Brothers

The vibrating trill of my cell phone on the nightstand chased me from the erotic dream simmering in my sleep. Pissed me off. It was just getting good. “What! This better be good.”

“Seth? This is Wes. Sorry, man, but I thought you might want to hear this.”

It took a moment to wake into the now. “Wes? Oh, yeah. The new guy. It’s okay. Had a great dream going and . . .”

A wicked snicker struck my ear. “You need a woman.”

“Yeah. Yeah. So, what’s goin’ on that you need to wake me at this ungodly hour?”

“Hell, it’s ten A.M!”

“It’s too early if you went to bed at 8 . . . A.M. Okay, what’s so important?”

“Ah, someone’s trying to get information about your old man.”

That straightened me up. “What the hell?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Who?”

“They requested it under the Freedom of Information Act by . . . just a second—” the ruffle of shuffling papers fluttered into the phone “—ah, Deven, Deven Rounder.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Neither have I. Could be an alias. Your old man had enemies.”

“Don’t remind me.” The thought chilled me. “I’ve tried to forget it. Can you keep the information private, you know, with an injunction or something? You’re an attorney. Use your imagination.”

“Paralegal. Not my area, but I’ll see what I can do. Give me a couple of hours. I’ve got a favor or two I can call in. I’ll call you this afternoon. Oh, and don’t go back to bed. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Kiss my ass.”

A loud chuckle and the line went dead.

Sweat puddled between my toes at the thought of someone looking into my dad’s past. Every muscle in my body tightened into a knot. Deep breathing was fruitless. I didn’t like it, but I’d have to deal with it. Dad. The drug business sent your ass to jail. A shiv made sure you never got out.

I barely knew him. Mom wouldn’t talk about him until just before she died and then only in the angriest words. Mean bastard. If I could credit him with anything good, he tried to keep us far from his other life. But no one's perfect.

The thought that someone might want revenge festered like an infected splinter. I couldn’t shake it. I made coffee but left the cup half empty. Toast and jam—one bite. Took a shower and still sweated. What do I do? Can’t change my name again. I paced, a caged animal—then jerked to a stop.

Through the front window, I saw a car parked across the street and down a couple of houses. My hair stood up on my neck. Goose bumps spiked on my arms. I pulled a curtain to one side and tried to read the plates, but darkened plastic covered the numbers. God damn it! Who are you? Someone, a guy, sat behind the wheel. Did nothing. Just sat there.

My cell phone screamed at me. Almost pissed my pants.

“Seth?”

“God, you scared the piss out of me. There’s some guy parked across the street in a twenty-fourteen Chevy Camaro, down a couple of doors. Just sitting there. Can’t read the plates.”

“Call the cops. The request is legit. I can’t stop it.”

“Can you delay it?”

“No. He made it a month or two—”

“What!”

“I was lucky to see the request. Happened across it. He probably already has the information.”

“I changed my name, for God’s sake!”

“Slow down. Slow down. Take a breath. You’re probably getting yourself wound up for nothing.”

“What do you mean, slow down? Your old man wasn’t murdered.”

“I know. But working yourself up won’t make things easier—”

“Your ass! He’s not sitting outside your door.” The chills were gone. My face burned. “If you won’t do anything, I will!”

The front door slammed against the wall. I heard the drywall crack as I rushed out onto the stoop. Before I reached the steps, the Camaro sped off. I didn’t think to read the plates.

“Seth!” Wes screamed into the phone. “Seth!”

I didn’t answer until my breathing slowed. “He’s gone.”

“Christ! You don’t know what he wants or if he’s armed. Take a breath. Call the cops.”

“Okay. Okay. Besides that, what do I do next?”

“Relax. On second thought, I’ll talk to the cops. You stay where you are. Still have the Glock?”

“Yeah.”

“Loaded?”

“What good is it empty?”

“Just sit tight. Keep it close and I’ll be in touch.”

Seth set the phone on the kitchen counter and ran into the bedroom.

