by R.M. Haig
September 15th, 2016. 10:45AM
Indianapolis, Indiana
LeTonya rolled her eyes as Donnell ducked into his office, carrying a well stuffed bag from the downtown deli that certainly contained a more than adequate lunch for him this morning. He didn't say a word to her, and he'd asked her to clear the entirety of his afternoon schedule for the second day in a row. He would likely spend the next few hours in his office, pacing back and forth in silence, just as he had the day before, with no explanation for his behavior.
Having overheard bits and pieces of his yelling at Jake, she knew that his old friend had done something that angered him bitterly, but she wasn't exactly sure just what that thing was. He refused to talk about it, no matter how she tried to ask, and she'd since given up on caring because of his sour attitude about the whole thing. Whatever it was, it was starting to cost them even more money than representing this Chucky was because Donnell seemed to be set on refusing to do anything besides appear in court for cases that simply couldn't be rescheduled. If a task was within his wife's power to push off, he insisted that it be pushed off. Even when it was a meeting with a client who actually had the means to pay for his services or some other task that was sure to generate income.
Frustrated beyond belief with him, she simply did as he asked and let him stew in whatever it was he was stewing in without another word of caring or concern from her. In the meantime, though, she'd continued on her internet quest to find the identity of this strange and elusive character known only as Freaky. It was a challenge, something more than she got from her everyday routine of phone calls and e-mails, so she'd developed a bit of a bent to crack the case and find the guy. Her initial Facebook queries had gone unanswered, so she dug deeper into the Indy Central High School collective online with further probes and prodding on websites dedicated to finding long lost classmates and arranging class reunions.
Having finished adjusting Donnell's schedule for the day and with nothing else to do beyond playing Solitaire or reading about her favorite celebrities, she decided to check all of the traps she'd set in search of this man she wasn't even sure she was still supposed to be finding. The first several sites she checked showed nothing in the way of a bite, but then her eyes opened wide when a message box on a particular lost and found persons page threatened to shed a bit of light on her quest.
Hi there, it read. If you're talking about Freaky Magahey, his name was Zack. I have no idea what happened to him after school. Hope that helps.
A rush of adrenaline swept through her at finding even that much, so she quickly Googled Zack Magahey and scrolled through a number of results. As it happened, there was someone operating a blog under that name, and postings to it were responsible for many of the search engine hits. Clicking one to check it out, she found that the blog was titled Brickyard Breakdown and assumed the name was related to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, which served to prove that the author could be the person she was searching for because he apparently lived in the vicinity of the city.
Clicking around the page, she tried to read several of the entries but found that they were just too rambling and nonsensical to hold her attention. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the posts, nor any general topic that stitched them all together in any way at all. They were paranoid and angry, and several of the articles made references to our brothers in the sky and secret signals from underground. These things in unison made her wonder if the Zack Magahey was in his right mind, which she figured couldn't be a good thing when it came to furthering whatever investigation this Jake was conducting.
Continuing to browse, she eventually came to an entry that included a photo of an urban landscape that was very familiar to her. It featured a low-income apartment complex downtown that she recognized because she had accompanied Donnell to it early in their relationship when he went to meet with a client. She was convinced she had roaches and lice crawling all over her when they left, and she swore from that moment on that she would never swim the depths of the ghetto with him ever again. The caption on the photo led her to believe that this was a view from Zack's home, so she immediately sent it to the printer and jumped up to snatch it as soon as the paper spit out.
Excited, she burst into Donnell's office prepared to share the news with him. When she opened the door, however, she froze upon seeing her husband sitting perfectly still with his eyes transfixed on an unwrapped Reuben on his desk. This locked her in place for a moment, because the sight was so surreal and the atmosphere in the office was thick and uncertain. Her flinging the door open didn't change his demeanor or position, which initially led her to wonder if he'd had a heart attack and dropped dead where he sat.
He eventually blinked, still not looking up at her, giving the only confirmation that he was still alive on offer at the moment. She stared at him for a few seconds, expecting that he would ask what she wanted or have something to say for himself and his strange behavior, but no words spilled from his mouth as he just sat, staring at that damned sandwich.
"Are you okay?" She asked after a prolonged silence, raising her eyebrows in concern.
