First the Thunder Page 13

  He rolled onto his left shoulder, looked toward the boy’s car. Thought the boy might still be sitting inside, too worked up to climb out yet. But no, there he was half-sitting against the hood. Another girl, one of the skaters, had joined him. Stood leaning up against him, her legs between his. She had one hand on his thigh, his hand on her hip. The girl’s other hand held a cigarette, which she then passed to him. Except that it wasn’t a regular cigarette. Too skinny. And the way they inhaled . . .

  The other kids were twenty yards away, skating in single file up a small concrete ramp used for loading and unloading from the handicap van. They skated across a short covered walkway, then down another ramp, then circled back to do it again and again, all of them singing some song he could not identify.

  Will reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone. Touched the video icon. Aimed the camera at the older boy’s car.

  The camera ran for thirty seconds before one of the boys in the group shouted, “Hirsch! Hey!”

  The boy at the car looked toward the other boy, who now pointed toward Will. Hirsch turned, saw Will with his phone extended, still recording. Will smiled, raised his other hand, and waved to the couple against the car.

  33

  When Will returned to the bar, no customers were waiting. Maybe they had come, found the door locked, and hustled off to get their burger and beer somewhere else. He hadn’t expected anybody to wait. In fact he was relieved to have a few minutes alone before calling upstairs.

  Laci had parked their car down the block, so he knew she was home. Molly should be too. They were probably in the kitchen, or maybe Laci’s bedroom, both of them blasting him for his crude behavior, for humiliating his daughter so that she could never show her face in public again.

  He sent a text to Laci: I’m downstairs if you need me to come up.

  No reply. Then, several minutes later, footsteps thumping down the back stairs. He went into the kitchen area and waited for the door to open.

  Laci came through the door, scowled at him for a moment, then strode up to stand just two feet away. “What the hell were you thinking?” she said.

  He had the cell phone ready. Touched Play, and held the screen up so she could watch the short video.

  “They’re smoking weed?” she whispered.

  “That’s how it looks to me.”

  “This is the boy?”

  “Same one. Name’s Hirsch. Last name probably.”

  When the video ended, she looked up at Will. “When did you shoot this?”

  “Couldn’t have been five minutes after Molly left his car. The kid’s not only a senior, he’s a hound and a pothead.”

  She took in a deep breath, then blew it out. “Do you plan to show this to her?”

  “I’m not sure what to do. What do you think?”

  She took a long time to answer. “Your daughter despises you right now. I assume you’re aware of that.”

  “Well aware.”

  “The question is, Will this video make her despise you more or less?”

  “I wish I knew the answer to that,” Will said. “What I do know is that Hirschy boy saw me recording this. So did a bunch of other kids.”

  “Which means Molly will know about it too.”

  “Sooner or later,” he said.

  Laci shook her head. “God, Will.”

  “I know,” he said.

  Again she paused before speaking. “I assume you read him the riot act without breaking any bones?”

  “Not so much as a fingerprint.”

  She nodded. “So your talk, plus this video . . . should be enough to keep his hands off her from now on.”

  “It better be,” Will said.

  “You know this is just the beginning. If it’s not him, it will be another boy. This is going to go on for years and years. Do you think you can survive it?”

  “Are you saying a convent is out of the question?”

  She raised a fist, and thumped it lightly against his chest. Then leaned against him, her fist caught between them.

  She said, “I heard you were over at Harvey’s place this morning.”

  He drew back a little. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Jennalee stopped to talk to me on her way to the mall. While I was out taking photos. I ended up having coffee with her.”

  “And?” he said.

  “And what?”

  “The whole motorcycle thing. I’m sure you must have talked about it.”

  “She acts like it’s none of her business. Said she’d talk to Kenny about it, though.”

  “Really? That’s good.”

  “She also hinted that maybe there’s some tension in the marriage. Not necessarily related to the motorcycle.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing specific,” Laci said. “But she went into this weird little speech about monogamy. About how it’s against human nature.”

  Will’s neck straightened; his eyes opened wider.

  “I know,” Laci said. “I got the distinct feeling that she’s cheating on him.”

  “Shit,” Will said. “No wonder he’s so ticked off all the time. When you can’t trust the person you love, every other problem seems a whole lot bigger than it is.”

  “I could be wrong,” Laci told him. “I hope I am.”

  “He’d fall apart without her. I know he would. The same way I would without you and Molly.”

  She leaned against him again, wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed the side of her head.

  When she pulled away, she said, “Why’d you walk over there this morning?”

  “Just to check on him. See if he’d cooled off any.”

  “Has he?”

  Will thought about what to tell her. “It’s not really about the motorcycle, you know. It’s about Jake.”

  “I know that.”

  “I think he realizes he can’t be doing something stupid, putting his whole life in jeopardy. He’s just frustrated is all. I wish I’d known about Jennalee before I went over there. It puts a different slant on things. You have any idea who she might be seeing?”

  “If I had to guess,” Laci said, “it would be one of the other teachers. The workplace is the number-one location for infidelity.”

  “Seriously?” he said.

  “It’s where people spend most of their time.”

