Rating: T for graphic violence and gore, humiliation, mild swearing
Setting: Fredbear's Family Diner, 1981, prior to all of the tragedies
Summary: Willing to do anything to humiliate and degrade his business partner and their long-time worker, Will Afton is infuriated when his scheme backfires. That same night he finds he is also willing to go to any lengths to seek revenge.
Author's Note: It was recently announced that a new series of FNaF books is on its way, each containing short stories set in the game universe. This was written in anticipation as one fan's attempt at such a story. Specifically, this one speculates what might have pushed an already-unstable William Afton to cross the line to pure evil.
Five Nights at Freddy's and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Scott Cawthon.
You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.
Views expressed in this fanfiction do not necessarily match the writer's, especially those of Afton, because he's a first-class jerk in this one.
"I swear, the very next time a worker pulls a no-show," seethed William Afton, scooping up a ladleful of tomato sauce, "I will hunt him down and end him." Pressed into service in the kitchen of his business enterprise, a family diner and children's party venue, he slung the sauce onto an empty pizza shell with pure fury, hearing cries of annoyance from those working on either side of him.
"C'mon, Will," sighed Henry, frowning down at the flecks of red that had spattered his favorite flannel shirt. Eternally calm and laid back, he stood in sharp contrast to his friend and business partner's fiery and spirited nature. "We knew there would be some setbacks like this when we went into this line of work, and that we'd have to pick up the slack ourselves from time to time. Still, it is admittedly a tough break to have both our food prep guys and our delivery driver leave us high and dry on the same night, again. No matter who we hire, why do they always seem to quit in groups?" He returned his attention to his own pizza creation, applying a generous sprinkling of mozzarella with much more care than Will. Just the same, I hope we haven't gotten in over our heads with this late-night delivery schtick after the dining area closes for the night, he silently fretted.
"Alright, so it's hard to find good help, but how tough should it be to hire some local flunkie kids at minimum wage and actually keep them on?" groused Will, clearly not done yet as he glared down at the haphazard mess of a pizza on the table before him as if it represented every questionable business decision he had grown to regret. "We're talking complete no-talent jobs here that any fool could do." The sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted his ranting.
"I-I'm right here, Sir," protested their young worker, finally finding his voice even if it was far less self-assured than Henry's. Clyde hadn't fared any better than Henry against Will's sauce-slinging tirade, and removed his eyeglasses to stare in dismay at them, finally opting to wipe the lenses on the cleanest area of his uniform shirt he could find.
"Present company excepted!" Out of habit, Henry was quick to apologize on Will's behalf, sending a look of unmistakable pity Clyde's way. He means well, he mouthed, although he knew that wasn't exactly true of his abrasive partner. Will may have been a shrewd businessman whose decisions had kept their fledgling enterprise afloat through its first lean years, but he made few attempts to hide his inner mean streak, especially when it came to the frequent mistreatment of anyone he could easily manipulate. While even Henry was at times intimidated by his own friend, Clyde offered far less resistance and had found himself Will's preferred target as a result.
"Well, at least you're loyal, I'll give you that," Will conceded, adding under his breath, "but last time I checked, getting enlisted for food prep is a promotion from scrubbing dishes and mopping the floors." He was inwardly delighted when Clyde's shoulders fell at the insult he'd fully meant for him to overhear.
"Here." A short while later, Will shoved the warming bag containing the stack of pizza boxes against Clyde's chest so hard he was forced to take a step backward to avoid sprawling on the tiled kitchen floor. "You're delivering these, and remember, fifteen minutes or it's free and it comes out of your pay. Hope that beater of a car can even get there that fast." Crestfallen but ever obedient, Clyde wasted no time hustling out the back door, while Henry watched in silent disapproval.
I halfway wish that kid had the self-esteem to quit, he thought in dismay, but I doubt he ever will. He's destined to be a "lifer" at Fredbear's just as much as I am.
Having been deputized as a delivery driver on previous occasions, Clyde strongly preferred the coveted job because it at least let him escape Will's surly temperament for short stretches at a time, plus the tips supplemented his meager wages. Yet when his Datsun hatchback slid to a stop by the curb in front of a sprawling mansion where a wild party was in full swing, his heart sank.
