An Incidental Reckoning (18 page)

"Hey," he said.

The bartender looked up at him, and Will relished the fear in his eyes, and the respect borne from that fear.

"’You're welcome’. Or maybe 'sure, come back again.' That's all I wanted. No reason it had to be this hard."

The man struggled to sit up, and Will waited to see what he would do, hoped he would get up and fight. Willed him to.

"You want to do anything about this? I'm in no hurry. In fact I've got all day. Just let me know."

The man shook his head, and Will understood that he was just another coward, another fool with grand ideas about himself easily exposed when called to account. And in this way the bartender reminded him too much of himself. Before. Disgusted, he turned to walk away, and then on impulse pivoted back around and swung his foot, catching the bartender in the chin. He heard his teeth click together as he fell backwards again on the pavement.

Will glanced all around, but either nobody saw him or nobody cared, and he set on a brisk pace away from the scene, feeling better than he had all day, the soreness not so much an impediment now but a secret badge of honor. If he thought it worth the risk, he might go back to deliver one more blow. He kept walking and rounded the corner, smiling at this newfound freedom. He took off his jacket, like shedding an old skin that no longer fit, slung it over his shoulder and hiked the four blocks to his apartment.

Michelle picked up on the fifth ring, and Will did his best to keep an image of her tearing away from a passionate kiss to take his call.

"Hello?"

"It's me, Michelle. I got the papers in the mail."

There was a pause, and Will waited anxiously, gripping the phone so hard he feared it would break.

"Yes."

"That's all? 'Yes'? Fourteen years and that's all you can say?"

"Will, I'm sorry. What do you want? This separation has been enough for me to know that I don't want to go back to the way things were. I want to be happy again. I haven't been happy for a long time."

Will ran his hands through his hair, trying to bite back his anger, carefully measuring his words to avoid doing any more damage. So much hung in the balance. If nothing else, he needed to preserve his relationship with his son.

"We can work things out. I know we can. I've changed. Just give me a chance to show you that. I love you, and I'm sorry for making it so hard."

"I don't want to work things out. It's over Will. Just please try to accept that. Anything else will just make it more difficult for…everyone."

His anger rose, and he tried and failed to keep it in check.

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me about Justin? He's my son, too."

"No. I'm not doing that. Please calm down. But I do think that Justin shouldn't play on the team right now, until we get this sorted out. He's confused enough already, and I probably shouldn't have let him join this year in the first place, until we knew how this would end."

Knowing it was the wrong thing to say, Will blurted out, "You knew already, didn't you? I saw you, last night. I stopped by the house and I saw
him.
Where was Justin? Did you send him to bed early so you could screw your boyfriend?"

Her silence infuriated him more.

"What, you thought you could keep that a secret? We are still married, Michelle. I haven't been with anyone at all, you know."

"Maybe not recently. But I know what you did at that conference. I know all about it. Don't you dare try to turn me into a whore, when you did that already."

Will could feel his cheeks burning, but he refused to back down. He'd been backing down his entire life. What he had told Jon hadn't been entirely accurate. The opportunity to test his manhood had never arisen because he'd steered clear of any situation that could turn physical. Even verbal attacks had left him shaking inside, provoking a need to appease rather than stand his ground. Any maybe, just maybe, Michelle needed him to step up and refuse to go along with the divorce. Perhaps it was a test. She needed to know he would fight for her. He could do that. He would. He took a deep breath to steady his voice, to dispel his anger, or at least hide it.

"I'm sorry. You're right, and I’m asking for your forgiveness. But I was different then. I went camping with Jon Albridge this weekend. Some things happened...and everything’s changed. We need to try, Michelle. I'm willing to try. Can we do that? Just try?"

She began to cry, and Will took it as a good sign, an indication that she still felt something for him. He dared to believe this could turn out okay. Just one thing. Was that too much to ask?

"Will, I waited for you to change for years. And I finally realized it wasn't going to happen. You're a self-absorbed man that put his wife and son in the background to amass some fortune that still has yet to materialize. And now magically this weekend everything changed. What happened? Was there a revival at the campground? Did you find Jesus, Will? Tell me what could have made such a huge difference in one weekend."

The tears had yielded to anger, and she mocked him in her challenge. He came close, so very close to telling her everything, but knew how foolish it would be, and knew how ineffective his next words sounded before he spoke them.

"I...I can't tell you what happened. But if you'll just trust me. I'm not lying."

"I don't trust you, Will. I can't. And even if I thought I could, I don't want to. That man's name is Robert, and do you know what? We went to dinner before you spied on us through the window..."

"I wasn't spying."

"Whatever you want to call it. But when he picked me up, he told me how nice I looked, how good my perfume smelled. He pulled out my chair at the table. He looked me in the eye when we spoke, was actually interested in what I had to say. He did all of those things I've been waiting for you to do. And now by some profound experience that's also a big secret, I'm supposed to believe that you can do that?"

"He just wanted to get into your pants, Michelle. I didn't think you were that stupid."

"Shut up! He didn't even want to come in. I invited him and then insisted. And before I
screwed
him, he wanted to go home, said he didn't want to ruin things. And for your information, Justin was at my mother's. He hasn't even met Robert, and I don't plan on introducing them until after the divorce is final."

