Broken Lies

by Roger Williams

  “Thanks a lot,” Chase said with playful sarcasm. “You’ve made my day.”

  “I’m just saying that this is astounding, something quite significant. We don’t have to buy all the omens and the warnings of death, but maybe we should at least—”

  Chase jumped in. “Hey, maybe it’s about my dad dying.”

  “Okay,” Linda answered hesitantly, “but I think it’s how you already explained it, a death of your old self, some sort of a contrast between the old you and the new, real you.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. And as you said, maybe there’s a connection between this vision and the spider-web one, like the doppelganger thing is actually the result of this process of finding freedom from lies. Hey, could you email that to me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything else going on?”

  Linda knew the reason behind his question but kept to herself. “No, just the same old things.”

  “All right. I’ll call you and the kids later. I miss you a lot, wish you were here. Mom says hi, by the way.”

  “Give her hugs and kisses. Talk to you soon.”

  Chase sat back on his bed, reflecting on their conversation. He checked and saw Linda’s email—no message, just the links she had found. He read the first one intently, learning about famous people with similar experiences. “Abraham Lincoln?” he whispered. “Never heard of such a thing.” Scrolling back to the top of the page, he stopped at a definition of doppelganger: ”Having glimpsed oneself in peripheral vision in a position where there is no chance that it could have been a reflection.”

  Well it definitely was not a reflection, he thought. I indeed saw myself, the man I used to be, the one who looked so similar to the victim in the spider web. Closing his laptop, Chase speculated apprehensively about the death omen. Could that imply some supernatural premonition of his own death? No, that didn’t make sense. So it must mean what he and Linda agreed that it meant, seeing his old self now dead, or sort of dead. But he could also be right in thinking it concerned his dad, though he doubted that because he didn’t see him in the vision or the dream or whatever it was. His growling stomach told Chase he needed food; a cigar might be nice as well.

  “Thought you were taking a nap,” Frank said from behind the newspaper as Chase lumbered downstairs.

  “Couldn’t sleep after all. I talked with Linda for a while, and I think I’ll go for a walk and grab a bite to eat.”

  “I’ll be making lunch for us pretty soon!” Allie called out from the kitchen.

  “Listen, Frank. I’m not trying to be rude or anything. I really appreciate staying here, and I do want to connect with you guys. It’s just that a lot of crazy things have recently happened to me, not just with Mom and now Dad, but personal stuff, and I need time to collect my thoughts. I’m sorry, but I need a little space.”

  Frank shrugged. “Hey, no problem with me. We just want to see you.”

  “I know. Me too. I’ll be back.”

  “All right. See you later.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Chase knew the area well and headed up the street toward the corner market five blocks over. The Macklin boys grew up only about a half-mile away in the other direction. He and Frank would often ride their bikes over to Ted’s Market on Baker Street to check out the new Topps baseball cards, eagerly ripping open a pack and scouring it for a famous ballplayer or a rookie card. They had talked about their hobby several years ago, Frank proudly stating that most of his cards were safely tucked away in the attic. Chase never knew what happened to his small collection and recalled with regret some of the ‘70s cards he once had: Tom Seaver, Rod Carew, Bob Gibson. He wondered about their value three decades later.

  Nearing the market, Chase noticed the old neon sign remained, though Ted had to be long gone since he must have been at least sixty when they were children. Nothing else had changed much: same cracked sidewalk, same creaky swing door, same glass countertop, scratches and all.

  “So you’re still making sandwiches, huh?” he playfully asked the young girl behind the counter. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen, her blond hair pulled back in a bun, revealing larger-than-normal ears contrasted by narrow eyes and a button nose. She looked bored.

  “Yeah. What can I get you?”

  “I used to come in here way before you were born, back when Ted used to work here.”

  “The old owner?” she asked with indifference.

  “That’s the one. How long have you been working here?”

  “Five months or so.”

  “You guys sell any cigars?”

  “A few over there,” she answered, nodding toward a small humidor by the register.

  “Great. Can I have a ham-and-swiss on rye with everything on it? Oh, and a water. I’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”

  Strolling to the park across the street, lunch in one hand, freshly cut Punch cigar in the other, Chase felt quite pleased that he hadn’t been overwhelmed by recent events. He remembered when he and Frank used to play at this park. Unfortunately, when he was a young man the park and the woods were frequent spots for his drug deals. He wouldn’t think about that. Sliding onto one of the old benches, he began nibbling on his ham-and-swiss. As he took a swig from his bottled water, an old white Cadillac pulling up to park in front of him caught his attention.

  “Is that you, Chase?” he heard a voice call out through a partially opened window.

  Standing up to get a better look, he covered his eyes with his hand and took a few steps forward. The voice spoke again. “Looks like it’s you. Been waitin’ here in the area, hopin’ ya might come around.”

  He recognized the gruff voice. Still squinting from the sun, Chase drew closer. “Murphy?”