"Oh no." Though he hadn't recognized the address Will had written on the delivery slip, upon arrival there was no mistaking exactly where he had been dispatched. Everyone knew the estate, settled on its large expanse of manicured lawn on the far edge of town and owned by a local business tycoon, who while far more successful than Will, was his undisputed equal when it came to ruthlessness.
The double front doors of the stately home swung open and a crowd of youthful and rowdy partygoers spilled out, joining those already filling the wide-columned front porch that ran the length of the building. The host of the party stepped to the front of the crowd, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the scrappy car and its driver with a malicious gleam in his eye.
Well, here goes nothing, thought Clyde. Awkwardly scrambling out through the driver's side window since both doors had been jammed shut after a minor collision years before, he retrieved the pizzas from the warmer and made his way up the path, then froze halfway in startlement when he caught sight of the man's expression.
"Oh, uh, hi, Jerry," he stammered, forcing himself to smile as he greeted the former classmate who had relentlessly bullied him throughout high school. Maybe he's changed, he fervently hoped, though the sneer plastered across Jerry's face suggested otherwise.
"Hey guys, look who's delivering pizzas for Fredbear's now!" the priviliged scion of the richest family in town jeered, and snickers broke out among the crowd. "Just two years after graduation and he's already put us all to shame with his career ambitions. Talk about moving up in the world, and here we all bet he wouldn't amount to anything!"
Clyde clutched the cardboard boxes tighter, deeply uncomfortable at being harshly scrutinized by the former "in-crowd."
"That'll be fifteen dollars, Jerry," he said tersely through gritted teeth. "And get bent." His nemesis clapped a hand to his mouth in mock disbelief.
"Why Clyde, I'm shocked! Such a filthy mouth. Guess it matches your overall look," he said, making the delivery driver suddenly self-conscious of his uniform shirt and knockoff-brand jeans, both of which bore traces of flour and pizza sauce, betraying the fact he also labored in the restaurant's kitchen.
"It's high time you cleaned up your act, dirtbag. Allow me to help you with that one." Jerry snapped his fingers, an apparent cue to someone just inside the house, and Clyde halted in confusion, hearing a mechanical clacking noise. To either side of the narrow walk he stood on, small metal disks were rising like mushrooms from the lawn in a grid-like pattern.
He realized Jerry's intentions all too late when the sprinkler system kicked on in full force, and dropped the pizzas as he brought up his arms to futilely shield himself from the drenching spray, cursing a blue streak all the while at being tricked. Blinded by the torrent of water, Clyde turned to sprint in what he hoped was the direction of his car, only to trip over a sprinklerhead and sprawl face-first on the soggy lawn, all to the tune of laughter from his audience.
The sprinklers abruptly stopped, and Jerry strode triumphantly over to his adversary as he pulled himself to his feet, looking rather pathetic as he readjusted his glasses and ballcap that had been knocked askew by the force of the spray.
"Just as cool as ever," he taunted, "and you can forget about your fifteen bucks. You really didn't catch on that this was all a set-up, and a hilarious one at that? I mean, maybe you didn't see it as such, but-"
"Oh yeah?" Clyde interrupted in an unexpected display of defiance, both hands on his hips. "Fine, then, have it your way." Stalking out to the hatchback, his sodden tennis shoes squishing with every step, he reached inside the open window, pulling out a corded telephone handset.
"Hello. Hello?" he practically shouted into the mouthpiece, yet keeping his voice level. "Yeah, that delivery order on Washington Avenue? We're dealing with a refusal to pay here."
"Fredbear's gives their drivers car phones?" Jerry gasped in disbelief, for he'd been expecting Clyde to meekly accept defeat and drive off in shame.
"...Okay, got it, standard protocol. I'll let him know!" Clyde dropped the phone back into the car, then returned to the path. Something in his changed demeanor left his nemesis with a sinking feeling.
"That was my boss, and 'fraid to let you know, but at Fredbear's Family Diner, we don't take the theft of goods and services lightly. He said you've got five minutes to pay up in full or I'm to report the theft to the cops." Grinning smugly, Clyde gestured with a dripping, muddied arm across the property, which was liberally strewn with the detritus of a celebration run amok. "Think you could clear out all your guests and clean this up in the time it would take the fuzz to arrive? It's your choice, pal." The former high school bully gaped at him in open-mouthed shock before reluctantly pulling out his wallet.
