Forever Man (11 page)

“Stop what?” replied Jack Sallinen, Jr., as he danced around the living room, skirting the leather sofa and hopping over a marble coffee table. He held a box of crayons high above his head.

His brother Kevin chased after him. The boy’s knees banged against the furniture, and his skinny arms grabbed and slapped at his older brother. He made incoherent sounds as he tried to get his crayons back.

“Stop teasing him!” Katie yelled.

“C’mon, Katie. It’s just a little game of ‘Keep Away’.” J.J. laughed harder when Kevin tripped over a reclining chair and skinned his elbows on the carpet.

“Look,” she said. “Now he’s crying.”

J.J. stopped moving and shot her an angry glare. “He’s not
your
brother, so butt out.”

Kevin bounded up from the floor and hustled across the room. Clearly furious, the boy clenched his slender hand into a fist and drew back as far as it would go. Once he’d reached his brother, Kevin threw his fist forward and punched J.J. square in the crotch.

J.J. collapsed soundlessly to the floor, the box tumbling from his hand. Kevin dove for it, but J.J., red-faced and sweating and looking pissed, managed to scramble between his brother and the crayon box. He snatched Kevin’s arms and hauled him to his feet.

“Little retard,” muttered J.J. and got Kevin in a head-lock. He spun him around, let him go, and then shoved him hard to the ground, where the younger boy curled up into a ball and howled like a wounded animal.

Katie marched up to J.J.. She slapped him as hard as she could; despite putting some heat into it, the blow barely moved J.J.’s head. “Kevin’s your brother. He’s got a disability. And still you treat him like this? What’s your next act, J.J.? Stuff someone’s cat in a microwave?”

J.J. looked at her with pain in his eyes. The slap had left a red mark on his left cheek. “Don’t lecture me. You don’t know what it’s like living here.” He pointed to his wailing brother. “This whole damn house revolves around him. My dad is constantly with him, making sure he’s not playing with the stove or that he’s eating all his food or that he’s wiped his ass completely. And me? I barely talk to my dad anymore, and I’m lucky if my mom calls more than once a month.” He made frustrated little gestures with his hands. “I float around here like I’m some goddamn ghost.”

“It’s not his fault,” Katie returned. Her previous anger had burned itself out. Now she felt a mixture of sadness and pity. This was a side of her boyfriend she hadn’t seen before, and she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or concerned. “He didn’t ask to be born like this.”

J.J. glanced down at Kevin, then back at her. “I know. Look, I’m sorry. He caught me off guard with that punch. I’ll make it up to him.” J.J. bent down and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, Kev. I’m sorry. Let me help you get your crayons.”

Kevin curled up tighter and sobbed into his crossed arms.

J.J. grabbed the green and yellow box. He shook it to make some noise. “Hey, bro. Here they are.” He rubbed Kevin’s shoulder. “Come on, I gave you your stuff back.”

Kevin ignored him.

“Fine,” J.J. said, dropping the box. “Go ahead and cry.” He walked over to one of the recliners and plopped himself down in it. Frustration darkened his features.

Katie picked up the box of crayons. She walked over to J.J. and held it out to him. “You started it, you finish it. Try again or I’m leaving.”

He refused to look at her for several seconds. Then, with a small grunt, he took the box and got up. “Have it your way.”

J.J. went over and sat cross-legged in front of his brother. He looked around, spotted a box of Kleenex on the coffee table. Pulling one out, he used it to tickle Kevin’s ear.

Nothing happened at first. Then—one of Kevin’s hands swiped at the air. J.J. had been expecting this and yanked the tissue away in time. Again he tickled Kevin, and this time Kevin turned his head enough to peek out of the crook of his elbow; it looked comically like the eye-gazing-out-of-a-keyhole shot in old
Three Stooges
reruns.

J.J. lifted the crayon box and placed it near Kevin’s head. “Go on. Take it.”

Kevin’s sobbing had fizzled into sniffles. First, he grabbed the Kleenex from J.J. and carelessly wiped his face, missing most of the snot and tears. Next he snatched up the crayon box. He ran for his room.

J.J. looked sullenly at Katie as he walked back to the chair and sat down. “There. Happy now?”

