Requiem

by Jim Moens

  Dennis' first guess as to Dean's location was spot on. Jerry's Tap was, quite literally, a corner bar... unfortunately it was on the worst corner in the worst neighborhood in town, a place Dennis didn't want to go during the day, let alone after dark. Yet here he was at eight o'clock in the evening. He got out of his car and noticed a vagrant sitting in front of an abandoned home next to the bar.

  “Nice jalopy,” the vagrant slurred.

  “Thank you,” Dennis replied as he hurried towards Jerry's.

  “Hey,” the vagrant called out after him, “gimme some money, will ya?”

  Dennis stopped in his tracks and turned towards the man. He was dirty, unshaven and Dennis swore he could smell his pungent mix of alcohol and body odor from ten feet away. He thought that this was probably Dean in a few years.

  “Money?” Dennis said.

  “Yeah, money,” the vagrant said. “Greenbacks. Moola. Pesos.”

  Dennis dug into his pocket and fished out a quarter. He tossed it to the man.

  “All I have,” Dennis said.

  The man lunged for the shiny coin, almost falling forward in the process.

  “You should... maybe you should clean yourself up,” Dennis said.

  “I will,” the vagrant said, examining his new fortune, “I really will. God bless you, young man!”

  Dennis turned from the vagrant and stepped into the bar. The atmosphere was ripe with hard liquor, strong tobacco, and cheap perfume.

  “Hey kid!”

  Dennis turned towards the voice. The bartender, portly and unshaven, scowled at him. Dennis presumed this was Jerry.

  “You old enough?”

  Dennis saw Dean at the far end of the bar.

  “I'm just getting my uncle,” Dennis said, jabbing a finger in Dean's direction.

  The bartender glanced down at Dean, then gave Dennis another scowl. “Make it quick,” he said.

  Dean didn't see Dennis until he was inches away. He drained his glass... his usual cheap whiskey, Dennis guessed... and slammed it down on the bar.

  “Another!” Dean shouted, then turned to Dennis. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I need you to leave Adela alone.”

  “I don't take orders from you.”

  Dennis chuckled. He wasn't scared of Dean. He was taller and outweighed his uncle by at least twenty pounds. Dennis had also taken boxing lessons the summer before. He had managed to knock both Chuck and Fred down during practice.

  “You know what, Dean?” Dennis said, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a whisper, “someday you will be taking orders from me. You know it and I know it. So you might as well start now.”

  “Fine, I get it,” Dean said, “you're my daddy's favorite little pet. His great white hope for the future of the family business. I don't care. You can have the stupid quarry.”

  “This isn't about the quarry.”

  Dean was silent, so Dennis continued.

  “This is about Adela. She's going to be my sister-in-law in a few months.”

  “So?”

  “So quit following her around town. You're scaring her.”

  “I'm not hurting anyone,” Dean said, his voice beginning to shake a little.

  “You're scaring her.”

  “Where's that drink?” Dean shouted down the bar.

  “So leave her alone.”

  “I can't.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Dean turned to face Dennis. “Because I love her,” he said.

  “You... what? You love her?”

  “I love her. She's just the prettiest girl I ever seen.”

  “You don't even know her, Dean!”

  “I think I do,” Dean said. “I think I know her soul.”

  “At dinner that night... you didn't even talk to her.”

  “I didn't have to. I could see it in her eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. Did you know that?”

  “Dean... don't be crazy, okay?”

  “I'm NOT crazy!” Dean shouted, slamming his clenched fists into the bar. The room fell silent. “I'm not!”

  The bartender started walking their way. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he said, making the word “gentlemen” sound more like a rebuke than anything else.

  “No problem,” Dennis said, too quickly.

  “Maybe you two should leave,” the bartender said.

  Dennis nodded. “Of course,” he said.

  “Let's go,” Dennis said as he grabbed Dean's arm.

  “You can go to hell,” Dean said and pulled his arm away.

