“He's hot. Is he the reason Michael hit you?”
The door – which had been an inch from closing – swung back open. “Michael hit you?” Will was back in front of the counter in a flash.
“Michael did not hit me.” Karen frowned. “I thought you were gone.”
Will nodded at Monica, his mouth set in a flat line. “Luckily I overheard.” He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head. “Your nose is swollen.”
“It can't be that swollen. You didn't even notice it until Monica said that.”
“Well…” He looked uncomfortable. “I thought maybe it was just bigger than I remembered.” He frowned. “That bastard.”
“Yes, he is. But he didn't hit me. I…” Okay, Karen. People are accusing an innocent man of spousal abuse. You can come clean now, or… “The truth is, I ran into the door.”
“That's what they always say,” Monica piped up.
“Don't you have someone to fluff dry?”
“I will press charges if you won't,” Will said.
“He didn't hit me! I'm telling you the truth. He didn't touch me. I didn't even see him after I left the police station.”
“You were at the police station?” Monica gasped. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” Karen stepped back, flustered. “I didn't do anything, Michael didn't hit me, and everything is fine.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Will had a look in his eye that said he'd like to take Michael's tonsils out by hand.
She had to admit, it struck some kind of primal feminine thrill in her to have a man willing to leap to her defense. “What would you say if I told you I hit myself in the nose with my Shake Weight?”
“Oh my God!” Monica laughed. “You don’t really have one of those things, do you? My friend Jen got three at her bachelorette party and one of the girls – ”
“I'd say you're making a pathetic attempt to cover up for someone,” Will said.
“Okay, I tried.” She shrugged. “But Michael didn't hit me. So please just let it go.”
“Who did?”
“No one. Let it go. Okay?”
Will frowned. She had a funny feeling he wasn’t going to let it go.
He took a few steps back, his mouth set. “Okay. Fine.”
“No, not ‘fine’. ‘Fine’ is never the way to end a conversation. ‘Fine’ means it’s not fine.”
He shrugged and looked entirely too innocent. “Hey, you said nothing happened. So nothing happened.”
“Right. Nothing.”
“Right.” He nodded and took a deep breath. “So…I’ll call you.”
“Please do.”
Will leaned against the wall beside the pay phone and watched Michael Way stride down the hall. D.A. Way. What an asshole.
Will waited until Michael was almost even with him before he stepped away from the wall. He didn’t say a word, just stepped forward and faced Michael straight on.
Michael jumped and Will had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the clown. “Guilty conscience?” He cocked his head.
“What are you doing here? A court date?”
“Ah, you’re funny. I just came by to say thanks for last night. That was fun.”
“Believe me when I tell you it was my pleasure.”
“I see that you have the county attorney under your thumb. You're a big man, Michael.”
Michael shrugged, looking smug. “He's not under my thumb at all. He simply got the idea somewhere that you are a ticking time bomb. Sometimes the best way to diffuse an explosive situation is to isolate it before it becomes a problem.”
Will shook his head. “I'm not sure if I should be flattered that you think I'm so effective, or laugh my ass off at your hysteria. Come outside with me. I need to discuss something with you.”
Michael raised his nose an inch. “Regrettably, I don't have time for whatever it is you wish to discuss.” He darted a glance down the hallway and licked his lips.
Again Will had to fight back a grin. Michael thought he'd come up here to kick his ass. And although that idea held a certain appeal, it wasn't in Will's plans for the afternoon.
“Get the stick out of your ass and come outside so we can talk.”
“I'm afraid I don't have time for any more of your charm.” He walked away.
“Okay, have it your way,” Will said to his back. “I saw what you did to Karen.”
Michael pivoted and cast a look around the hallway. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“How many times did you hit her?”
Michael blinked, his eyes blank. “Hit whom?”
“Her nose was only a little swollen, so it must not have been more than a punch or two. But I'm willing to bet this wasn't the first time.”
“I really don't know what you're talking about.” He sounded surprised.
A red flag went up in Will's head. There was no way she could have really run into the door, was there?
“Someone hit Karen?” Michael laughed and took a few steps back toward Will. “Rest assured, it wasn't me.” He clapped Will on the shoulder. “And you rushed right down here to defend and protect her? What a chivalrous soul you are. Always the champion of the loser – I mean underdog, of course. I don't know how you and Karen got hooked up, but honestly that doesn't surprise me, either. Of course she would go back to her natural habitat and start trolling for bottom feeders.” He stepped back and smiled. “You are welcome to her, old friend. You deserve her.”
Yep, a total asshole. Will had decided he wasn't going to bring up the past, but to hell with that.
“And you don't deserve her and never did. But then, you're used to getting things you don't deserve, aren't you.”
Michael drew his head back, wide-eyed. It only took him a moment to recover, then he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, doing his best to appear menacing. “Listen, you white trash low life. Don't threaten me. This is my town. I own this place and everyone in it. You can't touch me. No one cares about what happened twenty years ago.”
