Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  * * *

  “I wonder what she did do?” asked Jake.

  “Hmm? Oh. Snipes?”

  “Well, why would they bring her up unless she is a child molester? Seems somewhat odd. I can’t remember any other time they’ve ever mentioned anyone else being paroled in Arrow Bay.”

  “It is weird,” Sam replied. “I can’t either. Kind of a waste of time. I mean, it looks like the Wilde Park issue has been settled.”

  “It was worth it to see old Longhoffer’s face when Baldo Ludich waved that injunction at him,” remarked Jake. “What a nice shade of crimson. Just about matched that stupid hat he always wears.”

  “Did you see the way Leona singled us out when she said ‘perverts’?”

  “Hard not to,” Jake noted gravely.

  “I didn’t like that.”

  “Neither did I. I’m not going to worry about it. I meant everything I said this afternoon.”

  “I know you did,” said Sam. “She might consider that threatening her.”

  “It was a threat, Sam. I’m not going to have my character impugned by some dried up, conservative Christian prune,” said Jake. “That old bat deserves everything that happens to her. Like being run over by an armored truck, for example,” said Jake a little too loudly as they got back to his PT Cruiser. He noticed the handsome, goateed Detective Haggerty and nodded to him. The man nodded back.

  “I don’t really wish any harm to the old battle axe,” said Jake as he started up the Cruiser and pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m just venting here.”

  “I know that, Tiger,” said Sam, tousling Jake’s hair. “You’re not in the habit of punching out old ladies no matter how nasty they are.”

  “I just don’t appreciate her antics. We’ve lived in that house for nearly ten years and for her to get outraged by a gay couple living there is seems a bit like…”

  “Politics,” finished Sam.

  “Precisely.”

  A silence fell between them as Jake turned onto High Street. The first fat drops of rain slapped the windshield, and as a shower of the Crenshaw’s maple leaves drifted past them in the wind, they pulled into their driveway. Jake glanced over Leona’s, which was still dark. She wasn’t home from the meeting yet.

  “Going to work a little before bed?” Jake asked.

  “Well, I should try to get the office a little more useable. I’m still not sure about using the mother-in-law apartment for an office. It seems such a waste of space.”

  “Okay. I have a few things I can catch up on,” said Jake, thinking he might go downstairs and try to write for a while.

  Sam smiled. “Okay. Make it an hour and a half. Meet you in bed at say 10:30.”

  “You’re on.”

  Jake watched Sam cross the garage to the door that opened onto the stairs leading up to the office. While Sam clunked up the stairs, Jake shut the garage door, slipping out the side door of the garage and down the small path to the back stoop and kitchen door. He stopped for a moment to admire the Japanese maple growing next to the stoop that Professor Mills had given him as a homecoming present for Sam the year before. Mills had hauled it out to the car himself, surprising both Jake and Alex.

  Jake popped the door open and Barnaby trotted out as soon as he came in. Frowning, Jake stepped through the kitchen and into the dining room, listening for the television. Hearing nothing, he crossed the foyer into the living room, which had one lamp lit. His brother was not there. Jake wondered where Jason was for a moment before heading down to the basement. He was a little concerned about his brother. It wasn’t Jason’s lack of employment that was bugging him—it was that Jason seemed so depressed lately. He wondered how much the debacle around Jennifer, Jason’s ex, had to do with it. Everything, he suspected.

  He brought up a blank document in Word but found he was unable to write anything. Instead, he put Moby’s Hotel into the CD player and turned it up. He didn’t even hear Sam come down into the basement. When Sam tapped Jake on the shoulder, Jake nearly jumped through the floorboards above his head.

  “Sweet zombie Jesus!”

  “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. You took maybe one, two years off my life, tops.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that,” said Sam.

  “Huh? Zombie Jesus. I got that from Futurama,” said Jake.

  “Not that,” said Sam, slumping into the chair opposite of Jake. “Although it is a bit disrespectful. I suspect that’s the lapsed Catholic in me talking.”

