet—quite the contrary, in fact. Let me know the second the police are willing to release the body, and I’ll get my man on it. Will, any interactions you have with the fuzz that involve more than a yes-or-no question should make you prick your ears up. I highly doubt that they’ll try anything, but you never know with a cop. They want a name to put on this, and it doesn’t matter who it is as long as the crime sticks to the name.”

  “Thanks, Lou,” said Will, and the two shook hands over the table.

  That night, Will sat up in bed next to Alison. They were both pretending to read the books they’d been working through up until their lives had been thrown into a blender that was set to Destroy. Will found himself staring at his wife, and after a few minutes of that, she noticed, turning to him to say, “What is it?”

  “It was a really special thing you did for Alex,” he said. “You took a risk with me, and you raised that boy basically on your own. I love you for so many reasons, but I think that’s the one that stands out above everything else. You took Alex and me and made a little family, despite my best efforts to fuck it up. I’m never going to be able to pay you back for that.”

  Will could feel his eyes welling with tears, and he shook the sad thoughts of his young son and beautiful Alison from his mind. He’d done everything he could to destroy what they had, and she’d just kept chugging right along, making them work, making the family work, struggling far harder than he had to make his son into a man.

  “Will, it’s fine,” Alison said. “There’s nothing wrong with being emotional—probably better to just let all of that stuff out. You know that. How else could you write like you do?

  “We just have to keep going. We need to get Alex from the police, give him a proper send-off, and remember the good things in his life. Just because he never saw redemption doesn’t mean that we can’t find redemption for him.

  “You’ve got your writing, and I’m going to find something for myself, whatever it takes to fill this hole in my chest and replace it with something good. I need it to make his life have purpose, so I can say in twenty years, ‘I never would have gotten this good done if my son hadn’t had such a stupid death.’ Does that make sense?”

  “Absolutely,” said Will, pulling her to him. He wanted her to find that peace; she deserved it. He wanted it for himself too, but he couldn’t even see it from the dark place he was living in. Peace, at least right now, seemed the least likely option for him.

  “It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” she said to his chest. “It’s the only thing that keeps the bad stuff away. Sort of like being little and knowing that as long as I had my stuffed bunny, Doug, that nothing bad was going to happen to me. Just like how Doug kept the monsters away, the good thoughts are doing a number on the bad ones.”

  She pulled back and smiled at him then, and it was all he could do to stifle a sob of joy that this wonderful woman had seen through his dark side for all these years and was still fighting to make a good life with him. At the same time, though, a truly black thought, urged on by the black pool of rage still boiling in his stomach, took root. For the first time, Will had an idea about justice that didn’t involve the police.

  He kissed his wife, then asked if she’d mind if he went to talk with Isaac for a bit.

  “I think that sounds great,” she said. “You guys should take advantage of him being here. Catch up. I don’t know what it is with you two. You aren’t estranged, exactly, but it’s like you go out of your way to avoid contact with each other.”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what it is, either. It’s all kinked up. It’s like being apart so much eats at us, and then being together makes us resent all the time apart, and then we just do it all again.”

  She blinked at him; then they both laughed. “Well, that is messed up,” she said. “Whatever it is, you have my blessing, and tell Isaac hello for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Will clambered out of bed, she said one last thing. “Will? If he has a bottle, you stay out of it, OK?”

  The words nearly broke his heart, and he said yes. Some demons never get all the way gone, no matter how many stuffed bunnies we line our beds with.

  Will stood at the top of the basement steps. His feet were cold, and he was already regretting not bringing socks. His good slippers were downstairs under his writing desk, so at least the cold-feet issue would be settled in a minute.

  “Isaac? You awake?”

  “Wide-awake.”

  “I’m coming down.”

  Isaac grunted at that, and Will began to make his way down the stairs, his frozen feet feeling stupid on the wooden steps, which were covered only in the middle, and there only with very cheap and thin carpeting.

  When Will arrived at the bottom of the steps, he found Isaac sitting at his desk, browsing the web on his computer. And wearing his slippers.

  Will settled onto the couch next to Isaac’s stuff. If his brother was bothered by the intrusion, he didn’t show it; he just kept browsing on Will’s computer and was currently looking at the Yahoo sports page.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” Will said, “and I think it’s important that you know that, no matter what you say, I’m going through with this.”

  Isaac turned wearily from the computer and looked at his brother. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “So do I.”

  Isaac sighed, leaned back in the chair, and gave the computer one last look. “You know March Madness starts soon.”