“Sure they do. People get all up in arms about the morals of their elected officials. And a history of framing people isn’t such a good quality in a District Attorney.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “You’re the tattoo artist with the drug record. Who would possibly listen to you?”
“Don’t you watch the news? Even if I could never prove a thing, I could raise questions about you. I could cause a stir.” Will shook his head. “And you know how you hate a stir.”
“You don't have the guts.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Make things easy on yourself. Leave town now. Because believe me, I can turn up the heat with the flick of my wrist. And you don't want to be here for that.”
Will drove across town, replaying the scene with Michael in his head. He’d confronted Michael after his arrest twenty years ago. Even when he was almost positive Michael was behind his drug arrest a part of him wanted to believe he’d been wrong, that Michael couldn’t possibly do that to him. But the look of triumph in Michael’s eye was enough to wake Will up to the realities of life.
And naturally no one believed Will when he said the drugs weren’t his, that he’d been framed. Anyone could tell that Michael was the good kid, from the good family, and Will was the lowlife who needed a lesson in taking responsibility for his own mistakes.
Will sighed when he pulled into the parking lot behind Under the Inkfluence. Nothing had changed in twenty years. Michael still thought he was above the law, and Will still thought he had to champion the underdog. They’d both just gotten better at their roles.
He leaned back against the seat and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes. He was tired, and he felt like an ass. He’d told himself that confrontation was for Karen, and in the beginning it had been. But his pride let the scene degenerate to the same old power play he and Michael had always been caught in.
Hopefully the bastard would lose a little sleep, wonderin
g if Will would really bring up the past.
He checked his watch and saw he had time to go up and change shirts before he opened the shop. Bear met him at the top of the stairs.
“Dude, you're already up and around?” Bear blinked and swayed slightly. “It's not even one o'clock yet.”
“Yeah, I had a couple of errands to run. You're up early, too.” And didn't appear to be handling it well. Will casually took hold of the handrail, not entirely sure Bear was going to remain upright. While he mentally debated his options – brace himself for impact and try to catch Bear if he tumbled, or leap over the rail and get the hell out of the way – Bear groaned and bent to pick up the newspaper on the landing.
“I'm going back to bed to read the funnies. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do.” Over the past six months since Charlie died, Bear and Will had settled into a routine. Will shook his head. He couldn't believe he'd been here six months already. When Charlie had written to say he was dying and wanted to make peace with the son he’d never known, Will had only agreed to come back to Piedmont to ease the old man’s conscience. He hadn't planned on staying in town six days, much less six months. He certainly hadn’t planned on staying after Charlie’s death. But then, he had no idea Charlie would leave the shop to him, and not to Bear.
He opened the door across from Bear's and entered his apartment, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. He laid it on one of the room's two chairs, beside the picture of Charlie. His real father. Every time Will looked at the picture, he had the urge to both laugh and cry. Cry, because he missed the old coot. He barely knew him, but he missed him. And laugh, because right before Charlie’s death, he'd given the picture to Will. He said he felt like Will should have a picture of him, and Will agreed. Charlie had been apologetic that the only picture he had to offer was the one taken by the Department of Motor Vehicles. He'd framed the small rectangle of plastic and presented it to Will hesitantly, his embarrassment and hesitation plainly visible.
Will accepted the picture, touched enough to get past the absurdity of the situation. It was typical Charlie, just a little bit off from the rest of the world. Will looked briefly at the picture and saw his own eyes looking back at him.
Where’d he get those beautiful blue eyes?
Will had heard that question dozens of times during his childhood, before he was old enough to understand or even question why it should make his mother’s lips tighten and her face turn dark. She couldn’t very well tell anyone the shameful truth.
Will tugged a t-shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d turned it off when he was waiting for Michael, and he saw now that he’d missed a call. The message light blinked.
The message was from his agent, Kenneth, reporting that his last book had been picked up by two mail order clubs. That was good news. But now something niggled at the back of his mind, an idea for a new book.
He punched the button to call Kenneth back.
Typically, Kenneth started talking as soon as Will told him who it was. “Hey, I got the proposal for the new book this morning. Looks good so far. I’m going to read through it and if it reads like we talked about, I think it’ll be a go.”
“I have another idea I might work up instead.”
“Good, good to have a few things going at once. Tell me about it.”
“Well, it’s kind of an expose’ on a crooked politician.”
“I like it so far. What kind of politician and how crooked?”
“A District Attorney.”
“Oh, I thought you meant someone high up.”
Will grinned. Michael wouldn’t like that. “No, he’s just a D.A. in a medium size town.”
“Does someone die?”
“Ummm…not yet. Just corruption and abuse of power.”
Kenneth clicked his teeth. “Well, you’ve done this enough to know what can carry a book and what can’t. If there’s a story there, follow it through.”
Was there a story, besides his own? His run-ins with Michael wouldn’t be enough to carry a book, or even a very good article. But he knew that if Michael was able to so smoothly harass Will, he couldn’t be completely above board with everyone else. “Right now I’m just kicking around an idea in my head, an old feud that goes back twenty years or so.”
