The Chamber of Five (13 page)

My dad wasn’t a monster. Singletary might think so, but I knew the decisions he made weren’t intended to hurt people. People got hurt in the process, but in the end, I knew more people were helped.
The collective good
, I’d heard my uncle say once. And as my father told me, it took a strong man to make decisions other people were unwilling to make, but just because there was always a loser didn’t mean the decision was to be ignored. The weak ignored things.

I groaned, staring at the ceiling. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. I’d heard it a million times, remembering my father’s tirades during dinner. Raise taxes and hurt the businessman, lower taxes and hurt the poor. Hit your kid in the face
to get him to straighten up, hit him and get arrested. There was always the one who got screwed, no matter what. But Singletary made me think that maybe down beneath it all, the game
was
rigged, and maybe no one person could change a system built to protect itself. My father was a part of that system and, I knew, I was, too. We all were.

Which made me think of my face. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. I knew Dad cared about me, but I also knew that life hadn’t turned out the way he’d wanted. I hadn’t turned out the way he’d wanted, and I never would, either. He was screwed up, sure, and his dad hit him when he was growing up, but I understood. He wanted the all-star son and he got the all-star reject.

I also knew that thousands of husbands and fathers were arrested each day for abuse in this country, but they weren’t plastered all over the news. There was no circus for them and no media hype, but for my dad, there was, and it was as wrong as his hitting me in the first place. Maybe Singletary knew something about justice that I didn’t, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate because of it. I loved my dad, and there was no right or wrong in that. It just was.

I got out of bed and padded downstairs. Dad had posted bail and was staying at a hotel somewhere, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was here, lurking over my shoulder, waiting to unload on me.

I opened the fridge, taking the milk out and swigging when I heard footsteps across the hardwood of the dining room. I froze for an instant before my mom came around the corner. In the dimness of the kitchen, she looked tired. Worn. She sat on a stool at the island, arranging her robe. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

I put the cap on the milk. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about this, Jason.”

“Why?”

“Because this is my fault.”

“You didn’t hit me.”

“I know, but you were right the other morning. I should have never allowed it to happen the first time. I never should have been silent.”

I swallowed milk phlegm, clearing my throat. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Do you think he’s bad? I mean, what he does? All the decisions he makes and people he affects?”

She took a breath. “Are you talking about what you’re doing at Lambert?”

“Sort of. I’m just screwed up right now.” I studied the calendar on the fridge. “You think the world is like Lambert? That it’s all just a setup? All power and money and control?”

She smiled. “So what you’re really asking is if you are turning into your father.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She stood, walking over and hugging my shoulders from behind. “The only thing I know for sure is that I think you are doing the right thing, Jason.”

“Why can’t Dad be proud of me?” I looked to the floor. “I screw up all the time, Mom. Nothing ever works with him. I can even run for a stinking position just like him and he doesn’t like it.”

She patted my shoulder. “In a way, I think your father may feel as if you are attacking him by trying to change Lambert, but that’s his issue to deal with.” She walked around me, raising my chin with her finger. “I’m proud of you for this, Jason. It takes courage, and in that way, you
are
just like your father.”

“Do you love him?”

She paused. “Yes, I do. He’s a good man, and I know you don’t really think so at this time, but he’s tried to help a lot of people in his life, and he’s been a good husband and father.” She looked away, smiling. “His first term in office, Jason, you should have known him. He was so … excited to do good. To make a difference. And he has. But he’s lost track of things as the years have gone by.” She looked up. “Do you understand that?”

“I understand I’ll never be what he wants.”

She nodded. “You should be who you are, not what other people want. And that includes your father.”

I thought about it, and I realized that what I wanted was for all of this to never have happened. I wished it would just go away. I wished my dad would be like my mom said he used to be. Like the dad I remembered when I was little. “I want him to love me.”

She stood. “He does.”

“Maybe deep down, but …” I held back, my eyes burning.

“But nothing. He loves you, Jason, but he needs to come to terms with you.”

“Yeah, because I’m a screwup.”

“No. Because you’re a different person. You think differently, and your father is used to battling those who think differently.”

“Politics as usual.”

“Yes, it is. And it’s his nature.”

“Winners and losers and suckers.”

She hugged me again. “You’re a winner.”

I laughed. “Thanks.”

She ruffled my hair. “Everything will turn out. You’ll see.”

“Are you divorcing him?”

“No, I’m not. I love him and I’m willing to help him if he wants help. It will be up to him, because I’ve set my terms.”

“W
E’RE AT AN IMPASSE
here, Jason.”

I glanced again at the cast on his arm. When I’d broken my arm two years ago, within days I’d had a dozen signatures on it from friends. Carter’s was white. Pristine, blank, and as empty as the obsidian pools looking at me. “An impasse?”

He closed my gym-locker door. The place was empty. Silent but for the dripping echo of a leaky showerhead. He took a breath. “Do you really want to see this situation escalate?”

“I didn’t break your arm, and no, I don’t want to see it escalate.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you did. I’m talking about the Leadership Group. The Chamber. This idiotic plan of yours to overthrow it.”

“It’s wrong.”

He smiled. “So there we are. You want something, and I want something.”

“You’re scared I’ll win, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Listen, Jason, it’s no secret I can’t stand you. I hate your guts, actually. I hate who you are and what you are and why I had to put you in the Chamber. But we both need something the other can give.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

He took his phone from his pocket. “Yes, you do.”

I studied him. “Why do you care so much about this, Carter? You’re gone at the end of the year. Lambert will be history.”

He smiled again. “I care because you think you’re better than me, but you’re not.”

“This is about the school, Carter. Not you.”

He shrugged. “I’m offering a compromise.”

“And the terms?”

He shrugged again. “Make him stop, and I won’t stand in your way.”

