Broken Lies

by Roger Williams

  “Are you close enough for a visit?”

  “Not really. And listen, I’d rather not say over the phone where I’m at.”

  “Got it.”

  “I just need to figure out my next step, how I’m going to live and all.”

  “Well that may be quite a challenge for the two of you.”

  “Sadie’s not with me.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah, I decided at the last minute that I’m better off alone. Hey, have you heard anything about Murphy?”

  “Well that’s another story. I guess Murphy knew or somehow found out where we lived since a couple of guys came knocking at our door asking about you.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, but the strange thing is they first apologized for mistaking my identity. The two who beat me up must have been cops since they mentioned something about a police report of you being shot. So the two at my house had to be Murphy’s guys, don’t you think?”

  “What’d they look like?”

  “One was tall, the other … I don’t know, Chase. I can’t remember.”

  “That’s okay. Probably all Murphy’s guys.”

  “Yeah. Well anyway, I told them I didn’t know anything. Said I just went to your place to hang out.”

  “Cool. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s about it. I don’t think they’ll be back. Don’t worry about us. Allie’s still troubled by it all, but I told her I didn’t think they’d bother us again.”

  “I hope not. Sorry you had to go through it, though.”

  “That’s okay. I’m more concerned about you. Any idea what you’ll do?”

  “Just make the best of things. Try to get situated and start my life over.”

  “Without drugs, I hope.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Just do it, Chase. You shouldn’t want anything to do with that stuff anymore.”

  “I know.”

  “Well don’t be a stranger. Stay in touch, okay?”

  “Sure. Take it easy. And say hi to Allie.”

  Chase rubbed his shoulder again, thinking long about whether he should go ahead with his next call. Under orders from Murphy, he had taken a young man called Zeke under his wing during the past few months. Though they became instant friends, could Zeke be trusted under the current circumstances? Did he possess the fortitude to carry out such a request? And should Chase take the chance of placing himself in danger again? He ran his fingers through his long hair. He considered that Murphy might already have tapped Zeke’s phone. But what would that matter since Chase planned to leave Riverside immediately? He decided to take the risk and pulled out Zeke’s number from his wallet.

  “Yeah,” came the short answer.

  “Hey, Zeke, it’s me, Chase.”

  “Chase! What are you doin’, man?”

  “Just checkin’ in.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Not far. Hey listen, I’m wondering if you can do something for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll give you ten grand to take out Murphy for me.”

  “Take out Murphy? Why?”

  “I’m sure you know what he did to me. Time to get even.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe so. Are you in?”

  “No way.”

  “Not enough?”

  “Man, I can’t believe you’re serious. And no, ten grand is not nearly enough.”

  “All right, make it twenty, ten now and ten after. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Twenty grand to kill Murphy,” Zeke said slowly.

  “Yeah.”

  “No, forget it. Find somebody else.”

  Chase raised his voice in frustration. “Zeke, I need this done. Come on, man. You’re the only one I trust.”

  “Not anymore. See ya later.”

  Chase heard a click and stared at the phone before angrily slamming it down. Feeling defeated, he wondered if his vindictiveness toward Murphy could ever be restrained.

  When his aunt came home from work, Chase handed her a twenty and told her he had taken the liberty of calling Frank. She tried to hand it back, but he insisted.

  At dinner, Betty immediately bombarded Chase with questions. She had a peculiar trait of squinting whenever she posed one. “So Chase, you briefly told me that you’re here visiting but that you may look for work. What type of job are you hoping for? And where do you think you’ll live?”

  “Not sure,” he responded, helping himself to another serving of mashed potatoes. “I just need to find something that I enjoy, maybe not even around here. I think … well first I’m going to buy a car over at that auto mall I saw off of the freeway and explore the area. I’ve never been out here, you know.”

  “You have money for a car?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got enough.” Instantly he felt relief at not having spent it all to get even with Murphy.

  Ron chimed in. “What type of work do you do?”

  Chase thought for a moment. He decided to deflect the question by telling them about how the cops were looking for him, but he tailored the story to make them believe he suffered unfair treatment simply for hanging around the wrong people and being labeled by the police as one of the town troublemakers.

  Betty wanted to know more. “What were you doing for work when this all happened?”

  “I, uh, I haven’t really done a whole lot since high school. Just some odd jobs here and there.”

  Betty glanced at Ron and then back at Chase. “So you’re here to make a fresh start.”

  “Yeah, that’s about it.”

  “You may want to consider cutting your hair and buying some new clothes if you’re going to look for work.”

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about that.”

  “Well, Chase,” said Betty, “why don’t you consider coming with us to church on Sunday? I think you’ll like it! We have a really nice worship band, and the pastor’s a wonderful teacher.”

  “You mean Mass?”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry,” she said with a smile. “We’re not Catholic. I guess you must be, though.”

  “Not really. Dad took us to church when we were little. No big deal.”

  His aunt’s eyes widened. “But it is a big deal! You can find some real answers.” She squinted and Chase braced himself. “Why don’t you come try it out?”

