Sliver

By Josh Voyles

A ghost in his own life, Franklin Brophy is a man who goes through each day looking forward only to the end of it. Like most of his co-workers at Uris & Parsons Financial, Franklin long ago grew into the habit of ignoring the human derelicts who occasionally gather enough courage to approach the employees and ask them for any spare change jingling about in their pockets. On a normal day he might ignore this one too, but there is something about this man... maybe it is the two fingers missing from his right hand, or perhaps it is the way he declines accepting Dom's change and instead stares Franklin right in the eye before hissing, "I want yours."

The next day Dom is dead, and Franklin returns home to find that the man who answers the desperate, terrified cries of his wife and children is missing two fingers from his right hand, and seems to take a terrible pleasure from throwing Franklin out of his own home, to the streets.

From there Franklin embarks on a quest to reclaim his family from the clutches of a madman, a thief of lives whose body count stretches back centuries...

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462067596

Josh Voyles

Josh Voyles is a Milwaukee-based author and visual artist. His works have previously appeared in the Xpressions Journal, a fine madness literary magazine, Enhance Online, Golden Horizons, and Pandora Publishing. When not hunting down and spearing the wild cup of coffee as his ancestors must have once done, he is trying perfect perpetual motion.

Book preview

Contents

A HALF-EMPTY SUIT

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

DESCENDING HWY

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

OFF THE RAZOR’S EDGE

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

EPILOGUE

NORTHAMPTON

For Blaire.

You make my life richer by being a part of it.

A HALF-EMPTY SUIT

1

G ot any spare change?

The homeless man’s breath was laced with the heady aroma of long-spoiled milk. The scent was nauseating and Franklin fought the urge to turn away and suck in a lungful of clean, fresh air.

When he failed to answer right away, the homeless man turned his attention to Dom and repeated the question. Franklin ran a hand through thick, wavy brown hair while nervously glancing at acquaintances and co-workers stepping around them without a second look back as they filed into the downtown offices of Uris & Parsons. This time of day, the sight of another derelict garbed in filth asking for leftovers from their hard-earned paychecks was a common one. The man repeated his question a second time. His voice was hard and coarse, as though he spent his days and most of his nights trying to learn how to sing opera around a mouthful of gravel. High above, an American flag flapped in the wind, claiming the sky itself in the name of truth, justice, and the almighty dollar. Spring was in the air. After a winter which had dropped record amounts of snow into the city’s collective lap it was nice to be seeing a little sun at last.

Early morning sunlight played across the top of Dom’s clean-shaven skull as he stuck his hand in his pocket, fished around, and dropped a generous combination of quarters, dimes, and a few dirty pennies into the homeless man’s outstretched palm. But to Franklin’s surprise, instead of muttering a half-hearted bless you before moving along, the man held the coins in his hand a moment before handing them back to Dom. Franklin couldn’t help but notice the two fingers missing from his right hand as he did. He averted his eyes, not wanting to call attention to what he’d seen, but just as noticeable were the tiny flecks of food still embedded in the homeless man’s beard. One of them came loose and fell to the pavement as his upper lip curled in disgust. The man turned back to Franklin and again asked if he had any spare change.

You’re kidding me, Dom groaned and made a move to leave. Not missing a beat, Franklin reached out and grabbed him by the arm before he could get very far. A homeless man who was more picky than he was sensible; now that was one worth a couple of laughs later on. But there was something else, too. What it was, he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew that he didn’t want to be left alone with this strange man.

Resigning himself to the situation, Dom rolled his eyes and faced the homeless man. What, you got some kind of a problem with my money?

I don’t want your money, the man replied. His eyes met Franklin’s and the man said, I want yours.

I—I don’t have anything, Franklin replied, taking a step away in spite of himself. This wasn’t so funny anymore. In fact, it was beginning to cross into territory of a far more creepy nature. Something about the man’s gaze had grabbed his attention and now held fast with the tenacity of a leech.

You got something. I heard it in your pockets when you walked up. You got something.

Oh wait, I know this one, Dom said and grinned, not realizing that the turn this conversation just took had left him the odd man out. His eyes were wide and bright, the eyes of a kid who’s just found something to amuse himself with during a boring Sunday sermon. "Yeah, I know this one. Let me guess, your one-eyed dog is dying and you need to get him a new kidney. Preferably one from the frozen foods section? Am I right?"

Franklin didn’t laugh. Neither did the man. Before he knew he was going to do it, Franklin’s hand had already dropped into his pocket and was gathering up whatever loose change he could find. A couple strays fell from between his fingers, but he didn’t bother reaching back in for them. The man took the metallic contents of Franklin’s pocket and held them in the flat of his hand a few inches away from his face, as if assuring himself of their authenticity. Franklin saw two quarters, a dimes, and three pennies, obviously much less than what Dom had tried to offer just moments ago. But the look in the man’s eyes said this wasn’t a problem for him, not at all, and he closed his fingers around the coins and stuffed them into his pocket as he turned away from them, then departed without giving Franklin so much as a thank you.

Hey! Dom called after him, the laughter gone from his voice and replaced by outrage on his friend’s behalf, his friend who was obviously too much of a pussy to be outraged for himself. But the man didn’t turn, didn’t even stop, he just walked out of the plaza and onto the sidewalk without asking any of the other office drones heading into work for whatever leftovers might be bouncing around in their pockets. As the man walked away Franklin noticed something different, off. It took a few moments to place it.

