Fred was nearest to the front door, rubbing behind his eye patch before throwing back a shot. He slammed it on the counter hard and in a trembling voice barked for another round. The bartender eyed him with annoyance, but clearly seemed uninterested in provoking his wrath. He refilled the shot glass and left without a word.
Moving over to the bar, Carl stood by Fred and took off his hat, plopping it on the counter.
Fred eyes were watered and lazy, his lower lip hanging out as he mumbled. “What’s going oooon?” he asked.
“I would ask the same of you.”
“I’m doooing fine!”
Carl hopped on a stool and quietly told the bartender to get him a water but make it look like a shot of vodka. He nursed the drink close to his chest so Fred wouldn’t see it.
“What are you doing here so early?” Carl asked.
“It’s not early. It’s noon.”
“Normally you wait after work.”
Fred laughed sardonically as he drained his glass, exhaling. “Yeah. And it’s not normally you find out things that make you want to put a bullet in your head. I figure drinking yourself to death is better.”
Carl looked over at the bartender at the other end of the bar and gave him a firm look. No more drinks for him.
“What did you find out?” he asked.
“I just heard about my son.”
“Your son?”
“Yeah. I only had one.”
Carl was cautious. “What happened?”
“He shot himself.”
A heavy weight seemed to fall on Carl’s chest. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes went to the bartender, who nodded affirmingly. They all had been told.
“Sorry, Fred,” Carl said.
“Being sorry won’t bring him back.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry.”
Fred’s hand clenched like he was going to hit someone. “Well, I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye to him when he was taken away from me. I’m sorry I never got to raise him like I wanted to. I’m sorry I didn’t get to help him when he was having trouble. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell him I gave a rat’s ass. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell him just because I didn’t want to pay his mother child support didn’t mean I had no love for him.”
He broke down and sobbed. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop him from blowing his head off.”
Carl silently pretended to drink his “vodka” and ordered another one.
“Does Norton know?” he finally asked.
“I don’t care.”
“I know. But─”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fred said as he grabbed Carl. “There’s nothing they could do to me that could make me feel worse than I do now.”
Spotting the notepad in Fred’s coat by the hanger near the door, Carl left a pack of cigarettes for him and paid for both their tabs. As he was leaving he took Fred’s notepad and tucked it away in his coat.
He closed the door just as a great cry rang out.
***
As soon as he returned, Childs questioned him about Fred’s whereabouts. Carl was vague but assured him that the story would be done as planned.
Typing up his story without a pause, he moved onto Fred’s notepad, scanning through the shorthand notations.
It was a conversation with a source in D.C. concerning a proposed program that would allow the ISA to use weaponized drones in tactical strikes against individuals who met certain criteria. If they were indicted but couldn’t be brought before a grand jury due to their location in areas such as Seattle, they could be targeted under the program.
The final jottings were poorly written. It was in longhand.
Carl quickly realized Fred had written some sort of journal entry to himself. His son had joined the Marines and participated in several overseas tours. Three years after returning home, he had committed suicide with a shotgun. He hadn’t seen Fred since he was a young boy, but the suicide note had apparently been addressed to him.
The source hadn’t been able to send a copy, as the authorities weren’t keen on letting it get out to the public. The note had ended with I finally understand, pops, because I’m finally there myself. I wish I were as strong as you, but I’m not the man you are.
Tearing the pages out, Carl crumpled them and put them in his pocket. He typed up the story and put in the bin like any other, then informed Childs that Fred’s work had been turned in.
Tom was working on a related story. He paused from his work and came over as Carl lit a cigarette. He took the lit match out of his hand and used it for his own. Astute as always, Tom could see the disconcerted air around him.
“Is he at the Fighting Sailor again?” he asked.
“Yeah. You knew?”
“He’s been doing that for a while. You know why?”
‘Yeah.”
“Care to let me in on the secret?”
“All I can say is this; I’m glad I’m never having a son.”
Tom raised his eyebrows. “You think you can predict the future?”
“I’m not going through what he is right now.”
***
Fred wasn’t at his desk the next day. Carl and Tom found a stranger in his place when they arrived. The man was polite, but distant. He introduced himself as Kelley Walter, then went right back to reading the documents on his desk while making a call.
Carl’s first thought went to suicide. It was awful to think of, but most probable. There was no denying the death wish in Fred’s eyes. No one had seen him at either Fighting Sailor or Slim Marie’s that night.
Carl leaned into Childs’ office with one hand. “Where’s Fred?”
Childs was emotionless. “Not here. That’s where.”
“Where is he?”
“Not here.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Watch your tone, Farrington. Don’t forget your place.”
Checking his temper, Carl adjusted his voice. “Yesterday he wasn’t doing so hot. Do you know what happened to him?”
Signing a document, Childs looked up for a second to answer. “He’s not in the newsroom anymore. He’s been removed.”
“What happened to him?”
Childs huffed and threw a dismissive hand to the side. “You want to bitch about it? Go talk to Norton. He made the call, not me. I just delivered the message. Good luck.”