  “You heard the man,” Dennis said, “Time to go.”

  “Screw off,” Dean muttered.

  The bartender stood nearby. His impassive face became a scowl again. Dennis thought the man was very, very good at scowling.

  Dean stood, knocking his bar stool over. There was violence in his eyes.

  “You got nothing to say to me, boy,” he said, poking his index finger into Dennis' chest. “I'm your uncle and don't you forget it.”

  “You don't call me boy,” Dennis shot back. He noticed people at nearby tables get up and start backing away. He curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist.

  “Flatten him, kid!” came a rough voice from behind Dennis. It quickly became apparent that Dean wasn't terribly popular in this place.

  “If you're gonna fight,” the bartender growled, “hurry up and get it the hell over with.”

  Dennis took another long look at his uncle. Pathetic, stupid, drunken, loser Dean; his eyes still vehement with righteous anger, defiance, and more than a little fear. Dennis' own anger became pity. His pity became sadness. He sighed.

  “Just leave Adela alone,” Dennis said in a near-whisper.

  “But—“ Dean started.

  “No,” Dennis said. “Just leave her alone. Just stay away.”

  Dennis turned on his heels. He silently walked through a gauntlet of drunks and out the front door of Jerry's Tap.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Doug didn't expect to spend his morning watching the movie Dodgeball. He remembered it was one of Bill's favorites, so he brought it along. They reached the scene where Peter, the main character, encounters Lance Armstrong at the airport.

  “So what are you dying of that's keeping you from the tournament?” Armstrong says at one point.

  Bill suddenly started making strange little gasping sounds. Doug, in a panic, started to reach for the nurse call button. He looked down and saw that Bill was smiling. He was, in actuality, laughing.

  Doug, relieved, began to laugh too. “You like that, huh? Classic scene.”

  Doug returned his gaze to the movie. A faint gasp from Bill captured his attention.

  “Clo... ser,” Bill said, his voice faint and rough.

  Doug leaned in.

  “Do... better... than...” Bill fell silent for a moment, as if marshaling his forces for the next few words.

  “Do better?” Doug repeated. It occurred to him that when someone put that much effort into telling you something, you damn well better listen.

  “...me.”

  Do better than me. That could mean a lot of things, Doug thought. A hell of a lot of things.

  Frankie didn't mind playing on her own during recess. A lot of the other kids played too rough if they even invited her to play at all. Besides, she had important work to do. She had to help Dad with his book and make up some Xen the Warrior stories.

  She looked around. Austin the Jerk was taunting a couple girls from their class, Anamarie and Summer, by throwing a kickball at them. Scot was running around the playground in a random pattern, not stopping for anything, just like he always did.

  Nothing really interesting.

  Frankie looked over at the chain-link fence that surrounded the school grounds. She saw a man standing there. A tall man. The tall man waved and smiled at Frankie. It was one of those weird tall guys from the other night, the guys that were with that lady Grandpa didn't like.

  Frankie didn
't wave back. She turned around and watched as Summer threw a kickball in Austin's face, knocking him down. He probably deserved that.

  Frankie turned back around to the fence. The tall man was gone.

  Those guys are weird.

  Doug took advantage of the fact that Frankie wanted to take a quick nap before dinner and went to visit Rebecca. He relished the idea of a little more sleep, but didn't have much enthusiasm for what sleep might bring. He was concerned with Laurel too. Doug had briefly logged into QuestWorld in the morning but didn't see her character, Kala-Ru, in his friends list. He sent her an email expressing concern, subtly worded of course, so that she wouldn't think him insane in case it actually was all just a dream.

  They stood on the back deck of the house, looking over the expansive backyard.

  “It's nice here,” Rebecca said, “but sometimes I think I might want to get my own place. Be more independent, you know?”

  Doug had lived away from his parents since he moved in with Lisa, not long before Frankie was born. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment a few blocks west of the school, but moved into Doug's current home right after Frankie turned two.