"You snot-nosed, scrawny-ass little punk," he hissed under his breath, pressing three five-dollar bills into Clyde's hand. "You wouldn't dare." Somebody on the porch behind him let out a low whistle, breaking the silence that followed, and Jerry shot a glare back at his guests.
"Actually, I would dare," Clyde shot back. "And I believe a tip is customary?" Leaning in close, he ignored the inner voice warning him not to press his luck. "Fifty bucks and I'll let bygones be bygones and forget any of this ever happened. Your old man would sure be sore if word about this got back to him. I may be delivering pizzas at twenty, but at least I'm not throwing house parties behind my dad's back like some overgrown high-school kid."
"This is blackmail!" Jerry wailed, already digging in his wallet for more cash and knowing the delivery driver had him.
"Damn straight it is," said Clyde, making a show of tucking the bills in his shirt pocket. Tipping his cap to the awed crowd, he cheerfully added, "Have a nice night, and thanks for choosing Fredbear's Family Diner!"
I can't believe he got one over on me! Jerry fumed, stomping a foot on the walkway in utter frustration. That officially wrecks this party.
Although Clyde pulled away from the scene of the crime with a defiant squeal of his tires, it wasn't until he'd put some distance between himself and his aggressors that he dared to look in his rear-view mirror, ostensibly to reassure himself he wasn't being followed. He was almost startled at the reflection greeting him, that of a guy who may have taken a few hits but had gotten his own back for once and whose eyes had a spark of mirth he had never noticed before. Twisting the dial on the car radio, Clyde drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the strains of The Sweet filled the hatchback's tinny interior, a suitable match for the adrenaline rush that promised to continue surging through his body for the rest of his shift.
He grinned down at the handset on the passenger seat. Far from a functional and high-tech car phone, it was nothing more than a broken piece of office equipment from the pizzeria, and it had been Henry's idea to take it along on deliveries to fool pranksters into believing the police could be called on the spot if they refused to pay. I can't believe I actually pulled that one off!
"What the hell happened to you?" Will demanded when Clyde returned to the kitchen, soaked and filthy. "Did you get in a fight or something?"
"Yeah, sorta, but you should see the other guy." The delivery driver beamed as he flicked some stray blades of grass off his shirt, then plunked the hard-earned payment for the pizzas down on the countertop in front of his astonished boss while keeping silent about the extravagant tip he'd extorted from their customer. Despite his deplorable appearance, he felt on top of the world.
"Forget the other guy; you look like a drowned rat," Henry said with a smirk, knowing Clyde was hardly the type to instigate a physical altercation. "At least go to the supply room and borrow a spare uniform shirt for the rest of your shift, and then you owe us a full account of whatever went down." After the way this night started, it's nice to see him positively glowing for once, he thought.
From the time Will and Henry had started the laborious process of building their innovative business concept from the ground up, they had quickly fallen into roles that suited Will just fine. As the charismatic, outgoing half of the duo, he handled the legal issues over zoning of the property, disputes with vendors, and of course the publicity, often with a great deal more aggression than necessary. Henry was content to toil unobtrusively behind the scenes, designing, programming and testing the animatronic characters that would bring joy to their future young patrons, all the while with a serious demeanor but a secretive smile on his face, for he held a true passion for his work.
If Will relished the control over the business itself, he absolutely thrived over subtly controlling Henry, outright dismissing many of his suggestions as inane and trashing some of his finished work, even after it had been done to his exact specifications. Having known his more reticent friend for years, Will still gained a secret thrill when he had nearly reduced the man to tears of self-doubt, but he cautiously maintained just enough restraint not to push him too far to the point where Henry might feel threatened enough to quit the partnership.
Clyde had been their very first hire, barely out of high school. Watching with grim amusement as he stammered his way through an awkward job interview, Will had lost no time in hiring someone clearly as unsure of himself as Henry, only even more compliant. What he hadn't expected was that Henry would take their new lackey under his wing and find a kindred spirit in him that left him feeling like the third wheel. Of course they would find common ground; they were both intimidated by him, only by different degrees.
