Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) (31 page)

SHAKESPEARE’S FOREARMS FLEXED with strength as he popped the top on the soda and took a long pull. He stifled a belch with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” he said. “My throat was killing me.”

“No problem.”

Drake imagined those muscular arms hoisting a man up with a rope and choke chain. He recalled the witnesses who said they saw a teenage trick-or-treater coming late to the apartment by the stairs.

Not a teen, but a small man. A very clever, very strong, and very angry small man. A man who was focused on details with the time and money to be thorough and careful. Someone who understood police procedure after endless hours of research.

“I’m starting to feel like myself again,” Shakespeare said.

“That’s good.”

“Did you get hold of my lawyer?”

“I couldn’t reach him, but I left a message. I’m sure we’ll hear from him in the morning.”

Shakespeare sighed and shook his head. He sat down on the edge of the cot.

“So what do we do now?” he said.

“We wait,” Drake said and sat on the stool. “In the meantime I thought I’d hang out with you for a while. There’s not much going on upstairs, and I figured sitting and talking to you would make the night move faster.”

“Works for me.”

“I’ve thought about what you asked me, about why I wrote? I’m not sure my answer was all that truthful.”

“Oh yeah? So what’s the real reason?”

“I’m retiring in a few weeks and I gotta tell you, I have no idea what life will be like after that.”

“It’s a big change.”

“So I started writing a new book, hoping it’d be a bestseller and I could spend the rest of my life as a rich big shot. You know what I mean?”

Shakespeare smirked. “Every writer’s dream.”

“Then you told me the story I was writing had already been written a thousand times. That was like a smack in the head, because I realized you were right. I’ve thought a lot about it today and I feel kind of stuck, not sure where to go with the story.”

“Happens to best of us.”

“I’ve been following the agent murders and trying to string together a story based on that. But when I read over what I had, it just sounded false.”

“I know that problem, “ Shakespeare said. “I’ve started and stopped about a dozen books for that very reason.”

“That many? I’m only on my second book in ten years. Not a very good record.”

“At least you’re trying. I heard once that many people on their deathbed say their biggest regret is they never wrote the book they always dreamed about. That would be a tragedy.”

Drake nodded as though this were the greatest truth he had ever heard.

“So let me throw your own question back at you,” Drake said. “Why do you write?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I write because I have to, because it gives me freedom.”

“Sandy said we all take the high road and talk about writing as some sacred exercise, but he thinks we all secretly do it for the money. But you have money, right?”

“Yeah I do,” Brian said, his tone becoming sharp and his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. “But I write anyway, because it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Shakespeare seemed to ponder that for a moment.

“Isaac Asimov once said he writes for the same reason he breathes, because if he didn’t he would die. I feel the same way.”

“Simple as that, huh?”

“No, it’s more than that. I’ve always been teased about my height, and no amount of money or cars or whatever made a bit of difference in how people treated me. So I started to write. I felt like I was doing something that mattered, something no one could take away.”

“When did you start?” Drake asked.

“Thirteen years ago.”

“Wow. Ever publish anything?”

Shakespeare shook his head in disgust. “I had an agent once, but he said my writing was too detailed and I would bore the reader. He dropped me when I refused to re-write the book.”

“Why didn’t you just do what he suggested?”

“Because he was just lazy. He wouldn’t do the work it took to recognize the importance of what I had written. He had no balls, no vision.”

“He was one of the murder victims, right?”

Shakespeare hesitated for a moment and looked sharply at Drake, but then he nodded and said, “Yes.”

Drake went on as if he hadn’t noticed Shakespeare’s reaction.

“Sandy and I talked about rejection, how it builds and becomes an invisible weight we have to drag around. He had hundreds of rejections and said he finally couldn’t take it anymore. He gave up.”

“Most writers do,” Shakespeare whispered.

“I can only imagine. But what keeps you going? I mean, besides the breathing bit.”

“I always hope the latest book will be the one. This plot, these characters will finally force the agents and publishers to take notice. It doesn’t matter whether it becomes a bestseller or paperback pulp fiction, at least the book is in print and people can walk into a local shop and buy it.”