  “It's not all it's cracked up to be,” Doug said. “A lot of expense, a lot of responsibility.”

  Rebecca wrapped her arms around Doug. “I know. I just want to feel like a big girl.”

  “You sure don't want to wind up in a crappy place like mine,” Doug said.

  “I bet it's nice.”

  Doug shrugged. “It's okay.”

  “Maybe you could invite me over sometime.”

  “Eh... I'd be embarrassed,” Doug said. “I mean, compared to this place. No comparison.”

  “I'm not going to judge you just because you don't live in a palace.”

  Doug scoffed. “Yes. There are other reasons to judge me.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I've stayed at the same stupid job I've had since I was nineteen,” Doug said. “I dropped out of college.”

  “All of that is changeable, Doug.”

  “I suppose,” Doug muttered.

  “What I care about is that you're a good person. Anything else is secondary. You're kind and thoughtful and you're a good dad. That's what's really important to me.”

  Doug sighed. “Sorry. I'm just...”

  “What's wrong?”

  “I'm just tired. I've been having these really weird, vivid dreams. They wake me up and I have a lot of trouble getting back to sleep.”

  “Are you stressed?” Rebecca said.

  Doug didn't answer.

  “What's bothering you?” she said.

  “Work's been rough. Our new manager is... well, quite possibly insane. And my friend Bill, he's in the hospital.” Doug paused. He thought his voice might break. “He's got brain tumors and the treatment he got caused him to have a stroke.”

  “I'm so sorry,” Rebecca said as she gently stroked his arm.

  “I just look at him and think... I think that's me in twenty years.”

  “Why do you say that?” she said.

  “He told me... the guy can barely talk, and he tells me this... he says, 'Do better than me'.”

  “So do it,” Rebecca said, her voice rising a bit. “Do better. You don't like the stupid job, get another. You're not happy with your life, change it! Other people have. So can you, Doug!”

  “I don't even know where to start,” Doug said.

  “I have an idea,” Rebecca said, a half-smile on her lips. “Maybe you could write a book.”

  Doug was quiet for a moment, then turned to Rebecca and gave her a kiss.

  “You're pretty cool, you know that?” he said.

  “I know,” she said and kissed him back.

  “So is that a new game?” Doug said.

  Kevin was in front of the enormous television in the nerd cave, wireless controller in hand.

  “Just came out,” Kevin said, furiously mashing some buttons. “nanoMan is the ultimate superhero. This game kicks all kinds of ass.”

  The nanoMan character on screen was engaged in a furious battle with a robot the size of an office building. Somehow nanoMan had become giant-sized as well and his fist had become a hammer with which he was striking the robot directly in its midsection.

  “That's pretty cool,” Doug said. “So what exactly are his powers?”

  “Well, his body is half nanomachines,” Kevin said, still playing through. “So he's essentially a cyborg. He can control the nanomachines with his mind and make his body do almost anything.”

  Rebecca, standing next to Doug, rather pointedly coughed. “Nerd,” she said in the middle of the cough.

  “And damn proud of it,” Kevin said.

  “I'm just teasing,” Rebecca said. “You know I love you like the brother I already have that generally annoys the crap out of me.”

  Doug jumped at a loud door slam upstairs.

  “Speaking of which,” Rebecca said.

  Nick tromped down the stairs, still in his Hester's garb, name tag and all.

  “Asshole!” he shouted.

  “Rough day at the office, honey?” Kevin said, still in the midst of battling the giant robot.

  “Asshole!” he shouted again.

  “Brian, I take it?” Doug said.

  “Yes!” Nick said. “Asshole!”

  “What happened?” Rebecca said.

  “I punch in two minutes late,” Nick said, holding up two fingers to make his point clear, “two minutes, and he chews my ass out and threatens to write me up. Then he comes over and chews me out for not putting out the restocks from the stockroom quick enough. And I'm all, 'uh, sorry buddy, been too busy selling cameras and iPads to do much of anything else.' So he threatens to write me up for insubordination. I mean seriously?”