Tom was there to stop Carl as he stormed through the room, catching him by the hallway entrance. “Let it go, man. This is Fred’s deal, not yours. We got work to do.”
“I’m fine,” he said, taking Tom’s hands off him. “I just want to know what happened.”
Outside Norton’s office, Carl tightened his tie, rearranged his clothes. He had to look composed, unaffected. He was already on thin ice.
A knock got him in. Norton didn’t bother to look up, perusing over what appeared to be financial statements. An illegal organization they were, but they were still a business that needed to turn a profit.
“I’m busy,” Norton said.
“What happened to Fred?”
“Not your concern.”
Carl approached his desk respectfully. “I found him yesterday in bad shape.”
“You wrote his story, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Because he was drunk as a skunk and couldn’t so much as fish because he was too busy drinking like one.”
“Sir, I don’t know if you know what─”
“It doesn’t matter!” Norton snapped. “I don’t care what he heard. That doesn’t excuse him from his duty to me and you and everyone else here! We’ve all got problems, Farrington. Some of us more than others. Fred is not alone in that regard. That, I can assure you. I can’t make exceptions for every person on this planet because they all think they’re the exception when they’re just another person who was born and someday is going to die.”
“Did Fred tell you what happened?”
“None your concern. An
d I’m not pleased to hear you covered for him without saying anything to us.”
“What was I supposed to tell you, that he couldn’t do it because he had just learned his only son blew his face off with a shotgun?”
Norton’s tone softened. “I appreciate your loyalty, and I’m more sympathetic to his situation than I would care to acknowledge. It’s why I’ve reassigned Fred to other responsibilities. I didn’t kick him out of this organization. I’m sure that’s what he wanted to hear, so he could use it as an excuse to give up. But I’m not done with him, yet. As long as he serves a need and doesn’t compromise the security of this newspaper, I won’t let him give up.”
“Is that why you didn’t fire me?”
“Listen closely: I will never tell you or anyone else here or anywhere the rationale behind my decisions. I do what I do for reasons that seem good to me, and I will not discuss or debate them, especially after they have been made. What’s done is done. Fred has accepted the consequences for his actions, as have you.”
Norton then moved up in his chair, folding his hands together. “What intrigues me is why you’ve taken it upon yourself to act as his advocate.”
“He’s a friend. Is that not enough?”
“He has many friends here. None of them protested, except you.”
“Well maybe I’m just the exception, then.”
“Or perhaps you can’t help but have sympathy for him. Perhaps you can relate, somehow”
Carl almost snarled, but bit his lip. He took his leave of Norton and headed out. Instead of the newsroom, he headed to the breakroom and sat in the corner, puffing away at a cigarette. He couldn’t concentrate on work. Not without Norton’s words hanging in his mind.
He couldn’t figure Norton out. He was always one step ahead, anticipating everything that Carl did and said. It was as if he knew something.
Tom was waiting for him back to his desk. “Everything alright?”
Carl shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Fifteen
For a week after his reassignment, no one saw Fred anywhere. That included his room in their residential building.
Every morning they arrived at work expecting to have Childs inform them that he had lost it and thrown himself in Puget Sound.
However, the next week he suddenly reappeared at their customary meetups at Slim Marie’s. He revealed that he had been put in charge of distribution and circulation, tasked with overseeing the security detail that protected the carriers as they delivered papers to select readers.
Whether Norton had planned it or not, Fred’s condition improved. His face was fuller, his eye clearer, and his appearance healthier. He turned down drinks at their table and ordered a ginger beer. No one laughed or gave him a hard time about it. He also gave up his beloved chaw.
“It’s nice being around an armory and motor pool again,” Fred remark one night “In some ways, I feel like I’m back in the Corps. When we need to hustle we hustle and during the off time we have fun. But I still miss giving y’all shit, too.”
“Can’t say we miss your shit,” Duong joked. “It certainly smells better in there without yours.”
Fred lightly punched Duong. “See, that’s what I really wish these other kids had; a sense of humor. They’re all either straight-laced or psychotic. Guess that’s how it was in the Corps, too.”
Carl glanced over at the entrance, where Kaylyn was arguing with someone. Sensing distress in her voice, he casually wandered toward them. He then recognized the man as a reporter. But he didn’t have the scar on his hand.
Officially, Slim Marie’s was welcome to all. Unofficially, it was off-limits to reporters besides the Cascadian. The other newspapers had their own libraries in their own territories to support with their money.
The reporter was about to put his hand on Kaylyn when Carl shoved him back, displaying a gun at his hip. “Big mistake if you don’t leave.”
The reporter gritted his teeth. “I got a right to come here.”
“The owner doesn’t want your people here.”
“You ain’t the owner.”
“The lady here speaks for the owner, pal. And I’m a friend of the owner.”
The man bitched quietly as he headed back down the corridor. Carl waited until he was gone and then turned to Kaylyn and slapped her on the thigh.