  “I don’t watch college sports, except for hockey sometimes.”

  “I’m not worried about what you watch; there’s money to be made on State this year. Spit it out.”

  “I think we need to do something for Alex.”

  “You mean like, more than the cops are doing?” Isaac looked at him for a long moment. “I
think that’s a horrible idea.”

  “I want to go talk to Jason Wixom.”

  “Jason Wixom?” Isaac said, then began shaking his head back and forth. “No way, Will. No fucking way. That’s beyond just a bad idea; that’s fucking suicide.”

  “He might be able to get us information that the cops can’t.”

  “Yeah, he might. He also might beat the shit out of you, put a bullet in your eye, pull out all your teeth, cut off your hands, and bury you in pits of quicklime out by Dorr.”

  “He was never that bad.”

  “You ran with a bad bunch, and he was the worst of the lot. Not to mention your old partner Wixom just might still harbor a little bit of a grudge about you taking that unexplained vacation day and then getting off scot-free while he went to go sit in Jackson for five years. Amazing to me you never heard from him when he got out, to clear up that little question. That’s the sort of thing that would make anyone curious, if not a little angry, much less a guy like Jason. Besides, how in the hell would you even go about finding him?”

  “I know where he works,” Will said. “I heard in the bar he owns a tattoo shop on the west side of town. And as for him not coming after me, by the time he got out I had a five-year-old son, and he’d had enough of being locked up. All that time must have made asking why I stayed home and watched TV instead of going to jail with him seem less important.”

  “OK, so you can find him, great. But I guarantee he knew you worked in a bar, just like you knew about him tattooing. If he wanted to be buddies, why wouldn’t he have come by and bent your ear while you served him a few pints of Founders?”

  “I don’t really care why he didn’t come by or what he thinks about me and why I might’ve stayed away that day. I’m going to talk to him. I’m asking if you’ll come with me, and that’s it. As much as I appreciate your advice, that’s not what I need right now. Unless you have criminal ties still—and we both know that you don’t—Jason is the only person we know with a chance to help us.”

  “What are you going to tell Ally?”

  “That we’re going grocery shopping.”

  “She’ll believe that?”

  “She knows I don’t lie to her anymore.”

  “So you’re going to break that trust by lying again.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice.”

  They took Isaac’s car, Will giving directions as they drove through the blowing snow and ice-covered streets. His fingers kept finding the Sig Sauer in its shoulder holster, feeling the gun over and over again to be sure it was there and, once reassured, repeating the action again. He was nervous in an indescribable way, as though his whole life had somehow led to this moment, and it still might end up being meaningless.

  Alison had said little about them leaving, other than to help put together a list of groceries they needed. And they did need food. Even eating as little as they had been, three adults were churning through what he and Alison had picked up the week before.

  Before.

  List in hand, discreetly holstered pistol under his jacket, Will had ventured with his brother into the snow and aboard Isaac’s Toyota Camry.

  “I think we should wait to get groceries,” Will said. “If something bad happens, it’d be a waste of money to have gotten them first.”

  Isaac gave a laugh like a cough. “That’s very thrifty thinking. You trying to get me to turn the car around?”

  “No. I just think we should go talk to Jason first. You know, just get it over with. We’re both just going to be on edge until we do it. I’m a wreck.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. You need to cool it with that gun shit. If Wixom is like he used to be, he’ll have you dead before you unzip your coat to get that thing out.”

  Will scowled at his brother. “I’m not planning on trying to get the drop on him. This is just insurance. And it’s not like we’re going to walk in and get frisked. He’s running a business, and we’re going to go in and ask for a few minutes of his time. He’ll either oblige us or tell us to get the fuck out, and if he does the latter, then I’ll plead our case. The gun is in case he tries to do something else, which, yeah, with a guy like Jason, is a possibility. I don’t want to have to use it, but better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.”

  “Yeah, and better to not get caught with it when you’re already dealing with someone who hates you. He sees that gun, he’ll know we’re not all smiles.”

  “I’m not leaving it in the car.”

  “I don’t want you to,” said Isaac as he pulled the Toyota off the highway. “I’m just being honest with you. If you need to use it, you need to just use it, not think about it.”

  Isaac parked the car in front of the shop. The building was old but not as decrepit as the rest of the neighborhood, which appeared to be doing a brisk business in liquor sales, massage work done by “American girls,” and the sale of cheap—but not chain—fast food.