  “Thanks a lot, but I really have to get going soon.”

  “Do you know that Jesus loves you?” Betty asked.

  Chase couldn’t believe his ears. He had no idea his aunt was so religious. She didn’t seem like a hypocrite, but his dad had surely earned the label. His mom went to Mass on occasion, but she rarely spoke about God. He didn’t know how to answer.

  “Chase,” she pressed, “don’t you know that Jesus really, really loves you?”

  “I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

  “Well he does. He died for your sins, for all of our sins. He rose from the dead to make a way for you to have a relationship with God. Have you ever thought about eternal life?”

  Chase rubbed his eyes. “Listen, Aunt Betty, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I’m not a religious person and I don’t want to be. I’m taking a road totally different from my dad.”

  “Oh, your dad,” Betty said, rolling her eyes. “He’s never had a personal relationship with Jesus. He simply went to Mass, which is nothing like what I’m talking about. I’m speaking of a real relationship with Jesus Christ. You’re young, Chase. Don’t you want more out of life than you can see now?”

  “Well yeah, of course I do, but that’s not me, religion and all.” He quickly dodged the increasingly uncomfortable subject. “Hey, can you tell me more about my dad?”

  “Well, sure. Because he was
my older brother, I always looked up to him. We had a great time growing up in the Bronx, I’m sure you know. After high school we became rather distant, however. He was quite the wild one, and I just wanted to be married. I thought Bobby would finally settle down after meeting your mother, but he was so set in his ways. Very stubborn, that brother of mine. And I was obviously sad and disappointed when he walked out on all of you. Wish I could’ve been there, but you know it’s a long way from here.”

  “Yeah,” Chase agreed quietly. “Ever hear from him?”

  “Never. I tried to get hold of him, to write—nothing. I guess I gave up a long time ago. What about you?”

  “No. I think he’s still around, but I don’t really care.”

  “I believe you’re a dreamer, Chase.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, startled by the shift in conversation.

  “You have dreams with significant messages. Am I right?”

  “No, not really. In fact, I never dream.”

  “Never?” Betty asked with a squint.

  “A few here and there, I guess, but no, nothing special.”

  “Well, you will,” she said firmly, folding her arms.

  What did she mean by that? Chase wondered, sitting back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. She must be a little nuts, he thought, a religious wacko of some sort.

  Betty noticed his discomfort and the clean plate before him. “What else can we get for you?”

  “Oh, I’m okay. Thanks a lot,” Chase answered, rising from the table. “I think I’ll buy a car tomorrow and then say my good-byes.”

  “Well, you know that Ron and I—”

  “Hey!” Chase shouted at the car in front of him. His BMW screeched to a halt, and he frantically checked the rearview mirror. “Man, that was close,” he said, realizing the potential danger of his deep reflections. “I’ve got to stay focused.”

  He never finished his thoughts about that brief visit in Riverside, but the next day he had left a thank-you note for Betty and Ron, visited the auto mall, paid fourteen grand for a new Toyota Celica, and started driving west down the 91 freeway. He wound up living in Orange County. Though he still had plenty of cash, it took him several months to find a steady job. Shortly after, Chase met one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen, and he and Yvette married a few short months later.

  When he finally turned the corner to his street, Chase thought the worst, that maybe there would be two vehicles in his driveway, Linda’s and … no, he couldn’t go there. He wouldn’t allow conjecture to rule his mind. But what if two cars indeed sat in front of his house? What would he do then?

  CHAPTER 6

  His house in Glendora, built in the late 1980s as part of a development near the hills of greater Los Angeles, nestled near enough to the San Gabriel Mountains that Chase had felt satisfyingly isolated. Though located relatively close to the freeway, when he and Linda had purchased their home four years ago, they believed it would be their refuge from the city.

  Chase found Linda’s SUV sitting alone in the driveway and allowed himself a huge sigh of relief as he pulled up next to it. He scrutinized the off-white and beige-trim home, remembering that he had never cared for the uniformity of those muted colors and that he had long intended to hire a painter to add a distinctive flavor to the place. He sat for another moment with the engine running, musing over the disorderly looking hedges on both sides of the driveway, wondering if they held a relevant message regarding the state of his marriage and of his life.

  His eyes made their way toward the porch. Taking a deep breath, Chase shut off the engine and slowly, quietly let the car door close behind him. He took another breath, deeper than the first, his hand trembling on the handle of the front door. Chase’s determination overruled his fears as he stepped into the entryway.

  He found his wife in the kitchen, browning a pound of hamburger on the stove. A head of lettuce, several tomatoes, a small red onion, and some coarsely grated cheese lay on a cutting board on the counter.

  Linda looked up. “Oh hi, hon’. Tacos won’t be ready for another twenty minutes or so.” She wiped her brow and glanced at the clock on the microwave. “You’re home early. Everything good at work?”

  “Sure, but um … I need to talk to you about something.”

  She noticed his sober, expressionless face and the way he slumped against the countertop. “What’s up?” she asked with concern.