It wasn't long before Will would find the duo on their lunch breaks, enthusiastically discussing new routines for the animatronics' song-and-dance numbers or skits for their on-stage banter, both animated with the child-like wonder they held for the characters Henry had created.
Henry had been his to control, his to direct. Will had been envious enough when his partner had found love against all odds and married several years before, but at least Henry's wife was mostly sequestered at home with their toddler, and to his credit, Henry had never used his new fatherhood as an excuse to cut back on his work hours. Despite this envy, Will also had to begrudgingly admit that in a business with an incredibly high turnover rate, Clyde may not have been their most competent worker but he was the only other one who was loyal to a fault and had stayed on since the beginning, so it would be a poor decision to fire him without cause.
If Will had started the night in a foul mood, coaxing the story of the prank-turned-revenge out of Clyde and seeing his withdrawn employee slowly discovering his self-confidence only stoked his temper. To make matters worse, Henry seemingly couldn't leave the kid's side, lavishing praise on him for standing up for himself and leaving Will deeply disgruntled. The last thing he wanted was for Henry to get ideas and start rebelling against the way things had always been since the start of their partnership. It soon struck him that driving a wedge between the two, post-haste, would be necessary if he wanted to maintain the status quo.
"The kid hardly deserves a medal, you know," he complained to Henry once Clyde had retreated out of earshot to the front desk to take another delivery order. "So he got payment from a difficult customer, big deal! I liked it more when he just shut up and did his job, but now he's annoyingly chipper, and he's going to be downright insufferable to deal with if this keeps up."
"Maybe for you, but I like seeing him self-assured for once, and I can relate." Henry rolled his eyes. "Heaven forbid a worker at a children's party venue, of all places, show any inkling of joy or enthusiasm, right?"
Will's eyes narrowed and he tried a new tactic, one he had been holding off for until just the right moment. There was a time for fighting clean and fair, but in his eyes the situation no longer called for self-restraint.
"Just the same, haven't you noticed that when it comes to you, Clyde's gone a little beyond respect for his superiors on the job, and even beyond hero worship?" He delighted when Henry, no doubt suspecting exactly where the conversation was headed, blushed deeply. "It's so obvious he's got a crush on you; where'd that come from?!"
To Will's chagrin, his conservative, quiet partner did not recoil in absolute disgust as he had expected, but broke out in a reluctant yet knowing grin.
"I-I noticed that a long time ago, Will," he said in a hushed voice, his face still reddened as his gaze darted toward the doorway and the front desk. "And it's flattering to know that someone thinks that highly of you." Henry paused for a moment, scrutinizing the tray of breadsticks he had cut in even lines from a sheet of dough. "I'll admit he didn't do the best job of hiding his feelings, but I admire the way he respected the fact that I'm a married man by never acting on them." He shrugged. "Besides, he's young and still figuring this stuff out. I've noticed he's also taken a shine to Cindy, y'know, the prize counter girl?"
Will exhaled sharply, irritated that his attempts to undermine his coworkers' friendship had utterly failed. You knew all along, and it didn't drive you crazy, working right alongside him after you found out he was hung up on you? He was still fighting the urge to seize Henry by the shoulders and shake some much-needed sense into him when Clyde's voice carried into the kitchen.
"Look, I already told ya, we can't deliver after dark to an address that's not a home or a business," he informed the caller, firmly and with a rare hint of annoyance in his tone. Will stalked out to the lobby to find Clyde with the phone in one hand and tracing along a map of the town with the other, his finger settling on a location that appeared to be a large field of green.
"You're asking me to deliver to the abandoned pool, down by the ballfields? Sorry, no can do, it's almost midnight and that place isn't well lit at all. There's the 24-hour Gas'N'Grub a half-mile away; meet me there and you can have your pizza-Hey!" He yelped when Will snatched the telephone forcibly from his grip.
We need the money, his boss mouthed before returning to the call. "'Ello? Sorry for my delivery driver; he's a bit skittish." Will waved away Clyde as he shrugged in frustration at the insult. "We normally don't deliver to secluded locations, but give me the exact time to meet you and I'll let it slide this once."
"Fair enough, so long as the kid actually shows up. He afraid of the dark or something?" The husky voice, measured by heavy breaths, already enticingly confirmed Will's suspicions.