  “It’s sad,” he said, and stroked her hair. “Nobody is honest anymore. Everybody lies. Everybody cheats.”

  “I know,” she said, and buried her face against his chest.

  Business was better for Will later in the day. A group of three thirsty guys, then two couples, all in their twenties. A pair of senior citizens, regular customers, sat at the bar and kept the Iron City tap busy.

  Around six Laci brought down a salad to go with the lasagna she had baked in the bar’s kitchen. She fixed a plate for him and carried it out to the bar. While he ate, she pulled an occasional draft or refilled pitchers. Molly, she told him, had chosen to stay home and in her room instead of hanging out with friends.

  “I guess I’m still in the doghouse,” he said.

  “She won’t even answer her phone. She’s too embarrassed to talk to anybody.”

  “Should I talk to her maybe? After things slow down here?”

  “Of course you should. Just don’t expect any miracles.”

  He ate a little more lasagna, despite having no appetite all day long.

  Laci watched the small crowd for a while, listened to the easy laughter, the clink of glasses and animated talk. “Thank God for these kids,” she said.

  Will nodded. “I’m thinking of getting one of those Jägermeister cold shot dispensers.”

  “How much?”

  “The chiller-tappers are about three-fifty.”

  “Couldn’t you just keep the bottles in the cooler?”

  “I do. It’s just for looks, you know. Make the place a little hipper.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, but she did not finish the sen
tence.

  34

  Not long after 9:00 p.m., Laci came briskly down the back stairs and into the bar, which now had only two customers, an older man and woman having a quiet nightcap before heading home. Will turned to see Laci standing at the end of the bar, her camera bag slung from a shoulder. He left the couple to cross to her.

  “Garage fire out past where that old dragline used to sit,” she told him. “They think it was a meth lab. Dispatch put out a call for HazMat and two ambulances. And somebody from Children and Youth.”

  “Jesus,” he said.

  She kissed his cheek. “Molly’s still awake. Watching Netflix on her laptop. One of her friends gave her a password.”

  “Be safe,” he told her.

  Twenty minutes later he finished cleaning the couple’s glasses and wiping the bar. Then stood against the bar for another five minutes, motionless, before deciding to close early. He shut off the TV and was reaching for the air conditioner switch when the door swung open and a man in a gray suit, white shirt and blue tie walked in. He was bald and cleanly shaven, late fifties, and paused just inside the door to survey the room. To Will he said, “Closing time already?”

  “Doesn’t have to be,” Will said.

  The man smiled and approached the bar. “I won’t keep you long,” He swung his leg over a stool and eased down. “Wild Turkey rocks. Make it a double and you won’t have to pour twice,” the man said.

  Will poured two ounces and a little more.

  “Is it always this slow on a Saturday night?” the man asked after a sip.

  “Unfortunately,” Will said.

  “The death of small-town America. I see it all over the place.”

  “You do a lot of traveling?” Will asked.

  “Sales rep. Mid-Atlantic region. Sort of a Willy Loman of the textbook industry.”

  Before Will could think of an intelligent question to ask, the man held his glass out toward the photograph on the wall. “Now there’s a guy who has it nailed,” he said.

  “This could be his last year, though. The Steelers won’t be the same without him.”

  Will kept looking at the photo, Roethlisberger standing tall, eyes downfield despite the three defenders pulling him down.

  “Who do you think was the better quarterback?” Will asked. “Bradshaw or Big Ben? I never saw Bradshaw play except in the highlight reels.”

  “Well, Ben has the edge on all the stats. But he’s playing under a different set of rules—rules that protect the quarterback and his receivers.”

  “You think he’s as good as Brady?”

  The man shrugged. “Sure, Brady has the arm, but he also has a front line that keeps his uniform clean. You notice how he whines to the ref every time he gets knocked down? He wouldn’t last four quarters if he had to take the kind of beating Ben does. To me, that’s what a champion is.”

  Now he raised his glass to the photo, then drank off the rest of his bourbon.

  “Refill?” Will asked.

  “Thank you just the same,” the man said. He slid off the stool and stood with both hands against the curved edge of the bar. “I need to find a bed for the night. Just had to get off the interstate for a while, you know? I’m glad I picked your little town to do it in. I bet it used to be nice here.”

  Will smiled. “I guess so. Before we were old enough to know any better.”

  “Good luck with the place. I hope business picks up for you.”

  “I’m trying to hold on to that hope myself,” Will said.

  The man nodded and offered his own sad smile in reply. Then he turned and headed toward the door.

  Halfway there, he paused. “A man once told me,” he said, “that each of us is born with three things: your name, your family, and your inherent limitations. You learn your name fairly quickly in life. You never really know your family. And most of us will never have a clue of how much, or how little, we are truly capable.”

  He raised his hand in farewell. “May the Force be with you,” he said, then pulled open the door and stepped into the darkness.

  35

  When Will walked upstairs after closing the bar for the night, his legs felt like water-soaked logs, nearly too heavy to lift from one step to the next. The stranger’s words continued to weigh on him. Was the stranger suggesting that Will was capable of less than he imagined, or more than he imagined? Was he merely confirming what Will had been taught to suspect, that he lacked the wits and gumption to ever rise above his own mediocrity?