  “Hey, nice to see ya, Mack. Thought I’d find ya ‘round here. Heard about your mother, ya know.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Come on, kid. It’s been all these years and you’re not glad ta see me?”

  “It’s not like we left on the best of terms.”

  Murphy let out a loud, raspy laugh, a bit of saliva forming at the crease of his mouth, yellowed teeth peeking through. He seemed pleased with Chase’s obvious discomfort. “Oh yeah, that’s right!” Placing his head near the window, he lowered his voice. “Come closer so I can see ya better.”

  Chase didn’t move.

  “Listen, kid. Things’ve changed. Got some money for ya. Hop in the back.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m a little busy right now.”

  “Looks like it,” said Murphy with raised brows as he noticed the unwrapped cigar in Chase’s hand. “As I said, things’ve changed. Ya don’t know it, but that story ya gave all those years ago I found out ta be true. A couple of my connections were able—aw, it don’t matter. Just get in the car so I can make it right.”

  “No offense, but I’m a bit uncomfortable doing that.”

  Murphy laughed again and rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, but really, hey, I’m not kiddin’ here. I got a lot a money for ya, kinda my way of makin’ up for what I did. What about we meet somewhere else? Maybe, uh … oh, I know. Let’s meet over at O’Malley’s. You know the place.”

  “Course I do.”

  “Seven o’clock then. I’ll just be there with him,” Murphy said, nodding toward his driver, “so bring people with ya if that makes ya more comfortable.

  “Let me think about it. I just arrived and a lot of things are going on.”

  “Just trust me one more time, Mack. See ya at seven.” He quickly turned his head to the left. “Let’s go, John.”

  Chase stumbled dazed back to his bench and considered the extreme oddity of recent events. The last person on earth he thought he would ever see again had somehow found him at the park on his first day back. He had come to visit his ailing mother, only to discover his dad died two weeks before. And
all of this happened after the discovery that his wife was seeing another man, at least in some fashion. Then there was the professional counseling, something he swore he’d never do, the vision of a mammoth spider, and now the doppelganger thing just this morning.

  What could be happening in his life? Were these mere coincidences, or would there be a climax revealing some sort of connection between everything? And what should he do with regard to Murphy? He didn’t have to show up, but what about this money he mentioned? Could he trust Murphy after all these years? Could it possibly be worth the risk? Maybe Frank would come with him. No, he wouldn’t do that, especially if he thought it dangerous. So why even go himself?

  Chase tossed the rest of his sandwhich in a nearby trash can, pocketed his unlit cigar, and ambled back to Frank’s. He was suddenly tired, and his head found the pillow as soon as he entered his room and lay on the bed.

  “Chase? It’s time for dinner!” He awoke to Allie’s vocal alarm. “Chase? Are you up?” she asked, rapping on the door. “Time for dinner! Hope you’re hungry.”

  He glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. “Yeah, I’m up. Be right down.” He lay there a few minutes more, mulling over his options before he finally rose, grabbed his jacket, and made his way downstairs. The first bites of the meal tasted great, and he thanked Allie.

  “You’re welcome! Frank and I are just so happy you’re here! I wish the circumstances were better, but at least we’re together. Lane and Kathy will be here after dinner. They can’t wait to see you!”

  “You know what? I’m going to have to see them tomorrow. I hate to do this to you, but something’s come up. Remember Murphy?”

  Frank stiffened. “Of course we do. Why do you ask?”

  “I just saw him a few hours ago, and he wants to meet with me over at O’Malley’s.”

  “What, are you crazy?”

  “Frank, I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s been what, thirteen years now? He’s just too old for me to be concerned. Said that he made a mistake with me and that he’s got some money to give me.”

  “Some money?” Frank asked with a snigger. “Sure he does. Come on, Chase, this guy has never been someone you can trust, to say the least. And it doesn’t matter how long it’s been or even if he’s eighty! The guy’s a crook. Always has been. Why would you even consider such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just curious. We used to be fairly close, and I was simply thinking that if—”

  “You were a kid!” Frank cut in, his voice growing louder. “He was taking advantage of you! Man, you’re stubborn.” Seeing his brother’s resolute eyes, Frank relented. “Okay, if you’re going, then I’m coming with you.”

  Allie burst in. “Oh no you’re not! You can’t set foot into this situation. Last time you did that—”

  “She’s right, Frank. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Well neither do you!”

  A knock interrupted their argument, and Chase’s other brother and his wife charged through the front door. Lane, three years older than Frank, had moved out of the house before their dad deserted them. Chase always admired him, not merely for being the older, wiser brother but because only he dared to stand up to their father. A long scar was still visible on his forearm from a fight in which Dad had cut him open with a broken bottle. Chase viewed him as sort of a hero, battle wound and all, unafraid of the man who tormented his family. Lane didn’t seem as tall as Chase remembered him, but he looked quite handsome for forty-one and still in great shape. Kathy was quieter, an obvious opposite of Lane.

  “Hey, everyone!” he called out. Chase left the kitchen first. “Well look at you, little brother!” Lane hollered. “How in the world are you?”