"Beats me, but he'll be there. Now whaddayawant?"
"Got it, and I'll see that he brings change for that...fifty that you have." Will's voice hitched in anticipation, especially at the unusual request that suddenly didn't seem so out of place.
After preparing the order himself (one large anchovy, thin crust, precision-cut into eight uniform slices) the businessman shouldered the warming bag, peering around the doorway just in time to witness some shared joke between Henry and Clyde, the former of whom clapped his hand across the other's back and left it there just a moment longer than necessary.
He wanted almost nothing more than to usher his delivery driver out to what promised to be his second set-up of the night, this one with potential consequences for being a smart-aleck that were far worse than the short-lived humiliation Clyde had emerged from, annoyingly unscathed. Yet Will's desire to direct the chain of events he had orchestrated reigned supreme over all else, and he had not authorized this new plot twist.
Clyde's discarded uniform shirt was still dripping forlornly into the utility sink, and William's actions went unnoticed as he extricated a ring of car keys from the pocket. He also found the limp bills he had expected, palming them one smooth motion and confident his worker wouldn't dare report the theft of his ill-gotten gain. Lousy amateur blackmailer. He doesn't deserve this!
The gaunt figure stood with his jacket flapping in the warm night breeze, towering over a sea of overgrown grass that grew in scrubby patches around equally-neglected shrubs. It had been nearly a decade since children had spread their beach towels over this same lawn, sunning themselves and perhaps enjoying an ice cream bar during the designated adult swims. Nature had swiftly reclaimed the forsaken property, and now the morass held rotted baseballs, errantly struck there by players who were too leery to venture out into the wasteland in search of them.
The man kicked at one such ball, watching the core burst from its leather shell and roll into a clump of grass. The sour smell of the pool itself, still partially filled with brackish and discolored water, wafted from behind him. In the dead of last winter a whitetail had stumbled over the thinly frozen ice, its nearly-unidentifiable remains surfacing months later during the thaw. Every now and then some concerned parent or homeowner implored the town's recreation board to fill in the gaping hole with cement, decrying it as an attractive nuisance. Yet whether for lack of funds or a delusional belief the pool could somehow gain a second life, nothing had been done aside from installing more padlocks on the gate of a fence that had already been bent and cut through by trespassers.
Rather appreciating the anarchy of the location, the man emerged from the shadows, patiently waiting once the hatchback pulled to the curb. Behind the windshield, an orange speck bobbled, and the observer smiled, picturing the harried kid inside lighting a cigarette and trying to steel himself for the exchange he would just as much avoid, maybe even shaking his head at the sorry state of the pool he no doubt had enjoyed as a youth.
"You're not him." The customer's voice came in a hiss once William Afton had almost comically hefted himself through the window of the jammed car door, alighting on the cracked pavement with pure fury.
"No kidding," the big man scowled, his voice tinged with piss and vinegar, but absolutely no trepidation at meeting a stranger in a dark wasteland. Stepping forward, Will noticed the street tough rock backward on his heels just noticeably, a surefire sign that he was trying hard to hide his growing fear. "It was past his bedtime," Will said, his joke answered by an stilted guffaw from the other party.
"How much?"
"Isn't that my line?" scoffed the customer, scarcely hiding his irritation.
"I was hardly asking about the price of the pizza, which is seven-fifty, by the way," Will said, shifting the cardboard box propped on one palm so that the grinning visage of Fredbear printed on the lid was directed toward the thug. "I want to know how much that rich prat coughed up for you to reclaim his fifty from my driver."
"Wh-what are you goin' on about?" The man shifted his weight from one foot to another now, tense and still indecisive about whether fighting or fleeing was the more judicious response. Will stepped yet closer, and when the man withdrew a blade easily five inches long from one of the many pockets on his jacket, his crazed smile only widened in response.
"Really, what was your cut?" Will pressed on. "How much were you willing to whore out your services for, thirty?" His adversary's eyes narrowed in hatred - and unmistakable affirmation that Will had struck sensitive territory.
"Twenty, even? The hired goon market must not be so lucrative right now, if you were ready to jump my driver, maybe even cut him up a little, to get back less than half of his take." Will's taunts had their desired effect as he caught his reflection leering back at him from the blade of the brandished weapon.