Katie got up and approached J.J.. She sat on the edge of the recliner, an arm draped over his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to remember, he’s just a kid. He didn’t ask for any of this. I mean, can you imagine what his life’s going to be like? No job. No wife. No kids. Always needing someone to take care of him. How happy can he ever really be?”

J.J. stared hard at the carpet. “But what about me? I try so hard to make my dad proud. I made varsity football my sophomore year. I’ll probably get to play freshman ball at Ann Arbor. Hell, as much as money means to him, I thought he’d be impressed that I may get a full ride at college. But neither he nor my mom ever says anything. It’s all about Kevin.”

“Life’s full of hard times.” She knew this fact better than most. Had experienced it first-hand. “You might as well get used to it.”

J.J. opened his mouth to say something but simply shrugged. “Enough about Kevin. How’d it go today? You guys find anything?”

“Yes and no,” she said as she told him the day’s events.

“No shit. Nat’s dad really shot somebody?”

“He didn’t hit anyone. And he had a heart attack. They had to do CPR on him.”

J.J. gave a wistful sigh. “I miss all the cool stuff.”

Katie punched his arm. “Nat’s dad could’ve died, you idiot. He still could. Now when she’s found, she’ll have to deal with that, too.”

She felt J.J. squirm under her arm.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just…I don’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s been two days. The chances of finding her are pretty slim.”

“Don’t be so sure. There’s something strange going on around here. And besides, I don’t think Mr. Owens did it.”

“The black guy?” J.J. shook his head. “He’s toast.”

Katie sat up straighter, took her arm off his shoulder. “What happened to ‘innocent until proved guilty’?”

“Come on, be realistic. He’s a stranger. He just got into town. And something of his was found at the scene. Don’t
you
think that’s a little odd?”

“I know it doesn’t look good. But there’s something about that guy. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could kill someone.”

“The cops’ll figure it out,” J.J. said confidently. “Anyway, enough of all this depressing talk. I think my dad might have a new bottle of scotch in his office. I wouldn’t mind trying a sip. Come on.”

He started walking away, but Katie stayed where she was. It took him several steps to realize he was alone. He turned and gave her a puzzled look.

“What
now
?”

“The scotch,” Katie said, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know how I feel about drinking.”

J.J.’s shook his head and sighed. “Look, I know you don’t drink. And I’m not asking you to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t.” He held out his hand to her. “Only a sip, I promise. If I took any more, my dad would notice and raise holy hell.”

“It starts with a sip,” Katie said as she got up, but she refused to take J.J.’s hand. “Remember, my dad thought he could keep it to a sip. Look at what happened to him.”

“Katie, please. I’m not your father. What he did was horrible. But I’m not like that.”

“How do I know? How do you even know? We never know what we’re capable of until it’s too late.”

“Come on, settle down. You’re getting worked up over nothing. Really.” He cupped her face in one hand. “Hey, I tell you what, how about we go see him tomorrow? Your dad? You haven’t been there in a while.”

“No,” said Katie, her voice hitching with emotion. “I’m tired of pretending. Pretending for you; pretending for my mom. His body may be there, underneath all that cold dirt, but I know he can’t hear me. Not anymore. Not where he is now. My dad ended up where I can’t follow.”

Uncrossing her arms, she pushed J.J.’s hand from her face. “Suicides burn in Hell.”

Katie sat in an antique Regency Carver mahogany chair in Mr. Sallinen’s office. She knew it was an “antique Regency Carver mahogany chair” because J.J.’s dad had made a point of telling her several times. Truthfully, it looked like one of those cheap pieces of furniture you could get at SecondHand Rose’s Resale Repository for around ten bucks.

She’d been in this room a handful of times before, and, in spite of the disappointment at the chair, she’d been impressed each time. The lower half of the walls was encased in dark walnut paneling, while the upper half was painted dark amber, like the color of overripe pumpkins. Thick carpeting muffled their footsteps. The antique chair she occupied and its twin sat in front of a large wooden desk. Various community awards hung on the wall behind the desk, as well as some photographs of Mr. Sallinen with people she didn’t recognize. The air in the room was stale, as if no one ever opened a window to let in the outside world.

