Chapter 2
He drove until he was almost out of gas. The way he was feeling, he didn't think it would be a good idea to pull into a gas station, not after what happened. Luckily Jonathan found the only working phone booth with a phonebook still intact. It was conveniently located down the street from his office. He hoped it was somewhat up to date. He could walk right up to the door, but how would that turn out. He figured nothing good would happen if he did.
He answered on the first ring. As soon as he heard his voice Jonathan said his name. "Dick"
A long pause and then Dick spoke. "Jonathan, where… are you?"
"A block from your office."
"I still have my gun." Dick listened to the silence on the line for a few minutes thinking maybe they might have been disconnected or the kid decided it wasn't a good idea to call. A heavy sigh told him Jonathan was still there.
"Dick, I just need someone to talk to."
Dick was shocked when he saw Jonathan walk into his office. It was like he hadn't changed at all. That thought put Dick on edge. He knew the young man had spent time in a nut ward. He didn't know he had been released. "What are you doing here?" He leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.
"Can I sit down?"
"Go ahead, but remember I'm not lying about the gun. And this time you little prick, I won't think twice about shooting you!" To prove the point Dick lifted his t-shirt showing the hand gun.
Jonathan shook his head. Dick was giving him such attitude. Something made him egg Dick on. Mentally he asked himself if he hoped irritating Dick would get the man to shoot him. "How's Preston?"
Dick sat up suddenly, slamming his fist down on the desk. "How's Preston? How the fuck do you think he is? Locked up, like you should be!"
"Why? I didn't kill any one! He killed my brother! Don't you remember that?"
"Yeah I remember. He finished what you started or don't you remember hitting your brother? Dick was on his feet, his fists still on the desk as he leaned over it yelling in Jonathan's face. "And while we're taking the trip down memory lane, how's about attempted murder, assault and battery, kidnapping? Should I go on?"
The reminders Dick shouted at him brought all the pain and frustrations back instantly. It was enough to make Jonathan slump in his seat. "I'm sorry, for all of it." He covered his face with both hands. The truth tumbled from him. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I didn't know what to do. I can't go home, the bakery's closed. I can't even put gas in my fucking car."
Dick could hear the heartbreak in Jonathan's voice. He hated to admit it, he felt sorry for him. He still was pissed as hell, but he did know the kid lost everything that mattered to him. "Listen do you need a couple of bucks?"
"No, I have money." Jonathan stood, threw the cash on the desk and then added his credit cards to the pile. "I can't go to the gas station. Just forget it. Call me a cab. I'll get my car some other time. No, you know what, just keep it. What the hell am I going to do with a car I'm too afraid to fill up with gas?"
"Wait. Sit down." When Jonathan refused Dick pointed the gun at him. "I said sit down!"
Jonathan threw his hands in the air, plopping into the seat. "Figures… go ahead Dick, shoot me. I know you want to."
"I'm not going to shoot you, but I should." Dick flexed his hand to remind Jonathan that he owed him one for stabbing him. Dick grabbed his jacket. "Take me to dinner, your treat. I'll put gas in your car, also your treat."
.
They sat in an all-night diner. Jonathan slumped in his seat watching as Dick shoveled eggs into his mouth and sipped a cup of coffee.
"Where you going after this? What are you planning on doing?"
Jonathan barely touched his food. "Why are you still doing that job? I thought getting into other people's business was dangerous."
"You going to eat that?" Dick pointed at Jonathan's omelet.
Jonathan shook his head, pushing the plate across the table to Dick. The waitress came by with more coffee. She smiled at Jonathan. "Is something wrong with your food, sugar?"
"No. I'm not hungry."
"Suit yourself. You want some desert?" She asked Jonathan, ignoring Dick.
Jonathan shook his head again. His stomach was barely tolerating the coffee.
Dick looked up, held the fork halfway between his mouth and the plate. "Pie, cherry, thanks." The waitress made a face of disgust while walking away.
Jonathan twirled a cigarette between his fingers. He hadn't smoked in months. He thought about taking a drag but the no smoking sign above the desert case coupled with the fact that he didn't trust himself with matches or a lighter stopped him. "You keep eating like that you're going to have a heart attack."
Dick shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth. "The way I see it, I beat death. Now it's all about living."
Jonathan tucked the cigarette behind his ear. "I wasn't going to kill you."
"Yeah but you would have."
Jonathan thought about that for a minute. "Probably, if you stood in the way of me killing Preston."
.
Dick let Jonathan's words hang in the air for a few minutes. "And what good would it have done if you killed him? It won't bring your brother back… or her. Wait, you were always planning on it weren't you? Off yourself…end it all. That's it… murder/suicide. And what about me? You were going to leave me to rot and die in that goddamn trunk."
Dick touched a nerve making Jonathan stare at his hands instead of looking the older man in the eye. He spoke softly surprising himself with his honesty. "No, I was going to let you out. I figured you'd go straight to the cops and by the time they got there…"
"What stopped you?"
"The truth! Preston didn't kill her." He thought about his willingness to talk about his plans to kill himself. He assumed since therapy helped him open up he couldn't stop talking about it. There was nothing left to hide. His affair with a married woman, his guilt over hurting his brother, and his failed attempt at dying, it was all out in the open now. He lifted his eyes, looking at Dick for a long moment before speaking. "I want to see him. I want to see Preston."
Dick set his fork down. He pushed the plate to the side. Putting both hands on the table he leaned in speaking low but stern. "I can't let you do that."
"I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to know why he turned himself in. He didn't have to. If anything it looked like I killed my brother after I had killed Emily."
"But you didn't. He knows that and he feels like it's his fault she died."
Jonathan shook his head. "No it's my fault. I shouldn't have left my car keys there. I shouldn't have argued with her in front of Art. I shouldn't have been with her in the first place."
Dick couldn't believe how things had changed. Before both of these men had blamed each other, now they only blamed themselves.