“Old feuds are good. Like I said, follow it through. You know how to find the dirt.”
That he did. Will tapped his fingers against the desk. The idea of exposing Michael in a big way held more than a touch of appeal. If he could bring the guy down, somehow…
Of course, bringing him down also meant bringing Michael’s family a good deal of embarrassment. Karen probably wouldn’t care if it were just she. But she wouldn’t want her kids to go through anything like that.
Will let the possibilities spin around his mind, but they kept snagging on Karen and her kids. He’d been through this routine before. Made a living at it, in fact. Although it was his passion, vindicating the innocent almost always ending up hurting even more innocent people. The wife of the police chief who had no idea her husband was forcing his female prisoners to perform sexual favors for him and his officers. The junior partners in the law firm who hadn’t been aware the senior partners used them as pawns. The spouses and children and family members and friends who believed the good guys were always good.
Personally, he hadn’t believed that fairy tale for a long time. But that didn’t mean he relished the idea of helping others learn the lesson.
He kicked back in his chair, mentally pursuing the possibility of investigating Michael. He already had an in, with Karen. Would she cooperate, if she knew what he was really up to? Would he tell her?
He rubbed his hand against his thigh, remembering the feel of her in his hands last night. He couldn’t believe he’d actually considered having sex with her just to get back at Michael. That sounded like something Michael himself would do. Will held himself to a much higher standard, and it shamed him to think that even Michael Way could have him sinking low enough to consider using a woman so coldly.
He’d told himself that he was going to see Karen today to make up for it, apologize again. But that wasn’t the whole story, either, and he might as well admit it. A spark had struck between them the moment he saw her, and he was fascinated by her.
He should be grateful she’d already had lunch. Anything associated with Michael Way should wear a big yellow “Keep Away” sign, as far as he was concerned.
He heard something outside, and looked out his window to see three girls on the sidewalk, their hands cupped to look in the window of the store. He groaned when he realized his first thought was to wonder if their parents knew they were about to get a tattoo.
With that kind of attitude, he was going to give even aging rock stars a bad name.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pam Way dropped her forehead on her hands and groaned. She'd barely passed high school chemistry. At this point she didn't think she had a prayer of passing college level courses. It didn't help any that her roommate seemed hellbent on setting the record for number of consecutive plays of Eminem’s latest piece of crap rap song.
“I hate rap,” Pam muttered. Then, because she was frustrated and didn't particularly care anymore if she offended her roommate -- Brittney probably couldn't hear her over this hellacious racket anyway – she raised her voice. “I hate rap! I hate rap and I hate chemistry and I hate atomic weights and I don't give a big rat's ass what the nomenclature for sodium is!” She slammed her book shut and stood, knocking her chair over.
I have to get out of here. She turned to look at Brittney, who had her head buried in her English Composition book, her lips moving while she read. I can’t take this anymore, I have to get out.
She shoved her feet into her shoes and grabbed a jacket. It was dark and the walk to the SUB would be chilly. Maybe the cold would calm her down a little. She slammed out the door.
In fifteen seconds she was back, grabbing
her chemistry book. Like it or not, she had to get this homework done, even if it was bound to end up lowering her already rock bottom GPA. Her cell phone sang out the “Glee” theme song.
She pulled it out of her jacket and looked at the screen. Mom. She felt hot tears pool. She so insanely wanted to push the 'talk' button and cry on her mom's shoulder a while. It would be so good to have someone to talk to.
Except she couldn't talk to her mom anymore. Those days were over. Every time she did, she just felt more guilt. The regret weighed her down until she could barely speak, wanted only to lie down and cover her head and sleep until the world was back to normal again. Except it wasn't going to be normal again, ever. Her mom and dad were getting divorced, she was off in nowhere land at this god-forsaken college hanging on by her fingernails, and everything just plain sucked.
She knew that if she pushed the button to talk, all of it would come tumbling out. Her mom had a way of getting things out of her.
So why hadn't she told her about Denise?
Pam knew the first time she saw Denise that she was either screwing her father, or about to. If Pam had told Karen then, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe her mom could have done something. Maybe all this would have been avoided.
But she hadn't. She hadn't said a word. And her father had been free to destroy their family.
Now every time Pam thought of her mother, she was so overcome by guilt that she could barely think, let alone talk.
“Baby, I know you feel bad about your father and me,” her mom said the day before she left for college, when her dad had dropped the bomb that he was moving out. “I know it's hard. But I want you to know this is between him and me. It has nothing to do with you or Cait.”
But that was where her mother was wrong. It didn't have anything to do with Cait, but it had everything to do with Pam. It was her fault they had to get married. And now it was her fault they were getting divorced.
Karen sighed and thumbed the 'end' button on her phone. She hoped Pam was sitting at a crowded table in the Student Union Building or some coffee house, laughing and sharing jokes about their professors, moaning about how much homework she had to do, the noise making her oblivious to the phone ringing in her purse.
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