“Sandy had that,” Drake said softly.

“Yeah, for a brief moment. Ever see that baseball movie where the old timer gets stuck teaching the hot head new guy how to make it to the show?”

Drake smiled. “Bull Durham.”

“That’s the one. Well Sandy’s that old guy who was in the majors for two weeks and now acts like he can manage the destinies of newcomers. But there comes a time when we have to quit or become something more than every other writer.”

“And your new book does that? It breaks the mold?”

“Oh, it does. It kicks the shit out of the whole deal.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“It’s about redemption and ultimate accomplishment,” Shakespeare said with a smile. “It’s a story about a single visionary who’s willing to do whatever it takes to rise above the mediocre.”

“What’s it called?”

“Have more vision Lou. Look deeper and realize the title could be anything. The title is only necessary to get the attention of the shortsighted. It’s a stepping stone to the final goal.”

“You mean so you can get it published.”

“Exactly, but not for the money or the fame. It’s all about the soul-filling personal satisfaction that you’ve become not just a writer, but an author.”

Drake nodded while he tried to decide how to turn the conversation in the direction he wanted. Finally he said, “I’m struggling with my new book, but yours sounds amazing. Could I read through what you’ve written? Maybe that would help me get my own vision.”

“That would be a very bad idea,” Shakespeare said. His eyes darkened. “Very bad.”

“But why? I only wanted to—”

“Don’t read my book.”

“Brian, I wouldn’t steal anything from you. And I won’t tell a soul what it’s about.”

“No!” Shakespeare yelled and stood up. “You will not read my book! Bring me my satchel right now!”

“Brian, calm down.”

“NO!” Shakespeare screamed and lunged at the bars. He reached through but Drake was too far away. The veins in Shakespeare’s neck looked like electrical cords.

“Bring me my book!”

“I can’t do that,” Drake said and casually stood up.

“I’ll kill you if you read my manuscript,” Shakespeare rasped. “You hear me?”

“Oh I hear you,” Drake said and took a step back from the bars. “But I’ve already looked at your book.”

Drake pulled the pages from his jacket.

Shakespeare’s eyes widened and seemed to bulge from their sockets.

“You’re a dead man,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He lunged and jammed his arm through the bars, his fingers like a claw.

“I was especially interested in a few particular pages,” Drake said calmly, “like 47 and 68. Seems to me I’ve seen those before.”

He paused to look at Shakespeare, whose breaths were coming in heated huffs.

“Brian, I know who you are.”

“You’ll never know me,” Shakespeare said. He started pacing, his hands clenching and unclenching as he turned repeatedly in the small space. “No one will ever know me.”

“Oh, I know you. You’re just like me.”

Shakespeare paused his pacing long enough to sneer at Drake.

“You wish.”

“You’re just like every other writer who’s tried and tried but never made it. It’s a good title, REJECTION. In fact it’s a great book, but it’s also the confession that’ll put you in prison for life.”

Shakespeare shook his head. “That was never the plan.”

“But the plan has changed. Because now I know.”

“Oh, of course.”

Shakespeare stopped and glowered through the bars at Drake.

“So you finally show your true colors. You can see the power of what I’ve written and can’t refuse the temptation to claim it as your own. Now you’re willing to sell your soul to the devil.”

“Not at all,” Drake said.

“Don’t bullshit me!”

Shakespeare’s voice was a grating howl, a primal scream that came from the pain he had carried all his life.

“Listen to me,” Drake said.

“No, I’m not going to listen to the lies of a soul thief. You will die, Lou. And I’ll stand over you and take the ultimate satisfaction, knowing I took back what is mine.”

Drake almost laughed from the absurdity of Shakespeare’s prediction, but he held it in, not wanting to break the tension.

“No Brian, I’ll be your messenger. I can deliver what you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

“Messenger, my ass.”

“Think about it. Get rid of that hate and you’ll see I have so much to offer you. I can make the dream come true.”