Walking into the kitchen, he slipped a Chicago Bears sweatshirt over his head and stuffed the phone into his back pocket. Opening the bottom drawer next to the stove, he pulled the Glock from beneath a stack of hand towels. He checked the clip, chambered a round, put the safety on, and stuck it in his waistband, then locked the doors and pulled the drapes. A wingback chair sat in a corner of the living room where he could watch the front door. The bookcase along the wall to his left gave him adequate cover where anyone coming down the hallway from the back would be well into the living room and in his sights before they saw him.

He deep breathed until his heart throttled back from a jackhammer to a calm but rapid tickle in his neck. He took the gun from his waistband and rested it on his thigh with his finger on the trigger and his thumb on the safety.

Okay, asshole. I’m waiting.

A dozen blocks away, the Camaro idled next to the curb and Deven Rounder screeched into his phone.

“Shit! You didn’t tell me he had a gun!”

“He was just a little upset.”

“A little! Upset!”

“It wasn’t a gun. He was holding his cell phone. I talked to him. He doesn’t own a gun. You sit there for a while and calm down. I’ll call him to explain that you’re his brother and all you want to do is talk to him.”

“He doesn’t know he has a brother. Our father raped my mother. I’m not looking for revenge. He’s the only family I have. I just want to talk.” The flamenco dance in his chest slowed to a waltz.

“Relax kid. Let me talk to him. Sit tight. I’ll call you back.”

Deven dropped the phone in his lap and massaged his scalp with his fingertips.

Christ! What’ve I got myself into?

Seth picked up his phone. “Yeah.”

“Got your gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Got the police looking for him. Seems a Camaro’s been seen around a couple of shootings on Pulaski. The guy’s slick. No one’s gotten a good look and none of the descriptions match, but he’s armed.”

“He won’t get away. Let’im try to get in.”

“Just stay put and lock the doors. I’m on my way and the cops aren’t far behind.” The phone went dead.

Seth stared at the silent phone. Questions made his scalp itch. Why aren’t the police here now? Why is Wes— The back door creaked. He tightened his grip on the gun and slid the safety off.

“Hello?" a tentative voice called from the back of the house. "Seth? It’s Deven Rounder.”

What? Is this a joke? He raised the gun. tall, nervous shadow edged into the living room. Seth reached up and snapped on the lamp on a small table next to the chair. “Don’t move. Turn around slowly . . . with your hands where I can see them,” Seth warned in a deep, menacing growl.

Deven froze. His eyes were the size of billiard balls when he turned and glued them to the muzzle of Seth’s gun. “Hey, man. I . . . I don’t . . . I don’t have—”

“Shut up. Who are you? You the guy in the Camaro, casing my place?”

“I wasn’t casing your place, man. I was trying to work up the courage to knock on your door.”

“Must’ve gotten cold feet the way you hauled ass.”

“I thought you had a gun, but Wes said—”

“Wes?” Seth’s stomach turned. “Fuck!”

“What? Can I put my hands down now?”

Seth gave a quick nod and waved Deven toward the couch, but kept the barrel pointed at him. His cell rang. “Wes? What the hell’s going on?”

“Wes? This is Al, your damned attorney.”

“Shit! What the hell? Your paralegal, Wes . . . some guy’s trying to get information about my old man . . . he’s sitting in front of me . . . I’ve got a gun on—” The pump action of a shotgun ratcheting a shell into the chamber, cut off his words.

“Drop the phone and toss the gun over here.” A stranger, dressed in black, his face masked, stood at the opposite end of the bookcase, the business end of his shotgun pointed in their direction. “What a turkey shoot. I was hoping you’d shoot Deven and then all I’d have to do was whack you. Can’t expect everything to go as planned. But since I’ve got all the guns—” he snickered “—a couple of blasts and it’ll be a closed-casket wake for the two of you.”

“I'm guessing you're Wes,” Seth said, a reticent burst of air puffing through his lips.

“At your service.” He cackled.

The overturn in Seth’s stomach settled into a seething anger. How could he have been so stupid? He looked at Deven. “Sorry, man. I should’ve known.” The thought hit him, “Who are you anyway? Why were you looking for me?”

Wes’s cackle crescendoed into a raucous guffaw. Seth glared.