"Then again, maybe this was all a mistake on my part, and we should both forget it ever happened. You'd be better off paying for the pizza-"
Before Will could finish, he found himself rushed, and he thrust the pizza box toward his attacker, the formidable knife he had borrowed from the restaurant's kitchen concealed behind it. For one blissful moment, the two men were suspended in a grapple, and Will took note of details he had missed earlier: the dying thug was a few years older than Clyde and Jerry, so he had not been a classmate, there were old scars ghosting across the weathered flesh of his neck, and his malicious grin, frozen on his face, was crooked, even before a thin stream of red spilled from its corner.
Revolted, Will shoved the slain body away from himself the moment he felt its legs buckle, and it landed supine in the wind-torn grass, the pizza box overlaying its chest. From the lid of the box, Fredbear still grinned back vacantly in monochrome ink, unaware of the gaping knife wound that had punctured through the cardboard right between his cartoonish eyes.
"Your choice," the delivery driver said coldly, shrugging at the corpse of the first individual he had ever dispatched to the hereafter. He bent stiffly, one hand methodically wiping the blade he clutched in his right hand onto the grass, as though he had done this before, while his left rifled through the jacket of the fallen man, locating a slim wallet and sliding it to his own pocket.
The expected rush never came. Will kicked the pizza box, hard, watching without interest as the anchovy-laden slices pinwheeled across the lawn, landing in a trail that seemed to point back accusingly to the victim. The box itself came to a rest upended, its halves parted like the open jaws of Pac-man himself. Sets of eyes glared from the shelter of a nearby stand of trees. Scavengers, he knew, most likely raccoons, and impatient for him to be on his way so they could get at the discarded food.
Dragging the body under the shelter of the trees and giving it a kick for good measure to ensure it was concealed beneath the lowest branches, Will caught his breath, grinning without pleasure. Now that's how you deal with someone who crosses you, he fantasized himself instructing Clyde. You don't scam him for a few bucks in a cheap hustle and then duck and run, all the while trying to convince yourself you ended up on the better end of the deal.
For all he imagined himself saying in a ridiculously hypothetical situation, though, the freshly-minted killer was stunned to find he had gained little more satisfaction from the act than he had from the cigarette still dangling half-forgotten from his lips. Grinding the stub in the ashtray once he'd returned to the car, he sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and gazing out into the darkness.
Where was his thrill? He might as well have swatted a fly pestering him back at the food-prep counter. Will bit his lip. He certainly hadn't gone through with this to protect his lowly worker; heck, he'd briefly considered telling his customer to go pound salt and then dealing with Clyde, only slightly less roughly, himself. Just enough to ensure the thought of future insurrection would never cross his mind...
How much, indeed? Will cracked open the wallet, removing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and staring at it a while before tucking it in his pocket, alongside the cash he'd lifted off his scheming employee. Entirely uninterested in the driver's license encased in a plastic sleeve, he pitched the wallet out the open window, hearing it land with a muffled thump somewhere among the pines where its late owner rested.
As the car sputtered to life and pulled away from the curb, Will let the raccoons have at their pizza feast, wondering how long it would be before they turned their appetite to the corpse itself once that ran out.
Maybe a random and unplanned killing wasn't the correct route to take, he mused. The notion had long rested in Will's mind that one day, someone would spark his ire enough to earn an inglorious dispatch to the hereafter, a fate the victim would fully have deserved and he would not begin to regret. It had never been something to trouble him or cause any need for deep self-reflection of his morals, but had been a likelihood he'd coolly accepted just as much as his own eventual death.
Clyde and even Henry had occasionally ventured perilously close to that territory, yet something had always caused Will to hold back. He had asked himself more than once whether the need to feed off the balance of power against his underlings outweighed any satisfaction he would gain from taking one or both of them out. Since the limit he could push Henry emotionally was finite, for fear his partner could quit and leave him, he had chosen to extend his mistreatment as long as possible before making any final decisions over Henry's ultimate fate.