Shakespeare’s eyes were wild and his face was mottled with red. He glared with a hatred more intense than Drake had ever seen before.

“You lie,” Shakespeare hissed.

“Brian, I can carry your book to the one person who will see what you’ve done. And I have a new idea that’ll make it twice as powerful.”

“What do you mean, a new idea?”

“A companion book, from the point of view of the arresting officer.”

“No! This has to be a standalone triumph. That’s how I planned it.”

“This agent I have in mind, she’ll understand the media frenzy our two books will create. She’ll turn both of us into household names.”

“I don’t need that,” Shakespeare said. His chest heaved with fury. “I was going to send it to a publisher anonymously.”

“And how long would you have been okay with that?”

“Forever.”

Drake shook his head dismissively. “Think about it. Your book climbs the New York Times bestseller list and you’re not going to want people to know? Don’t make me laugh.”

“This book will stand on its own.”

“Sure, but eventually you wouldn’t be able to resist taking credit. And it can’t be anonymous now anyway, but that’s even better. We can put it in the hands of the right people to see the vision through.”

“You’re just a fat, dumb cop,” Shakespeare snarled. “What the fuck do you know?”

“I know the one person who’ll open the door. And I know how to make it all work.”

Shakespeare stared at him through the bars, trying to regain his breath. His jaw worked convulsively from side to side. Finally he said, “How?”

“You’ll have to confess. I’ll be the arresting officer.”

“But I left no evidence. There’s no physical proof I did anything.”

Drake held up the bundle of pages. “Except this manuscript. And imagine what we’ll find on your computer when we get a search warrant.”

Shakespeare’s eyes widened in shock, and then some of the anger seemed to drain out of him.

“They never would have known,” he said quietly.

“I know, but I can turn this into something great.”

Shakespeare looked at him sullenly. “But with your name on it, right?”

Drake shook his head. “No, you’re not getting it. I’m going to help you become a well-known author.”

Shakespeare’s voice was now flat and lifeless. “But—”

“Look Brian, you’ve got to trust me. I understand what you’ve gone through and what you want, because I want the same thing. Work with me and I guarantee you’ll be a bestselling author, and so will I.”

“So you’re going to ride my coattails, is that it?”

Drake snorted in annoyance.

“Aren’t you listening? I’m saying you can have what you always wanted, and you’re standing there arguing about stupid details. Do you want to be published or not? Because if you don’t, just say the word and I’ll walk out of here. Some other officer will ram your ass through the legal system and you’ll never see your manuscript again.”

Panic flooded Shakespeare’s face.

“No, wait. Okay, I’ll listen to what you want to do. But Lou?”

“What?”

“No matter what anyone says, I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” Drake said, “just willing to do whatever was necessary.”

Shakespeare sniffed. “They’ll say I’m insane.”

“Only the ones who don’t get it. Anyone with vision will say you were methodical.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. And I truly believe it was your lucky day when you were arrested and brought in here.”

Shakespeare looked at him with disbelief. “Now you’re the one who’s crazy.”

“No, I’m serious. It would have eaten away at you for the rest of your life if you had published that book anonymously. Now, with your name attached it’ll fulfill what you and I have both been working toward. But you and I need to have an understanding and we need to be true to our word.”

As Shakespeare seemed to consider this, Drake had a moment of doubt. My God, he thought, I’m conspiring to get what I want at the cost of this man’s life.

But no, that wasn’t it. Shakespeare was on his way to prison no matter what. Drake knew he wasn’t like Andrade and Collins, he was simply taking the opportunity to become what he wanted more than anything in the world.

Did that make him like Thibido?

No, this was collaboration, not a conspiracy. No extra suffering would happen as a result. In fact one life would be saved. Shakespeare was no scapegoat. He would have been caught and incarcerated eventually. Besides, Brian definitely belonged in jail for what he’d done.

Shakespeare leaned against the wall, crossed his muscular arms across his chest, cocked his head and looked at Drake. He broke into a sneering smile that chilled Drake’s bones.

“Well?” Drake asked.