  “You still miss it, don’t you?”

  “I miss the ritual. The smell of the incense, lighting candles. Christmas mass.” Sam shrugged. “I don’t miss the confessional.”

  “And what you had to confess, having it off with the school custodian who was ten years older than you.”

  “And hot, I might add,” Sam said. “I never did confess that. Old Father Malone would have castrated me.”

  “I guess that’s why I don’t understand why you miss it. Given it is a religion that wants no part of you. I understand following the teachings of Christ—zombie Jesus comment aside—but look at what so many people do in his name. Our happy neighbor for instance. Leona Weinberg would joyfully have the two of us roasting on a spit all in the name of Jesus Christ.”

  “It’s hard for me to explain,” Sam acknowledged. “No one should feel more resentful of it than I. All the times…all the times my father beat me with that belt until my skin was raw—bleeding sometimes—telling me to keep my eyes on that damn crucifix and know I was being punished for my sins. That Jesus ordered him to punish me.”

  “Your father was a drunken, sadistic bastard. And probably nuts.”

  Sam gave Jake a wry smile. “Only on days ending with ‘y,’ as the saying goes. I remember with utter joy the day Mom renounced the faith she’d married into, burning Pop’s rosary, his Bible and that hideous crucifix. I stared at them until they turned to ash.” He shook his head. “What’s bugging you?”

  “What makes you think something is bugging me?”

  “For one, your gaze went right to the floor, which means you’re trying to conceal the truth and, as usual, failing miserably. Also, your hair, which needs trimming by the way, is brushed back from your forehead, meaning you’ve been nervously running your hands through it since you’ve been down here. What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  “Oh, I’m just worried about Jason. And then there is this,” he said handing the letter from Tony to Sam.

  “So he’d like to come and visit,” Sam said.

  “You don’t sound thrilled.”

  “Well, he is an ex-boyfriend.”

  “Gavin Ashworth is an ex as well, and you two are best friends,” Jake pointed out. “He’s stayed with us—both when he was single and after he and Jeff met.”

  “Gavin’s an exception. He’s a stellar human being, he and Jeff both. Besides, you weren’t in love with Gavin. You just were great friends who happened to click in a sexual way, too. The classic ‘friends with benefits.’”

  “And what benefits,” sighed Jake, feigning a wistful expression.

  “Can it, Norma Desmond, this is not your close up,” Sam said with a chuckle and ruffling Jake’s hair again. “The point remains the same. You weren’t in love with Gavin.”

  “True. Although I do love Gavin—and Jeff, too—but I wasn’t in love with him. God knows I wasn’t in love with Tony,” Jake said.

  “So why are you still angry with him?”

  “Because!” Jake exclaimed. “Because the one person who should have been there to give me some support ditched me right when I needed him the most.”

  “Rachel was there,” Sam pointed out.

  “It wasn’t the same,” Jake said. “Rachel had her own grief to go through…and she…”

  “She wasn’t a young gay man.”

  “You needed the love and support of…well, family for lack of a better word. Because you did love Chris.”

  Jake nodded, b
linking back tears. “He was my best friend, Sam. Of course I did.”

  Sam sighed. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Kitchen?”

  “Upstairs. Bed. Now.”

  Sam led Jake upstairs. They closed the door and in the semi-darkness gently undressed one another, then slid into bed.

  Chapter Seven

  An hour later, freshly showered and wearing pajama bottoms, Jake sat on the edge of the bed, looking distraught. Sam watched with appreciation at the way Jake’s six-pack abs bulged prominently as he hunched over.

  “Brr. Budge up,” Jake said, sliding under the covers and curling up next to Sam. “You’re nice and warm.”

  “I believe they call that afterglow.”

  “Well, it’s nice. This house is bloody cold tonight.”

  “Wind has shifted. Something’s in the air out there,” said Sam distantly. He looked out the window at the shifting branches of the Crenshaws’ maple trees illuminated in the streetlight as the wind unburdened them of another bucket of golden leaves. Sam would have been annoyed with the trees as well, were it not for the fact that the leaves made for such great mulch.