  Harvey had always been the bold one, the risk-taker. He was no smarter than Will but fearless, the kind of man who, had their circumstances been different, had they come across a mentor as boys, just one caring, attentive guide, might have excelled as a professional athlete, a businessman with a string of car dealerships, maybe even as an actor in action movies like Lethal Weapon or Fast & Furious. He would have made a great Jack Reacher, a thousand times better than Tom Cruise, who in real life would have a hard time punching out an inflatable clown.

  Even Stevie, who had grown up more or less on his own, seemed to have greater resources than Will. Like Will he flew under everybody’s radar, but like Harvey he was unconcerned with living what others thought of as a normal life. He lived as he pleased, and had a knack for making a lot out of a little. Did he lust for a house like Harvey’s or Kenny’s? Did he lie in bed at night and dream about making a hundred grand a year? At most times Stevie seemed perfectly content with a beer and a slice of pizza, especially when they were free.

  Will could never live so nonchalantly. He was the practical one, the fair and reasonable one. If somebody bought him a beer, he would insist, absolutely insist, on buying the next round.

  The truth, Will told himself, is that Harvey and Stevie make their own decisions. You just react. A guy says, “Buy a bar,” and you buy a bar. A pretty woman walks up to you at the community picnic and says, “Hey there, good-lookin’,” and you marry her. Every important decision you’ve ever made really hasn’t been a decision at all, but a reaction to somebody else’s decision.

  And now, considering all this as he removed his shoes just inside the apartment and then quietly closed the door behind him, he realized that what he had previously thought of as virtues were, in fact, liabilities—facets of his personality that had always held him back. Only men as fearless and aggressive as Harvey thrived. Only men as adaptable and carefree as Stevie enjoyed more than fleeting moments of happiness.

  They were, all three, men of the same blood. Will must have possessed, somewhere deep inside, the same possibilities. Why couldn’t he too be bold and carefree? Maybe he was nobody’s genius, but what difference did that make? The world was full of successful, happy men of average intelligence. All Will had to do was call up the potential that lay sleeping inside him.

  He eased open the door to Molly’s bedroom, and peeked inside. She was sleeping on her side, fully dressed but for her shoes, earphones still plugged in, the small light burning on the end table.

  He moved closer and gently removed the earphones. She stirred just a little when he pulled one earphone from beneath her head. Then he closed the laptop and set it on the end table, and turned out the light.

  And then, with only the light from the hallway illuminating Molly’s face, he bent down and kissed her forehead and felt something catch in his chest. My child, he thought.

  It was then the idea came to him. Startling. Horrifying. And brilliant.

  Quickly he tiptoed out of the bedroom, eased the door shut, then hurried to his own bedroom. He undressed as if in a hurry, his body flushed with an inner heat. He turned on the fan, pulled a chair close to it, facing the open window, and tried to contain his excitement long enough to order his thoughts. We do this, and then this, he thought, and then this will happen. It has to. It has to.

  He got up, lifted his khakis off the floor, pulled his cell phone from a pocket, and returned to the chair by the window. Laci would be home any time now. He had to get things in motion now.<
br />
  Stevie answered on the fourth ring, just before Will’s call went to voice mail. “What’s up?” he said in a whisper.

  “I have an idea,” Will told him. “A great idea. Why are you whispering?”

  “Not alone,” Stevie said.

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Never mind.”

  “All right then, just listen,” Will said. “I have an idea for dealing with Kenny. But I need to ask a favor of you. I need you to get something for us.”

  “Like what?”

  Will told him what he needed, and why he needed it.

  “Are you crazy?” Stevie whispered. “I don’t want the FBI pounding on my door!”

  “Can you do it or not?” Will asked.

  “Look. Will,” Stevie said.

  “Harvey would do it for you. You know he would.”

  “Over some stupid motorcycle? I could go to jail!”

  “It’s for your brother, Stevie. For family. You wanted to be a part of things, right? Well this is your chance.”

  Stevie went silent. Will leaned toward the window screen, breathed in the warm darkness, felt it embolden and strengthen him. “You’re either in or you’re out,” he said.

  “Jesus, Will.”

  “We’re brothers,” Will told him. “We’re all we have left. Don’t forget that.”

  “Okay,” Stevie finally said. “Okay. I know a guy I can call.”

  “Do it now. We’re going to get this thing done.”

  Will ended the call, smiling. It was all coming together. He had promised a plan, and now he had delivered. He sent Harvey a text. Have great idea. Will come by in morning.

  36

  Laci returned home that night after shooting photos for the police, plus a handful for the newspaper, the scent of the smoldering ruins of a two-stall garage still in her nostrils. In her mind’s eye she continued to see the charred bodies of the husband and wife secured in body bags. Their little girl, a crying toddler in a filthy T-shirt, had been recovered from the mobile home and was comforted by a woman from Children & Youth Services, but Laci couldn’t stop worrying about the fate of the child, her probable seventeen years of negligent and abusive foster care. What were the odds that she would grow into a healthy, stable young woman?