I stared. “Who?”

He held his cast up. “Singletary.” He paused. “Talk to him, make him stop, get rid of him—out of this school, gone wherever—and you can have your little election and do whatever you want with the Chamber. Complete and total control.”

“You think Singletary is the one hassling you?”

“Yes, I do. And you are helping him.”

I thought about it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not an idiot. I looked at the roster of candidates. Singletary pulled into the race.”

“So?”

“So the only logical conclusion is that he’s in with you. You told him about the file, and he’s paying me back.”

“I’m not helping him do anything.”

His expression darkened. “Get rid of him, Jason.”

“Why? Just like you said, without him we won’t have a majority, and if you think I’ll trust you for a minute, you’re more insane than you already are. I’m going to beat you, Carter, and there’s nothing you can do about it. So no, we’re not at an impasse. You have a problem and it’s not mine.”

“I’ll give you one last chance here. Get rid of him and I promise on everything I am that you will win. I can make it happen. I can give you the majority without him.” He paused. “And by the way, have you thought about Elvis? The letter he needs to get into his school?”

“He doesn’t want it.”

“Don’t fool yourself, and don’t think for a minute that he doesn’t hate you for dragging him into something that will dismantle the only hope he has for making his life anything other than a big pile of shit.” He studied me. “Do you understand what you did to him? You and I have it easy. People like him don’t. They have nothing, and you don’t give a crap about it, do you? You ruined him.”

I stared.

“As the Chamber president, I’m the only one who can write the letter, Jason. And I’ll do it if you work with me. I’ll write the letter the day of the elections.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re killing your best friend’s chance at a good life.”

“I don’t need you.”

He flipped open his phone, then looked at me. “Elvis needs me, though.”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m not scared of you.”

He dialed his phone, talking into it. “Five minutes,” he said, finally, then closed the phone and met my eyes. “You should be scared of me.”

I looked at him.

His voice cut through the silence. “You crossed me, Jason, and you shouldn’t have.”

I shook my head. “Why can’t you just give it up?”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Jason. You have boundaries,” he said, gesturing at his phone, “and I don’t.”

I pointed to the phone in his hand. “Who was that?”

His eyes met mine. “Time is short, so I’ll be blunt. Kennedy has your friend Elvis pinned down in an abandoned warehouse.” He paused. “It seems you left him a note to meet you there to talk … election strategy.” The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Unless you agree to our deal, the brute is going to break both of his arms.” He held up his cast. “A kind of tit for tat, just twice the pain. I’m sure your friend Singletary understands the concept.”

I lunged at him, slamming him against the bank of lockers. “I swear to God if you …”

He remained calm. “Make your mind up, Jason.”

“You’ll face charges. Both of you.”

“You are aware of who my father is, correct? He might be a drunk asshole, but he has so many friends on the bench it’s ridiculous. And Kennedy’s father? You really think charges would hold up?”

“Yes. I’d make sure of it.”

“You can’t.” He paused. “Do you think that two broken arms are worth changing your life, Jason?”

“No.”

“As I said. We’re different than Elvis. He won’t press charges if I promise him the letter. He may have refused it before, but that was pride. For his father. This is different. Besides, there will be no witnesses. Kennedy’s word against a trash collector’s son. He’ll know it, too.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger. “Be smart here, Jason. Come on.”

“Don’t do this, Carter.”

“I will do it, and I’ll do more unless we have some cooperation.” He glanced at his watch. “You have less than three minutes.”

I let him go, yanking my phone from my pocket and calling Elvis. It rang five times before the connection came through. “Elvis, where are you?”

“Hey, Jason! Kennedy here. Your buddy and I are just about to have a little party. You’re missing it.”

I swallowed, looking at the floor, no words coming to me. I closed the phone. “This is insane.”

He looked at his watch. “Two minutes, Jason.”

“You’ll go to jail for this. There’s no way you could get out of it.”

“Make up your mind.”

Panic swept through me, and I knew he was obsessed. He
didn’t
have boundaries. “Okay.”

He growled, “You’ll get rid of him, pay him off, hurt him, do whatever is necessary, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll denounce his candidacy as part of your platform.”

I breathed.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

He called. “Party is canceled, Kennedy. Sorry to spoil your fun.” He closed the phone, then slipped it into his pocket. “Your friend is at 5205 North Market Street.” He nodded. “You might want to hop on over and let him loose.”

I turned to leave.

“Jason?” he called. I faced him, and as he stood there, something in his eyes struck me. Fear. He nodded. “I just wanted to tell you you’ll regret it if you break your word.”

D
RIED BLOOD CAKED
his mouth, and a baseball bat lay next to him. A bolt of dread shot through me. “Did he …”

“No. Just punched me for the fun of it.”

I struggled with the rope around the legs of the desk. “This has gone too far,” I said. He said nothing. Minutes passed before I finally freed him. He sat there, rubbing his wrists, and I stood across from him. “This is all my fault.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

I rolled my eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Thanks.”

“Well, it is. I didn’t say that was bad, though.”

“It is bad.”

He swallowed, joining me in concentrating on the rafters. “He was going to do it, you know?”

“Kennedy?”

“Yeah. He
wanted
to. I could tell. He was excited. I think he had a boner.”

I cleared my throat, thinking.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, because we’re done. The whole thing is off.”

“I’m not done.”

I looked at him. “What?”

He sighed. “When I was standing in the Chamber that day, I realized something, Jason. The world shouldn’t be this way, and I’m not quitting. I’m done being the guy tied to a desk in an abandoned building.”

“Carter is crazy, Elvis. Insane.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

We sat in silence for a while, in agony over our options. “Tell me the truth?” I said, finally.

“About what?”

“Why are you running with me?”