  “What are you thinking of?”

  “Mulch,” replied Sam. “But you said you were worried about Jason earlier. And I can see you still are. Is it because of the unemployment thing?”

  “Nah, I don’t care about that,” Jake said. “Jason’s been keeping the house neat as a pin and throwing in money when he can. He just seems depressed. Finnigans and depression are not a good combination.”

  “What else?”

  “Even though it has been a year I’m still having a hard time reconciling the New Improved Action-Adventure-Jason with the Old-Stick-in-the-Mud version I grew up with.”

  “Having the rug yanked out from under you by your ex will do that,” Sam said. “Especially one who’s a sociopath. I know firsthand. I wasn’t the same person after Tom.”

  “Yeah, but…Tom…”

  “Beat the shit out of me,” finished Sam, uncharacteristically cursing. “While I don’t know what it was Jennifer did to J.D., the psychic damage seems to be similar. Abuse is abuse. I recognize that haunted look.”

  “Which is why I haven’t pressed him on the issue.”

  “I went through a tremendous amount of depression after Tom finally got sent to prison. I felt guilty because I hadn’t been able to stop him from killing that man,” Sam said. “Survivor’s guilt, I guess.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You’d been gone all of what? Three days when he got into that bar fight? I’m very sorry for the guy he killed even though, according to everything you told me, he was a low-life scum much as Tom was, but I’m happy you didn’t have to testify against him. The hell that would have put you through.”

  “I’d have happily done it to see him sent away.”

  “Point being, Jason is having to totally refurbish his life. It’s not something that happens overnight,” said Sam sagely. “You could try talking to him.”

  “I know. I should. I’ve been distracted myself lately,” he said. “Not to mention things have been going so well between us after the Jennifer debacle, that I’m a little afraid if I jump right in and say what the fu—”

  “Ahem.”

  “—heck, it might screw things up again.”

  “Understandable, but probably unwarranted.”

  “And then Fathead Tony’s letter shows up.” He shifted in bed. “You noted the repeated reference to my mother, didn’t you?”

  “As typical, Ingrid is closer with someone else’s children other than her own,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I suspect you’re not too keen on her telegraphing the details of your life to the illustrious Doctor Graham, either.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth. It’s not as if I even tell her that much, anyway, but I’m intending to bring that up to her when she arrives in two weeks.”

  “Oh, God,” said Sam. “I’d totally forgotten about that. Old Lady Weinberg’s hissy fit pushed that bit of unpleasantness out of my mind.”

  “Sorry,” Jake said. “I just wish I knew what the hell was going on.”

  “With Jason?”

  “With my mother. Well, both. Mostly Mom, though. You know how she is. For her to come up here means somewhere in the family there is a full-fledged disaster going on.”

  “On the plus side it doesn’t involve you or Jason,” said Sam. “Especially after that…how did she put it? ‘Embarrassing incident on Jacob’s ferry?’”

  “Leave it to my mother to be embarrassed by me finding a corpse in the trunk of a car on the boat I was working on. As if I had mooned her bridge club.”

  “She has a bridge club?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate the fact that both you and Jason take after your father?”

  “Repeatedly. Trust me, so do I.”

  “Back to Tony.”

  “Ugh. Must we?”

  “You have to admit, it’s interesting reading, particularly about the Stud Studios stuff,” Sam said with a dry chuckle.

  “Yes, I thought that might intrigue you.”

  “Did you look up the website to see if you could find him?”

  “Come on, wouldn’t you have?”

  “Well…yes, I admit I would.”

  “In any event, I couldn’t find a thing. He must have paid them to pull the stuff after he became the big spokesman for gay rights. Harder to be taken seriously when you’ve done porn, I expect, although that really shouldn’t matter, should it?”

  “You’re opening a large can of political worms with that, kiddo. Should it matter? In my book, no. Would it be fodder for the religious right in this country? Absolutely.”