"Um hm," he replied nonverbally, still in his trance and unwavering.
"I've got good news," she added, taking in the tension that was spewing from his pores. He said nothing, so she held up the paper where she stood in the hopes that he would look. "I think I found Freaky! His name is Zack Magahey, and he lives by that nasty project you took me to on Second Street!"
"Thanks," he said quietly, his eyes eating the crust of the rye bread before him.
She stared at him for some time, waiting for some further adulation or evidence that this piece of news moved him in any way. There was no response, and that cocked her head a bit in confusion and irritation.
"Is that all?" She asked. "Just thanks? You're not even gonna look at what I've got? You're not gonna go down there and see what he has to say for himself? You're suddenly not interested in this case that cost me a chance to meet Dianna Ross? Are you serious right now?"
Picking up on her anger, he spoke a response even though his attention was still on the lunch he didn't care to eat. "I'll get to it," he said.
"You'll get to it?" She parroted back. "You'll get to it? All this work I put in, and I finally get a bite! I finally finish up, doing your work, and all I get back is I'll get to it?"
"I don't want to talk about it, LeTonya!" He snapped, finally pulling his eyes up to meet her with rage spilling out of them. "Now I said I'll get to it, and I'll get to it!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" She barked back. "Ever since you got that call from this Rambo guy you've been acting like a damned fool! You chewed Jake out, you stopped doing your job, and now you think you're gonna give me attitude?"
"You have no idea what's going on here!" Her husband belted in retort. "You have no idea what I'm facing, what that son of a bitch did to me! I try to help the bastard out, and he gets me caught up in a trap!"
"What kind of trap?" she wondered.
"A tight one!" He advised.
"Well," she opened her response, "do you belong in that trap?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with attitude to match her own.
"Did you stick your foot in that trap? Did you walk into that trap? Is it your own damn fault that you ended up in that trap?"
Thinking it over, Donnell realized he kind of did. He wasn't facing anything that he hadn't earned, there was nothing to own up to that he hadn't done of his own free will with full knowledge of what it meant. He'd stuck his neck out many years ago, and it hadn't been lopped off. It was comfortably retracted now, and even though the blade was finally falling there was no chance he would be facing charges or anything of the sort. His reputation might be tarnished, but that would be the extent of the damage no matter what happened. He'd known that from the beginning, but it hadn't really resonated until his wife -- channeling his mother, as she often did -- had made him consider
why he might have to suffer that injustice.
"So what if I did?" He answered, hoping for more motherly wisdom as opposed to trying to dodge the question.
"Then you should quit acting like a child and deal with the trap!" She said, speaking with the voice of Elle Hughes. "When you're caught up in a trap, you don't struggle against it! That just sinks it in further! You calm down, then you figure out how to get up out of the trap with as little damage as possible! It's one thing to cry like a baby if somebody puts you in a trap, but if you stepped into it with your eyes open? Well then it's yours to wear, and it's yours to handle!"
Hearing it put in words, hearing it spelled out for him, he agreed with what she was saying. He'd fought it for two days, he'd struggled against the idea since it became real, but suddenly he was at peace with it. Mysterious and nostalgic as the cessation of worrying was, he was glad that it all cleared up. All the anger, all the worry, all the uncertainty; it started to fade. This was a twenty year old issue, yet he was wallowing around in it like it really still had teeth. In reality, the only teeth it could possibly have were dull and false. There was no bite behind the bark, there never had been. He had been foolish in struggling against the trap. He had been foolish in giving it a second thought.
His mind clear, he looked back at his sandwich and realized it looked delicious. Without further delay, he lifted it and took a giant bite. He wiped the thousand island that ran down his mouth with one hand and motioned LeTonya closer with the other. He would look into this Freaky Zack McCleary, and he would communicate what he found to Jake... because Jake hadn't done anything to him that he hadn't asked for, and there was little to be done about it now anyway.
There was a tomorrow, and there were plenty of days beyond that in store for him. Some of the drilling that was to come might prove painful, but his smile would be better for the work and removal of teeth that were rotting in his mouth. In the end, he owned all of the proverbial teeth in his head... the pearly white and the brown and decayed alike. Surgical removal of some was overdue, and cooperation would be the equivalent of being a good patient.
FIFTY-ONE