  The tattoo shop was painted blue, and the most recent coat looked like it probably should’ve been scraped and redone about two years prior. The window was full of a mixture of neon signs, flyers, and advertising. The neon said things like, PIERCING $25 or TATTOO, but most promising was OPEN.

  Will closed the door on the Camry, walked around the vehicle, and stepping ahead of his brother, opened the door to the shop.

  A bell chimed with the door, and though Will didn’t jump, the noise made him tense. There was a glass countertop full of jewelry directly in front of him, and behind that was a skinny girl whose arms looked as though they’d seen a few practice sessions. She had the grayish pallor that tends to suggest a history with either heroin or time served, if not both. There was a scarab tattooed on her throat, and Will stared at the dancing bug as she said, “Can I help you with something?” There was no mistaking the irritation in her voice.

  It wasn’t like Will and Isaac were dressed well, and the car wasn’t a showpiece by any means, but still, it was obvious this wasn’t a world they belonged to anymore, if they ever had. This is what happens if you keep fucking up and none of your friends shoots you, thought Will.

  Smiling at the girl, he said, “We’re here to talk to Jason.”

  “Yeah? Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I’m an old friend.”

  “Acquaintance,” interjected Isaac. “We knew him a long time ago. It’s been a while.”

  She didn’t care enough to respond beyond sliding off her stool and walking into the back. A stereo clicked on playing AC/DC, and the girl returned a couple minutes later.

  “Sorry, no dice. Says he’s busy.”

  “Tell him Will Daniels is here to talk to him.”

  She sighed. “Is that name going to mean anything to him? ’Cause he gets mad pretty easy, and he’s got a bad hangover. Might be you want to make an appointment, hope for the best.”

  “Tell him Will Daniels is here to talk to him.”

  She smirked at him. “If that’s your hard look, you might want to work on getting a new one. I’m going to ask one more time, and when I come back and tell you he said to fuck off, you two are going to fuck off.”

  She disappeared into the back of the store again and was back faster this time.

  “Jason says to come on back.” She was smiling, and his stomach dropped to his feet. Will’s bravado had been stripped clean by her Sicilian smile, and the pistol under his coat may as well have been back at the house for all the good it would do him should he fumble to retrieve it.

  She led them down a short hallway that had a door on either side of it and another one at the end. They walked through the door on the right, and the girl left them in the room, closing the door behind her as she left.

  Sitting on a stool was Jason. Next to him, on a steel cart, were a pair of tattoo guns, and next to them was a different kind of gun, a revolver. Will stared at it with a lump in his throat before turning his attention back to Jason.

  His old friend had a stomach that was stretching his shirt tau
t, the kind of belly earned by cheap food and cheaper booze. He had on an American flag bandanna, and coming out of the bottom of the back of it was a gray braid that lay over his right shoulder and hung almost to his belly. His arms, hands, and neck were covered in tattoos, gray ones that looked like the kind from prison and colored ones that looked like the kind that weren’t. His ears bore two large hoops, silver and thick as pencils, each holding silver beads at its center.

  Jason did not stand when they entered, nor did he offer them a seat. “Will Daniels,” he said. “And is that your brother with you? Older, right? I don’t recognize you, but the same family is in both faces.”

  Will thought about that statement, his eyes poring over Jason’s familiar and yet foreign face.

  “Yeah,” said Isaac, “I’m his brother.” He extended a hand and said, “Name’s I—”

  “I don’t give a ruddy fuck what your name is,” said Jason. “I’m curious about why in the fuck you’re here, and once I figure out why, I’m going to run you out of my fucking shop, all right? I have a feeling I’m going to be amused for about thirty seconds, tops.” He turned his attention back to Will. “C’mon, William. Spit it out, author-boy. Why are you slumming with your old buddy?”

  Will was taken aback. Jason had obviously made some effort to follow his life. His books had sold well, but not that well. Yet Jason knew enough to know he’d published them under William Daniels, not Will.

  Will collected himself as best he was able and got on with it. “I’m here to talk to you about my son.”

  “Bad start, Will. I’m already bored.”

  “My son was killed a little less than a week ago after being involved in a bank robbery.”

  “All right, I think I know the one,” said Jason, who winked at him. “Much better start. Now I’m interested.”

  “He was killed in an abandoned barn, shot in the head, and then burned to death with some of the evidence.”

  “No honor among thieves, right, Will? That’s nothing new there, just how it is. Like when I got penned up and you walked. Just how it is.”