Still, tonight's unexpected outcome had thrown a monkey wrench in Will's meticulously-laid plans. Sometime before, while on the golf course with Jerry's father he had casually inquired as to his son's latest doings, then the two men had laughed and compared Jerry's accomplishments to his former classmates', such as the one lost cause still slaving away at Fredbear's and mistakenly believing being sent on deliveries was a massive step up on the career ladder. Chortling rudely, Jerry Senior had then boasted of his upcoming business trip and half-joked he hoped his son could be trusted not to level his estate before he returned home.
From there, it had been easy for Will to discretely fire the food prep team and the regular delivery driver without notice and press Clyde into service, assured Jerry could be trusted to take care of the rest. To hear Clyde's stories of his former classmate, Jerry was brilliant only in the cruel schemes he had carried out against his enemies, and Will couldn't fault him for his humiliation stunt. It hadn't been Jerry's fault that Henry had conspired to carry a fake car phone in their delivery vehicle, but his greed had been his fatal error, when he had rashly hired a local, small-time thug to get his money back.
The next time, Will vowed, gripping the steering wheel in white-knuckled determination and quite certain there would be a next time, I'll be sure to strike far closer to home. It needs to hurt. Hurt deeply.
"See? I told ya so." Months later, Clyde let the newspaper he had breathlessly rushed into the pizzeria with drop to the food prep counter, where Henry promptly snatched it up, ever concerned about contamination and safety. The business owner's eyes widened at the headline.
"I knew that delivery spot was bad news," Clyde persisted. "Now they found a dead guy there, after the neighbors complained about the smell for six months."
Seven, William mentally corrected him, showing no emotion. "Isn't that something. I'll bet the cops assumed it was another deer that met its doom in that sumphole that used to be a pool."
"Says here he's completely skeletonized, with scraps of clothing and a wallet nearby. The cops don't have a formal I.D. yet, but I guess if there's a license or any other cards in the wallet they'll have an easy time of it." Clyde took off his ball cap and scratched his head, looking for all the world to Will like a clueless teenage detective from any number of formulaic Saturday morning cartoons. "Weird that we don't have any missing persons around town, though, huh? I mean, I'd hate to disappear and not have anyone catch on I was gone. I can't even imagine-ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where an exasperated Will had clapped him, hard.
"Then let that be a lesson, since you were so pissed I borrowed your car that night," he said sharply before softening his tone, alarmed at the panicked look on his worker's face. "It seemed only fair that if I insisted we deliver there against our own policy, then I should be the one to handle it myself, not risk your hide."
"Yeah," agreed Clyde, blinking in surprise. "Guess I owe ya one, and your customer probably had no clue some guy was gonna die right where he wanted to pick up his pizza, just a little while later that summer." He shivered abruptly, rubbing his arms to ward off the chill that overcame him and accompanied a disturbing thought. "We don't even know how the guy died. Maybe your customer offed him."
"So he could what, steal his pizza? Brilliant deduction, Encyclopedia Brown. Why don't you quit the sleuthing thing and stick to what you do best, scrubbing baked-on cheese off the pie pans?"
Abashed, Clyde obediently returned his attention to the dishes in the sink before him, grateful the cloud of steam rising from the piping hot water hid the deep blush he could feel spreading over his face. Will angled his face away from Henry before allowing himself to break out in a lopsided smirk. This was a far better power trip, meted out in measured doses, than letting his fury overtake him with fatal results against his work team.
When he glanced back at Henry, he was surprised to see his partner, a quietly religious man, with his head bowed, his lips moving noiselessly.
"Are you honestly praying for the poor sod?" Will sputtered, barely hiding the disgust from his voice. "For all you know, he could've had it coming, been a horrible person."
Henry looked up, startled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Regardless of who he might have been, Will, it's not my place to judge his departed soul." He sighed deeply. "Things like this just make you want to hug your kid even tighter, y'know?"
No, I don't know, Will thought, unable to recall when he had last embraced any of his long-estranged children, unlike Henry who was openly affectionate with his young daughter. From the deepest cesspool of his polluted mind, the darkest idea imaginable emerged and his gaze turned to the kiddie-sized table set up in a corner of the kitchen, it surface strewn with the scrap papers and chubby crayons Charlie used to create her undiscernable portraits of the restaurant's mascots.
"Maybe you're right," he was quick to correct himself. "It always hurts worse when things like this strike...close to home."