J.J. sat in a comfortable leather chair behind the desk. He’d rummaged through the desk, found a locked drawer, and used a letter opener to jimmy the lock. Inside, he’d found a rectangular gray metal box, also locked. He was now using the letter opener to try to pry it open.

Katie got up and moved to a painting on the wall across from the desk. It depicted a woman lying asleep on a sofa, her arms dangling over her head and her neck exposed. A creature—a demon of some sort—sat on her chest and looked out at the viewer. The head of a black horse, its eyes painted bright yellow against the darker colors surrounding it, emerged from a part in the curtains that made up the background. It was a disturbing image. Katie had asked Mr. Sallinen about it once. “It’s called
The Nightmare,
by a man named Henry Fuseli,” he’d said. “It represents the relationship between sleeping and the dreams we have. How our darker side surfaces in the night. It’s really quite beautiful.”

She hadn’t thought so then, and she didn’t think so now. It was still a creepy painting.

J.J. blurted, “Hey! I got it op—”

Katie turned. J.J. stood with his back to her. His arms were bent, his head tilted down, looking at something he held in his hands.

“Did you find your precious scotch bottle?” she asked.

J.J. stuffed whatever it was into his pocket and spun to face her. His face was pale.

“Um…it’s nothing. Just, you know, some old junk of my dad’s.”

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Katie said. “Show me what you found.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” He ran a hand over his face. “Look, I think you should go. I don’t want to push my luck. If my dad catches us in here….”

Katie started toward the desk.

“No! No, don’t come over here. I’m sorry, but you need to leave. Please? I’ll call you later.”

Katie frowned. “I—well, sure. I guess.”

“Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved. “Maybe we’ll go see a movie or something tonight.”

She stopped at the office door. “You sure you’re all right?”

J.J. nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Later, okay?”

“Later,” she replied and walked out of the office.

Well, that was interesting, she thought once she was outside.

Her walk home took about half an hour, and during that time, she grew more curious what J.J. had been hiding from her.

Jack Sallinen, Sr., felt his cell phone vibrate against his hip. “Excuse me,” he said to the man sitting across from him and thumbed the answer button.

“Sallinen.”

“Hey, Dad,” his son J.J. chirped into his ear. “Got a minute?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“Well, you better make time, because what I’ve got to say is important
.
”

Jack paused. Assertiveness was something new for J.J.. Typically, the boy showed as much initiative as a tree sloth. Unless, of course, he was conniving with his bitch of a mother. Jack had lost a lot of his wealth in the divorce, in part due to his son’s interfering and ill-timed comments.

“All right,” Jack said, his chair creaking as he settled back into it. “This had better be good.”

“Oh, it’s good, Pops. Headline news stuff.” There was a pause. “Natalie Morris. I know you’re involved with what happened to her.”

Jack felt the skin tighten along the back of his neck. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I found photos of her in your desk,” J.J. said. “And she looked dead.”

The words made Jack grow cold inside. His grip on the cell tightened until his knuckles blazed white.

“What’s the matter?” J.J. said. “For once, you’ve got nothing to say?”

Jack pulled in a deep breath, giving himself a chance to think. J.J. wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He
did
call here first and not the cops. Or did he?

“Who else have you talked to about this?” he asked, realizing there was no sense denying it now.

“Not the cops, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Good,” said Jack, then reluctantly added, “thank you.” The words burned like acid on his tongue.

“Jesus—you
did
kill her!” J.J.’s words spilled out in a stunned rush. “And Jimmy.”

Jack lifted his eyes to the man sitting across the table from him. Darryl Webber met his gaze with a grin and a wink.

“I haven’t killed anyone.” Jack sneezed once, twice. He grabbed a Kleenex and wiped at his nose.

“Bless you, father, for you have sinned,” J.J. said with a nervous laugh. “So, tell me. What’re you doing with photos of a dead girl—someone the whole town is looking for?”

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” snapped Jack. “Especially not over the phone. And why couldn’t this wait until I got home?”

“Isn’t it obvious? If you have these photos, then you know where she’s buried. I figured that’s worth something.”

The idiot didn’t even understand the question. How could he have fathered such a complete turd?

“Fine,” Jack said. “What do you want?”