  “Well it’s just … can we sit down and talk?”

  Linda heard an urgency in his weary voice. “Of course. Just let me finish with the meat first. I’ll join you in the living room in a sec.”

  Chase retreated to his La-Z-Boy and rehearsed his lines under his breath. “Babe, I went to a psychologist this afternoon. I told him that I think we need help in our marriage. We talked for a while, and he said it’d be great if we came in together next week. What do you think?”

  About halfway through his third rehearsal, Linda sat down on the sofa next to his chair. She had a curious habit of toying with her curls, a trait Chase found rather endearing.

  “So you want to talk,” she said. “Anything wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well it isn’t every day that you want to talk. Usually I’m the one who pushes for conversations.” Linda crossed her legs. “So what’s going on?”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “In their rooms doing homework. Why?”

  “Well,” he said after a deep sigh, “are you seeing someone else?” The words spilled from Chase’s lips before he could pull them back. He was startled by the bluntness of his question. Anger registered immediately on Linda’s face, and her body tensed like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, moving to the edge of the sofa.

  “I don’t know,” Chase said, fidgeting. “I’m just feeling like we’re distant, like something’s going on.”

  Linda glared at her husband. “I’ve been telling you for months that we’re growing distant, and now you’re accusing me of having an affair? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

  Chase felt trapped. He understood the emotional dynamics of accusations and of defense but knew that any attempts to pull himself out of the hole he had just dug would be futile. “I’m sorry. That was the wrong way for me to begin.”

  “Begin what?” she demanded.

  “Well I went to a psychologist today because I’m just … I don’t know, just frustrated with the way things have been, and yeah, I’m a little bit suspicious.”

  Linda shook her head in disbelief. “So you’re finally admitting there’s a problem, and you’re blaming me for it!”

  “Well no,” Chase meekly replied. “I’m not blaming you for anything. I know I’ve been messed up, so I went to this doctor to talk about it all.”

  “And you told him I’m having an affair?”

  “Not exactly. I just said that things feel strange, different, not like they used to be. He recommended that you come in with me next week.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” she asked angrily.

  “Well come on, Linda, don’t you think we could use some help?”

  “I’ve been trying to get you to see that for I don’t know how long, but now you’ve gone behind my back, painted some dark picture to a psychologist, and want me to come with you so he can try to pick me apart? I’m not going to play that game with you.”

  “It’s not a game, Linda. I’m sorry for the way I started out. I don’t mean to accuse you of having—”

  “Well you just did!” she interrupted.

  “I know. Like I said, I’m sorry. Can we just forget about it and go get some help?”

  Linda sat motionless, her eyes appearing to look right through him. Chase remembered Doctor Rhinegold’s warning that his wife might resist co
ming in for counseling. But for what reason? Could she fear something hidden being exposed, or could she simply be defending herself against a false accusation? Feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable, Chase had no idea how the situation would play out. He wanted to escape, to run away, to surrender—anything but face her indignation.

  As he attempted to decipher her defiant responses, Linda suddenly stood and said with disgust, “Is that it? Are you finished?”

  “I guess so. Will you come with me?”

  “Listen, I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re going to verbally assault me like this and put all the blame on me! I’m going out.” He heard the front door slam behind her.

  Bewildered and frustrated, Chase didn’t move. What did she mean by “going out”? He shook his head roughly as if to jar loose the cruel images his imagination created of her with another man. Chase dismissed the idea of following her. He’d done that with Yvette, and he wouldn’t do it again. Forcing his mind to focus elsewhere, he pulled out a couple of folders and pretended to study a new account.

  Chase had worked his way up to a sales trainer and consultant position in the L.A. area. In the late ‘80s, after holding down odd jobs in Orange County, he had walked into the small office of a company that had been running an ad for a salesman. He knew nothing about sales, but then again he knew very little about anything outside of drugs. He had, however, mastered the art of fast talking, at least on the streets. Could he leverage that art into a real job? Earlier in the week he had made an appointment with a hair stylist, instructing her to cut his shoulder-length hair and to give him a more businesslike look. Then he purchased a pinstriped suit. Maybe he could pull off this ruse.

  “Hi, my name’s Chase Macklin,” he said, offering a hand to the heavy but well-dressed man sitting behind a metal desk. The room was dismal compared with most offices. A few fluorescent bulbs provided dim light, and the mini-blinds were closed as if to hide something. Loud music blasted through the walls from the other side, and the faint scent of what Chase immediately recognized as marijuana crept through the partially closed door. Desperate for work, Chase ignored it all.

  “I’m Sam. Have a seat.”

  The interview, such as it was, lasted perhaps fifteen minutes. The company sold industrial supplies and safety equipment to contractors, truckers, and oilmen all over the United States. He would be trained and could start the next day at four in the morning. Sam saw the expression on Chase’s face and explained that the shift began at four since it was seven back East, the perfect time to reach those with work crews. He could ditch the suit, Sam informed him. Jeans and a shirt would be fine. This was good news for an independent youth so recently off the streets.