“You should get a knife.”
She flashed a smile and pulled a small shiv out from the top of her dress, then pushed it back into its concealed sheath. “But it was nice to have you handle him. I don’t like getting blood on my dress.”
“You like that gal?” Fred asked as Carl sat down.
He shrugged. “Enough.”
“Bullshit. You’re head over heels.”
Carl chuckled as he ordered another brandy. “I take it you don’t have too much advice.”
“I’m a cantankerous curmudgeon, the worst kind. I like to believe in happy endings, but they never end happy, do they?”
“Why?”
Fred slowly tore off the bottle cover of his ginger beer. “Couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Love is a fickle thing for some. I can’t think of what’s worse; to have your heart broken or not have the capacity to love another person.”
On the dance floor, Tom held the girl with a hand far down her lower back, a cocky grin on his face. He wasn’t romantic by nature, but in the right mood that side of him came out strong.
“I’d like to thank you for what you did,” Fred said.
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb, kid. I know you wrote that story for me.”
Carl muttered something indiscernible, then said, “I just wish you were still with us.”
“I’m still here. Norton doesn’t want me gone, yet.”
“Good.”
“I owe you one, though. Seriously. One thing I’ve learned over the years is to not forget when another man has your back.”
***
“It’s all arranged,” Usher said. “I’ve got my best man on the job for you. It’ll take a while, but that’s to be expected for something like this.”
He removed the hookah from his mouth, spilling the opium smoke from his mouth as he reclined on the sofa
Carl and Tom sat across from him inside one of the Ming Dynasty’s private room. His fedora in both hands, Carl looked over at Tom. His friend kept a stoic face, but he had seen it too many times to be fooled. Something bothered him.
“Does this interest you?” Usher asked.
Carl nodded.
Officially, the region had put a damper on the illegal trafficking of prescription pills after shutting down a major supply center in Tacoma.
Unofficially, the suppliers had moved up into Seattle and were using the abandoned docks near Elliot Bay to unload the drugs. The dealers then smuggled them in through various means to the dealers, both in the city and in the metropolitan area. Healthcare reform laws mandated that insurance companies could raise premiums based on an individual’s use of prescription drugs unless it was for a handful of serious health conditions.
Usher handed Carl a note with a date, time, and address near the waterfront, along with a name. “He’ll meet you there later this week. He’s involved in the smuggling operations. He’ll talk. He wants his customers to know he’s still in business.”
“Isn’t he afraid it’ll draw attention?” Carl asked. “Would it be better for him to have the feds think he’s down on his luck?”
“His customer isn’t the buyer; it’s the dealer,” Usher said. “Meanwhile, my man will file the public information request and get all the information you’ll need to add to the story.”
“You’ve got this neatly tied up for us,” Tom remarked.
“It’s my job. And I’m pretty good at it, aren’t I?”
“Thanks for everything,” Carl told Usher as he drank his tea. “By the way, how are you handling all the drones and the occasional patrol?”
“The same way I’ve always handled them. By not exist
ing as far as they are concerned. It’s a trifle difficult to spy on someone when you think they’re dead.”
“But what about the house?”
“What house?” Usher said with a smirk. “Again, as far as they are concerned, it doesn’t exist. Just an empty lot. But then again, it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”
Driving away from the Ming Dynasty, Tom was gripping the wheel extra tight, his knuckles nearly white. Carl observed it discreetly, uncertain whether to ignore it or get the issue out in the open.
“Something eating you?” Carl asked.
Tom was quiet. Then he swerved to make a turn.
“Come on, man,” Carl said. “What’s eating you?”
“Leave it alone.”
“Something to do with me?”
He hesitated before replying, “No. Just leave it be.”
Carl had a cigarette out, lit it as he retorted. “I don’t like it when you’re pissed off and I don’t know why. I know it’s got something to do with me. Why spend another week not saying anything when you’re going to say something eventually?”
Tom abruptly crushed the brakes with both feet, the tires screeching as he pulled off to the side. Pedestrians on the sidewalk saw the Ford Coupe, knew who they were. They all cleared out of sight.
One arm resting on the wheel, Tom sighed. “Janice and I….it didn’t work out.”
The name didn’t ring a bell.
Then he remembered Tom had been seeing some girl for a while.
“Sorry to hear it,” he said.
“Yeah. She…well, she seemed to think she could be with me and some other guy at the same time.”
“You were together?”
Tom sighed wryly. “Well, nothing explicitly was said, but women aren’t that dense. She knew I wasn’t seeing anybody else. I thought this one might be different.”
“Come on, man. You know how that is. You can’t expect them to be something they’re not.”
“What if you found out Kaylyn was dinking around with another guy?”
“She’d find herself one man short, and the only man that mattered.”
“What are we doing here? Why do we even bother? It’s no use trying to make anything of it with these women. Don’t get me wrong; at times I can’t believe how great they are. But it doesn’t last.”
The Redeemers Page 21