“I’m your brother. Your fa—”

“Your old man—” Wes bellowed, spitting the words at Seth “—who I gutted, raped Deven’s mama.” Seth leapt to his feet. Wes swung the shotgun toward him. “Not so quick, asshole. I’m going to enjoy this. This will be one of the easiest hits I’ve ever done and I’m going to take—” Wes’s head snapped to the side. He stumbled and dropped the shotgun, gasped, and fell against the bookcase. His legs buckled, and he slumped to the floor.

A crystal paperweight about the size of a baseball lay next to his head. Seth stared at the motionless body sprawled on the floor, then turned to Deven. “That paperweight was a gift. Nice shot.”

“Saw it when I sat down. Lookin’ for a chance to use it. When you got up . . .” he dipped his head toward Wes.

“Fast . . . and accurate.”

Deven smiled. “Got picked up by the Cubs in the first round. Pitcher. My fastball hits ninety-eight on the speed gun.”

Seth’s eyebrows pitched high above his widened eyes and deep frown, accompanied by a slight shrug and a bob of his head, his characteristic “no-shit” look. “Nice.”

“Police—” a heavy hand banged on the door “—open up!”

“Hold on—” to Deven “—keep your hands where they can see them.”

A trio of cops charged through the front door with their guns drawn.

One turned to Seth. “On the floor!”

“I’m not your guy.”

“Shut up and get on your knees with your hands behind your head.”

“You, too!” said another, jabbing his gun at Deven.

A cop bent over Wes’s limp body and yanked the mask from his face. “Hey, would’ya look at this. It’s Wes Colby.”

Seth sat back on his heels. “I know that name.”

“You should,” Al said, standing just inside the door. “He was your dad’s number two. Threated you and your mom more than once.” He bent over the body with his hands on his knees. “Wanted your dad out of the way so he could take his business. Made one mistake. Cost him twenty and change.” He turned to the cop. “Is he alive?”

“Barely. Pretty good dent in his head.”

Sirens wailed.

“EMS is here,” a voice called from the stoop.

Two hours later, paramedics wheeled Wes out on a gurney and the last cop closed his notepad.

“Well, this should be easy to write up.” Before he left, he held up the Glock. “Who does this belong to?”

“It’s mine,” Seth said, taking the gun.

“Is it registered?”

“Yes . . . officer.”

“Lock it up in a safe place.” He nodded to the others. “Ya’ll have a good night,” and closed the door.

Al heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through a wavy pate of silver hair. “You’re going to be the death of me yet, son.” The bags under his eyes stretched as he narrowed his eyes at Seth. “I thought you kept this place locked.” He swung his gaze at Deven. “How the hell did you get in?”

Deven raised his hands with his palms out. “Hey, that Wes guy said the back door would be unlocked . . . and it was. The place was dark. I almost wished I didn’t come in—” he glanced at Seth “—almost.”

“Wes did it. Set us up to do his dirty work. We were both lucky. I should’ve realized something was up.” He turned to Al. “Deven’s my half-brother.”

Al’s head snapped up. His brows mashed together, and his lips parted. “Wha—” He stopped mid-sentence like a bulb flashed in his head. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know. If you guys are okay, I’m getting out of here. Heart can’t take much more. Oh, and keep in touch. If Colby makes it, you’ll both need to testify at the trial.” He chortled. “However, if he makes it, he’ll probably be nothing more than a boiled potato. See ya.” He waved his hand over his shoulder as he walked out.

The half-brothers stared at the door. Seth whistled and rocked his head from shoulder to shoulder. “I got some beer.”

“Yeah. I could use a couple.” Deven looked sideways at Seth. “I can buy more if you’re short.”

“Nah. Got a case or two in the back.”

“That ought to do it.”

Seth snorted a chuckle. “Yeah. I think the game of the week is streaming.” He scratched the back of his head and gave Deven a questioning look from the narrowed corner of his right eye. “Cubs, huh? They’re playin’ the Sox at Wrigley next week. Any chance—”

“No problem.”

Seth smiled. “Well . . . brother . . . looks like we’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He tipped his head toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll get the beer.”