Chapter 6 #2
Jem went to type up the paperwork, which meant telling Diane in finance the price they’d settled on. And then he slunk into the breakroom.
He sat at the table. He flipped open the lid on the box of today’s donuts.
On the wall, signs stared back at him: DO YOUR PART TO KEEP THE brEAKROOM CLEAN and LIMIT: FOUR PEOPLE IN THE brEAKROOM and YOU ARE VALUED IN THIS WORKPLACE—this last one on a checkerboard background with a smiley face.
Jem closed the box of donuts. His stomach hurt.
His head hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to rub away the smear left by the fluorescent lights.
Get back out there. Tell him his credit came back lower than we thought.
Adjust the rate, not the payment amounts, you’ll still be able to afford it, but then add on another six months.
Or maybe he’d swing for the fences, see if Walter would even notice that the payments were different from what they’d discussed.
Sell another car. And another car. And another car. So he could live in that damn house.
The thought came in sideways, through a door in his head he hadn’t even known was there.
He had his phone in his hand and was placing a call to Tean before he could think about what he was doing.
“What’s up?” Tean asked. “Is everything okay?”
No, Jem almost said. He blinked once, hard, and the fluorescents left tracks across the backs of his eyeballs.
“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out.” Jem stopped. The only thing he could think to say was “I guess I should have texted.”
“No, it’s fine.”
Out in the showroom, the music changed to “You Spin Me Round.”
“Jem?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Jem cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking: why’d Ammon confess?”
“I don’t know.” A wary note entered Tean’s voice. “I understand it looks bad, Jem, but I still don’t believe Ammon did this. And I know we disagree, but I don’t think a phone call is the right way to have this conversation—”
“No, no. That’s not—” Jem blew out a breath.
“I mean, that’s a valid question, right?
If he’s innocent, why did he confess? I mean, he’s smart.
” Jem added mentally, Kind of. “He’s a cop.
He knows how this kind of thing goes. And from what you told me, he should have laughed at the probable cause in that warrant.
Instead, they show up at his door, and he basically holds his hands out and says, ‘It was me, I did it.’ That doesn’t make sense, and if it doesn’t make sense, then there’s something we’re missing. ”
“They weren’t local police. We’re talking about the State Bureau of Investigation. This is their job, to investigate other police officers. Maybe Ammon knew that if they were already involved—”
“What? The best thing to do would be give up and serve a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit?
Besides, you want me to believe Ammon was worried about these guys?
All cops do is bitch about state and federal agents.
Ammon wouldn’t have rolled over and stuck his ass out for them.
If anything, he should have tried to fuck them nine ways from Sunday. ”
A fragile laugh came across the line.
“Uh, it kind of got away from me there,” Jem said. “But you get the idea.”
Tean murmured something that might have been agreement, but the silence that followed was longer this time. Finally he said, “You think he’s protecting someone.”
Jem let out a breath. “Right? That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Who?”
“Well.”
Another of those dragged-out silences. “Jem, you haven’t met Lucy. She’s—”
“She’s not capable of murder?” Jem asked dryly. “Like Ammon?”
“She’s—you’d have to meet her.”
“Look, I’m not saying she did it.” Although, in Jem’s opinion, any woman who’d had her husband dicking around behind her back for years, then leave her, all while being possibly the worst closet-case in the history of homos, might have a lot of anger stored up.
And if somebody started fooling around with her son, well, that might have tapped into some deep, dark shit. “But it’s worth checking out, right?”
“Yes,” Tean said. “Okay.”
Those two words slackened the energy of the call, and for a few seconds, neither of them spoke in the unexpectedly comforting silence.
“Thank you,” Tean said. “I know you—” He stopped and said again, more quietly, “Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like seeing you upset.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry I was kind of an asshole last night.”
“You weren’t. You were upset too. It’s okay to be upset.”
“How’s your day going?”
Tean’s laugh was stronger this time. “Horribly.”
“What’s wrong? Did someone do something? Who do I have to fight?”
More of that gentle laughter. “Nobody. Nothing. Just a lot of bureaucratic nonsense. A big waste of time.”
“Don’t call it nonsense. Call it bullshit.”
Jem could hear Tean’s smile on the other end of the call.
“Call it bitch-ass bureaucratic beboppin’ bullshit.”
“Bebopping?”
“I don’t know what it means, but I heard it on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
“The video game.”
But no laughter came. There was a strangely hesitant pause, and then “Thank you, Jem.”
“Hey,” Jem said. “That’s why you keep me around. Drive down there after dinner?”
“You don’t have to go with me.”
“Try that again.”
“I love you,” Tean said again.
Jem was pocketing the phone when Little Dick stepped into the breakroom. His wrestler’s neck was flushed, and he walked like an ape, arms held away from his body to make him bigger. He leaned over Jem, close enough that the cloud of Acqua di Gio could have qualified as chemical warfare.
“I know,” Jem said. “Get off my ass. Sell cars. Look, I already hooked him. Diane’s getting the financing ready.”
“We got a problem?” Little Dick asked.
Jem leaned back, gave him another, more considering look.
The flush spread into Little Dick’s face now.
Even into his little cauliflower ear. He was breathing rapidly.
And although he kept his arms out at his sides, his hands opened and closed, fingers running one by one into a fist and then spreading out again.
And a little part of Jem that had been asleep for what felt like a very long time raised its head and sniffed the air. His hand drifted toward his pocket.
But Tean.
But the house.
But this whole freaking life.
That feeling like it was all water, and the harder he tried to grab it, the faster it slipped out of his hands.
He caught himself. Gave himself a mental shake—pictured Scipio coming in out of the snow and flinging half-melted drops everywhere.
“Nope,” Jem said.
“What does that mean?” Little Dick said. And then, trying to put an edge in his voice: “You being smart again?”
Jem almost said nope again. Somehow, he managed to limit himself to “No.” And then he added, “No problem.”
And that was it. Little Dick’s chest swelled. He flattened his hands against his thighs. His voice grew more solid. “Because I don’t like getting mouthed off to. I was trying to have a conversation, and I don’t like you turning around and mouthing off.”
That old part of Jem was still poking its head up.
Instead of that sick, clenching feeling in his gut that had bothered him a few minutes before, now something like heat rolled through him.
But he took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.
I wasn’t trying to be rude.” And then he thought of the magic words, and the heat washed out of him, and it was like an iron cramp in his bowels again. “I saw a customer.”
Little Dick grunted. “Just so we’re clear.” He jerked his head at the showroom. “Now get off your ass and sell some cars.”