"I won't sign the papers." His voice had turned petulant, and he knew he had lost, the decisive moment probably passing years ago without him even noticing.

"Then I will hate you. I don't, yet. Maybe I should, but I don't. I just want out. You can keep me as a wife in name, but I will never be one again to you beyond that, Will. If you've really changed, then let me go and you can find someone else to prove it to. Be happy with her. I wish you the best. I have to go now. Please just sign the papers. For once, think about somebody other than yourself. Goodbye."

He heard the click of the terminated connection but held the phone to his ear, thinking of all the things he might have said, but then realized that the phone wasn't a time machine so that he could go back to all of those conversations necessary to prevent this one, that nothing said now could matter enough. He gently put the receiver back in the cradle, went to the kitchen table, set down the papers from the envelope and signed his name. He experienced true sorrow for what it meant, the most significant signature of his life, but he knew that she was right. The new Will Roup couldn't waste any more time. And truth be told, he had things to do, and couldn’t see a place for Michelle in them. He thought again of the most important thing, that one with Brody. Instead of dread, he felt a curious sense of excitement and anticipation.

Chapter 13

Brody arrived home from the trip the next day, after spending another night at the motel, enjoying the solitude, the anonymity of a generic room without any reminders of his life, either past or in progress. He liked his house, surprisingly left him by his mother, but their ghosts walked the empty rooms in the form of bitter memories and unmet expectations. His parents had both died young, his father first, his mother close behind, and he guessed that his life choices had contributed. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t feel sorry for those choices.

Brody had resented authority before he recognized that the concept had a name. He hated that some had been granted power over him without his consent, and discovered throughout his life, as he tested them in each instance, that most had done nothing to truly earn it and that only an artificial system filled with enablers protected them. Especially in the gulag known as the public educational system. The only thing he found interesting there came during history class, in reading of civilizations that depended on brute force to maintain order, where only the strong or clever lasted long enough to get a mention in an otherwise boring textbook. He wanted to do his best to stage a revival of the barbarian hordes that swept through towns and villages, taking what they wanted and destroying everything else.

But to do that, he needed an army.

He found, as he grew older, that most willing to cross the lines of established authority did so not out of any true rebellion, but only for the easy spoils and thrills, weren’t willing to go to the wall in any kind of prolonged war; or they were just stupid, lazy, mean or all of the above. He knew his dreams were grandiose and would and did settle for much less, but couldn’t deny his disappointment that not many could share or even understand his philosophies unless he explained them in terms of cash or women or inflicting pain on the weak. Not that he had anything against these as incentives or tactics, but to him they were a means to express a worldview, not ends in themselves. He suspected it had always been that way, only a few fully dedicated to a greater vision and the hordes willing to go along for what they could plunder. In his world, loyalty had the consistency of sand except for a very select few, and most of those he had known that had possessed it had died far too young.

Which is why he felt even more thrilled with his stroke of genius in converting Jon and Will to part-time felons. Sure, they might want to kill him and even follow through if given the chance, but it had nothing to do with the usual reasons: to gain more power, either for themselves or on behalf of someone seen as stronger and better able to shake the tree and dislodge the fruits. Jon and Will only wanted to return to their lives as sheep among sheep, and wiggle their way deep into the middle of the flock so that the wolf would eat someone else grazing on the fringes.

That characterization might be unfair, however, because they did display some promise during their training mission. No one could do that and not be changed. For better or worse, he couldn’t say, but certainly changed. Normal guys that did their best to follow the rules shattering them into pieces and getting away with it. That stayed with you no matter who you were.

And it had to help, he wagered, that these two had taken orders from him before, some part of their brains already programmed to yield to his wishes. He was hard-wired to lead, even understood that if he had followed an accepted path, submitted to the false authoritarians, he could have led on a field of battle or headed up some corporation. But he did not live with regret, had followed his chosen career path even thought it had taken a dark turn through the penitentiary.

He had come out of prison relatively unscathed due to one immutable truth; Brody Stape would die before becoming someone's bitch, and it didn’t take long for the bull queers or anyone else with casual interest to understand that. One man blinded and another buried in the prison graveyard acted as potent and lasting deterrents. The cells were stocked with weaker fish anyway. He could have led in prison, but chose not to, did his time mostly keeping to himself, engaged only in casual alliances forged out of a mutual need to stand in force against the various gangs and groups that roved the yard or cafeteria looking to hurt someone; he wasn't afraid of them, but he wasn't stupid, either.

Before coming home, Brody had picked up a paper, even paid for it, and now scanned the articles for opportunities and ideas for the big score, something that would set him free from material need. He had come to a realization that though the system could not be defeated, it could be side-stepped, and money was the key. He searched for stories with casual mentions of wealth available for the taking. He didn’t plan on acting right away, but needed ideas that he could fit Will and Jon into. They had distinct disadvantages in lacking any real skills, but one big plus; no criminal records. They could go where he and his kind marked by the law could not, and do so without any hint of suspicion. That would need to be the central theme behind whatever he ultimately planned.