  “As usual with him, it’s jump in with both feet first and think of the consequences later,” said Jake. “That’s how he blew his knee out on the football field, after all.”

  “You don’t sound surprised he did porn. Or at least posed for some erotic photos.”

  “I’d be surprised if that was all he did. And, no, I’m not surprised. He is handsome. You’ve seen him. He’s also vain, narcissistic, arrogant, and self-centered. Chris’s nickname for him was the ‘Fathead Adonis.’ Doing photos or films for Stud Studios would appeal to his ego.” Jake thought for a moment. “He probably bought up the stock and watches himself.”

  Sam laughed and said, “Oh come on! He can’t be that bad.”

  “Just you wait,” Jake replied, and after a moment, laughed as well.

  “Hmm?”

  “Oh, if only Chris were around to hear that. My God, what a field day he would have had.”

  Sam grinned at Jake. “I don’t doubt it.”

  In tandem, they closed their eyes and listened to the rain outside.

  “I love that sound. Rain on the roof when you’re all snuggled up and safe,” said Sam.

  “Especially since it no longer leaks.”

  “You are familiar with the term wet blanket, Tiger?”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Speaking of safe,” Jake said, “do you really think Wilde Park is going to be safe from Reed and Leona and company?”

  “Odds are pretty good, with that injunction. And Verna Monger buckled. I didn’t see that coming. Maybe she has half a brain after all.”

  “Only half, if that.”

  He heard the front door bang open as Jason let himself in. Footsteps crossed into the kitchen where they stopped.

  “Jason’s home,” said Sam.

  “I’m too tired to talk to him now. And too comfortable.”

  “Not to mention naked and pink with afterglow,” said Sam through a yawn. “And Jake?”

  “Yes, Sam?”

  “Shut up and go to sleep, will you? Oh, and I love you.”

  “I love you too, but you might have said that first.”

  “It’s been a decade. I like to keep you guessing.”

 
“G’night, Sam.”

  “G’night, Jake.”

  Midnight faded into the witching hour, and Jake finally drifted to sleep. Only the slight rumblings from his brother moving around in his bedroom below disturbed the silence.

  * * *

  October wound its way down toward November languidly, with an uncharacteristic stretch of sunny, warm weather in the mid-sixties. The wind remained light, but just strong enough to continue the shower of leaves from the Crenshaw maples over the Finnigan-O’Conner yard as well as Leona Weinberg’s.

  Neither Jake nor Sam had spotted Weinberg in the days following the dramatic showdown at the town meeting. The next edition of the Examiner, had not only failed to note the spate of racist remarks from two of the council members, but didn’t mention the meeting at all. Jake was flabbergasted until Sam had pointed out that as editor, Reed Longhoffer could kill any story he wished, which was what had happened. Sam had made some calls and had a lengthy discussion with Marion Burd. Longhoffer had gone in just before press time with a completely new front page and story of his own, which he’d attributed to Burd. Burd, furious, had walked out—taking the rest of the staff with her. For the moment, Arrow Bay was without a newspaper, as the Examiner had shut down. Reed Longhoffer was investigating his legal options to see if he could force his staff back to work.

  No one, to Jake’s knowledge, had been able to dig up anything on Misty Snipes or her alleged crimes. Jake’s searches on the Internet had turned up nothing more than volleyball scores from a high school back east and mention of a Misty Snipes as a bridesmaid in the Fayetteville Observer. Jake quickly lost interest, his concern more focused on his brother and the plans he and Sam were drawing up for the backyard, now that the Sky to Sea trail was nearly completed.

  The long used, but never officially named trail to Smith’s Pond had been behind their fence for decades. Now part of the Sky to Sea Trail, over the summer the path had been widened, repaired and graveled to be ready for use by both walkers and bicyclists alike. After their section of the trail had been refurbished, both Sam and Jake had noticed the traffic beyond the fence had dramatically increased. Neither one objected to it, but they both treasured their privacy.