  “Fine,” Chase managed in response after his brother’s bear hug. “Great to see you.”

  “You too! How long has it been?” Lane asked, releasing his grip and looking into his eyes.

  “Too long. That’s for sure.”

  “I’ll say. Phone calls and emails sure aren’t the same.”

  “True.”

  “Well it looks like we’re just in time for dessert!”

  Allie rushed over to embrace Kathy. “Actually, just in time to settle an argument!”

  Chase shook his head. “No, we don’t need Lane to get involved in all of this.”

  “All of what? What’s going on?” Lane asked, looking from person to person.

  “Chase wants to go and see Murphy,” Allie said.

  “The old drug dude?”

  “Yes. You remember him.”

  “I remember.” He turned toward Chase, who slumped on the sofa while the others remained standing. “Why would you do that?”

  “Lane, I don’t want to explain myself again. I just saw him and he wants to meet me, like right now, and give me some money.”

  “For no apparent reason,” added Allie.

  Lane looked around the room. “Anyone think of the possible danger here?”

  “Exactly!” Allie exclaimed. “Murphy’s not one to take lightly.”

  “I’m not,” Chase objected. “Like I told Frank and Allie, he said he’d made a mistake with me all those years ago and wants to make it right. Come on, Allie, you don’t have to be so concerned. I’ve considered the risk, and I really don’t think there’s a reason to be afraid.”

  “Well you’re not going there alone!” Lane declared. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh great,” Chase moaned. “First Frank and now you. I can handle this on my own, guys.”

  Frank reached down and tugged on his arm. “Right, just like you handled him before. Now come on. We got you covered.”

  Allie shook her head and then shrugged at Kathy.

  The three jumped into Lane’s car and drove the few miles to O’Malley’s, Chase sitting in silence. It felt good to know they had his back, sort of like being a young boy in trouble who had his two older brothers going with him to make it right. He didn’t consider this necessary, but then again, Murphy had proven to be quite unpredictable in the past. Better to have them at his side just in case something went awry. Lane broke the silence.

  “Chase, you go in first since I’ve never even seen the guy. Frank and I will keep a sharp eye out for anything unusual. Now this probably won’t be a big deal since it’s at a public place, but you never know. If anything happens, grab a bar stool, a beer bottle, anything you can use as a weapon, and don’t think twice. Just react quickly.”

  It struck him as funny to hear his brother give lessons on barroom brawling. Chase recalled his very first fight, which took place in the same bar. Seventeen and just starting to sell for Murphy, he followed orders to meet a new contact at O’Malley’s, some guy Murphy told him about who knew somebody else with money. Murphy didn’t trust the situation, so he sent the new kid over to check it out.

  Chase remembered the evening well. He sat in a booth, waiting for a nondescript person. The typical late-night crowd, not more than five or six older men, huddled near the chain-smoking bartender. When a lanky, shovel-faced youth stepped through the darkened doorway and looked back and forth, Chase waved him over to his table and then held out his hand. Ignored, he placed both hands in his lap, his left lightly clutching a dinner knife, not very sharp but pointed on the end with serrated edges. Effective if necessary.

  The kid plopped himself down across from Chase with a smirk on his sallow face. “You got stuff to sell?” he asked with an upward motion of his head.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, punk. If you got the blow, we got the money. How much can ya get us?”

  Chase didn’t like his mannerisms. “Slow down, butch. I don’t make decisions like that.”

  “You called me butch?”

  “Just an expression,” Chase answered, hands beginning to sweat as he gripped the knife m
ore tightly.

  “You guys got a bad reputation, ya know. Your boss is a cheat. But hey, if you got blow, we got buyers.”

  “We don’t need buyers.” Chase slid out from the booth and started to walk away.

  “Hey, punk, what’s that in your hand?” As soon as the rogue reached for his arm, Chase turned on him in one quick motion, stabbing his bicep and then smacking him in the face with the back side of his right hand. Hesitating for just a moment when blood began to rush from the kid’s nose, Chase dropped the knife, hit him full force in the face again, and took off into the street.

  He told Murphy about it the next day. Murphy laughed hysterically. The whole thing smelled fishy from the beginning, he informed his newest employee. Impressed that Chase sensed the same thing and acted instinctively, Murphy decided to take him under his wing. He handed him a pistol, telling him it would work better than a table knife if he ever ran across scum like that again. Although never forced to use the gun, Chase found many more occasions for fights.

  The three entered the smoke-filled bar, carefully surveying their cramped surroundings while attempting not to bump into people. The place was obviously much more popular than in the old days.

  “There he is,” Chase said, nodding toward Murphy, “and just that one guy with him.”

  They walked toward the back, Lane and Frank keeping alert for anything suspicious. Chase trained his eyes squarely on his old boss, who had a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Mack, I see ya brought reinforcements with ya.”

  “No, these are my brothers. This is Lane and that’s Frank.”

  Murphy stared at Chase. “Okay, whatever. Sit down.”