27

OTTO AND CHAMP SAT IN THE BACK OF A DARK, NEARLY EMPTY BAR NAMED the Griffin. A group of overweight guys in T-shirts and jeans played pool across from the booth where the two men sat. The sharp crack of pool balls was the only noise in the bar.

“At least we got the brother,” Champ said. “His ass is dead.”

“I don’t give a shit about him,” Otto said. “Gary’s the one I’m worried about. He’s the one the police are looking at. He’s the one who can take my ass down for the murder.”

“We shoulda stuck around and tracked him down.”

“He coulda disappeared anywhere. We had to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up.” Plus, he’d landed on his bad knee after Gary tackled him. The pain had been intense, made it damn near impossible to walk.

Otto picked up a glass tumbler off the table and took a drink. A gin and tonic made with shitty gin and flat tonic. He took a long, angry swig—the alcohol was helping dull the pain.

“Want me to go to his house?” Champ asked. “Take him out?”

“Not tonight. Enough action for one night. We were lucky to get outta there.”

“So what’re you gonna do?”

Otto took another drink from the glass tumbler. He set it back onto the table and looked at Champ.

“Ain’t nothing to do but wait. His time’ll come soon enough.”

WHEN GARY ARRIVED HOME, HE STEPPED INSIDE AND QUIETLY SHUT THE front door. The lights remained off. He checked on Beth and, as expected, he found her in bed, asleep.

He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands.

Rod was dead.

An onslaught of bottled-up emotions hit Gary hard, leaving his mind frozen and numb. He sobbed hysterically into his hands. A muffled sound like an animal dying escaped his lips. The tears were uncontrollable, impossible to stop.

He thought about Rod and all the memories they shared, a lifetime of them. He thought of the early years—playing with Legos together, sneaking out of bed at night to watch TV shows forbidden by their parents, laughing uncontrollably when one of them farted or burped. He thought about how he’d grown tired of his younger brother when he’d discovered women in junior high and high school, how they’d argued and fought and been at each other’s throats for what seemed like every day when they were teenagers. He remembered how Rod had cried, actually cried, when Gary moved away for college, and how much it affected him to see his younger brother so emotional. He remembered how, later in life, Rod would call on Sunday nights, at seven o’clock right on the dot every week, and tell Gary about whatever adventure he’d been on that week—some wild party he’d gone to when he was in college, a mountain he’d skied when he lived in Colorado, a failed audition he’d gone on while trying to break into acting in Los Angeles.

And now Rod was dead. There would be no more phone calls. No more entertaining stories. No more memories to share with one another.

Regardless of what happened next, nothing would change the fact that Rod was dead. Even if Gary were able to escape this nightmare and return to a normal life with Beth, Rod would still be gone. All because he’d come to save his older brother and gotten caught up in something that wasn’t even his problem.

“Rod,” Gary said, and uttered a long, trembling sigh.

Face buried in his hands, his tears continued. Every time he thought he was cried out, he recalled some other memory and the tears started up again.

Gary stayed hunched over the kitchen table for what seemed like an eternity. Once the tears finally stopped, he staggered down the hallway and showered in the bathroom. He felt numb and exhausted as the hot water rinsed over his body. After the shower, he walked into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Beth didn’t wake up beside him.

He fell asleep instantly.