  Doug shook his head.

  Nick had calmed down a little, but was still fuming. “I know I'm still in some probationary period or whatever, but after tonight I feel like I just want to quit.”

  “Don't quit, okay?” Doug said.

  “Somebody should do something about this guy,” Rebecca said. “At least talk to him or something.”

  Doug realized that both Rebecca and Nick were looking at him expectantly.

  “Ah... hmm,” Doug said. “I have a feeling if I talked to him, it wouldn't go all that well.”

  They kept looking at him. Rebecca crossed her arms across her chest. Nick followed suit.

  “Maybe I have a better idea,” Doug said and smiled.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  1951

  Fred Wilson proved himself to be an excellent best man.

  He planned and executed (with a little bit of Chuck's help, of course) a top-notch bachelor party. They rented the banquet room at Adolfo's, the finest (and in fact, only) Italian restaurant in town. Most of the attendees were members of their graduating class, so the bachelor party doubled as a de facto class reunion. Fred also managed to keep the party from devolving into a drunken spree. A classmate of theirs, Glen “Smitty” Smith, snuck in a bottle of whiskey and began surreptitiously passing it around. Fred retrieved the bottle and disposed of it immediately.

  The party began to wind down about midnight. Once Dennis, Fred and Chuck had ushered out the last guest, Fred pulled Smitty's whiskey bottle out of hiding. He began pouring it into some wine glasses he snuck in.

  “Not so much!” Chuck said, as Fred filled his glass almost to the top.

  “Can't hold your liquor?” Fred replied with a chuckle.

  “Never had whiskey before,” Chuck said.

  “We're just going to make a toast,” Fred said. “You don't have to drink the whole thing.”

  Dennis joined them and they all raised their glasses.

  “To friends,” Fred said. “Thick and thin.”

  The three of them clinked glasses together. “Thick and thin,” they said as one. They all took a drink, which didn't go well for any of them.

  “I think I'm gonna barf,” Chuck said.

/>   Fred gripped the table. “How can people drink this spit?” He glanced at Dennis. “Sorry.”

  Dennis shrugged. “It's okay,” he said. It occurred to him that no one had seen Dean in weeks. He hadn't shown up for work at the quarry and he hadn't appeared at any family dinners. Perhaps Desmond had sent him away to dry out.

  “So you're not going to forget about your buddies, now are you?” Chuck said. “I mean, you got this beautiful girl, pretty soon you'll have kiddos running around--”

  “And you get the whole Schmidt business empire,” Fred interrupted. “So tell me the truth... did Grandpa take you aside and say 'One day, boy, all this will be yours'?”

  Dennis chuckled. “Very poetic, Chuck and... well, pretty much, yeah.” Dennis shrugged again. He realized he was shrugging a lot these days. “I'm pretty much it.”

  “What do you mean?” Chuck said, even though he knew.

  “I'm the end of the line,” Dennis said. It's up to me to carry on the Schmidt name. And the quarry. And the bank. And the hardware store. It's sure as heck not going to be Dean.”

  Fred gave Dennis a reassuring pat on the back. “You're a smart fella,” he said. “You can handle it.”

  Dennis took another sip of the whiskey. “I suppose,” he said.

  Ayala thought at first that the strange, sharp noise was part of her dream. She stirred awake and the dream instantly faded from memory. The noise continued.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  She went to her window and drew the curtain back. It was Dennis, of course. She opened the window.

  “Hey there,” he said with a grin.

  “Hi,” she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “How was the party?”

  “It was just fine,” Dennis said. “We left about midnight. It was a nice party, I guess.”

  “Is that why you came here in the middle of the night? To tell me you had a nice party?”

  “I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted to see your pretty face. You already have that glow about you, you know.”

  Ayala merely smiled.

  “Actually, I really need to talk to you,” Dennis said. “Can you come out?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, now.”