The man’s limp was gone. Not only that, but he now walked with his back perfectly straight, as though he’d just discarded a costume that had outlived its usefulness.

Franklin started to run his fingers through his hair again but stopped himself in time, remembering that the man’s hand had closed around Franklin’s in the split second before taking his spare change. Thinking of this made Franklin want very much to get inside and wash both of them off before he had a chance to forget.

You’re welcome, asshole! Dom shouted and looked at Franklin. Jesus man, these dickheads just keep getting more ungrateful all the time. Can you believe that?

Crazy, Franklin replied, shaking his head.

Well, shit happens. You’re a couple cents poorer, and me? Still sitting pretty at even breakwater. He grinned and clapped Franklin on the back. Good old, jovial Dom. Screw him. Maybe he’ll get run over by a garbage truck on the way back to his cardboard box. Without waiting for a reply, he held Franklin’s elbow and led him into the building like an infirm relative. Franklin went, glancing back only once for another look at the strange man who was too good to take money from Dom, but was only too glad to take it from him. The office drones now safely inside of their hive, the plaza was nearly deserted. But there was no sign of the man.

The office was a flurry of activity today, so much that the memory of his encounter with the freaky homeless man was forced to sit in the corner and wait to be acknowledged until things began to die down shortly after lunch. Representatives from a Japanese aeronautics company were trying to convince the board to invest in a new type of engine that would run not on fossil fuels, but on trash. The word renewable was repeated so many times over the course of the morning that by the end of it Franklin was sure every other word out of his mouth for the next few weeks would be that very one. The trash engine was a good idea, one Franklin desperately wanted to see sail right into the welcoming hands of the board, but he knew going in that it was going to be a tough sell. And just as he’d feared, the idea sailed not into welcoming arms but right over their heads, and the day’s meetings as well as the migraine stabbing away at Franklin’s brain proved to be all for nothing, just bits and pieces that would be swept up in the ever-changing winds of progress before disappearing into the maelstrom, never to be seen again. It was a shame.

Hey buddy, you got any spare change?

Franklin let his hands fall from his temples and drop to his desk like twin weights, and looked up to see Dom staggering into his office with two fingers tucked into the palm of his hand and his back hunched over. One side of his mouth was twisted upward in a sneer that looked like a pained grimace and both eyes were half-closed. Replace the suit with a couple of filthy rags and, voila! Instant Quasimodo.

You look like an idiot, he muttered and returned his hand to the bridge of his nose. A stack of papers sat in front of him. Looking at them only seemed to be making his migraine worse. With a tired sigh, he used his other hand to sweep them off to the side. Whoever told you you were funny should be hung in the square and shot.

You only say that because Lily’s got your sense of humor sealed up in a jar with your balls. Just like a fetal pig. Dom sat down in one of the dark green imitation leather chairs on the other side of Franklin’s desk. A pack of gum materialized in Dom’s hands and he popped one into his mouth. Chewing loud enough for Franklin to hear every smack of Dom’s lips, he nodded at the stack of papers on Franklin’s desk. Trash engine?

Trash engine. He swept his arm across his desk and sent the pile of papers fluttering to the floor like the feathers of a bird shot in mid-flight. I couldn’t believe it. They should never have asked for twenty million up front. You toss around a number like that right off the bat, nobody will listen to you.

"Yeah, well, Ishiro’s got no one to blame for that but himself. I tried to talk him into lowering the figure, I know you tried talking him into lowering the figure, and he just keeps fluttering his hands going ‘Oh no, no no, this start-up money, this what we need.’ He might as well have asked the board for a blank check."

Franklin nodded and opened his drawer, removed a pack of cigarettes and pulled two out. As he passed one across the desk to Dom he glanced out the window and sighed. It was a good idea.

Sure it was, Dom replied, lighting up and blowing a plume of smoke into the air. But good ideas don’t get off the ground unless you can convince the guys in suits to put a little cash behind it. Besides, people want their energy clean and renewable, they don’t want it dirty and made from their own garbage. Makes them feel guilty.

Well, maybe a little guilt’s what they need.

For a moment they sat in silence, and then Dom leaned forward and stubbed his cigarette out in the glass ashtray on Franklin’s desk. Releasing a great sigh, he laced his fingers together over his belly and gave his friend a hard look. Franklin caught the change in energy and looked back at Dom. He knew it was coming, of course, but he was hoping he’d have a little more time to let it stew before someone gave voice to the thoughts that had been swirling around Franklin’s head ever since he left the conference room.

Listen, man, you know I hate giving you shit, but this one’s on you, too. Ishiro fucked up, yeah, sure, but you really needed to show a little more heart in there earlier.

Dom, come on.

Hold up a second, just hear me out, he replied with a hand raised for silence. You know what you’re doing. If you didn’t, you’d have been tossed on your ass with everybody else last year during the purge, but you got up there and you just… well, you sort of mumbled your way through. ‘I think this can work because…’ You can’t do that. You either know it’ll work or you don’t, and if you don’t, you sure as hell don’t let the board in on it. Those guys’ll hold onto their cash until you pry it out of their cold, dead fingers, and if you want them to give any of it up to anybody, especially to some pie-in-the-sky project like this trash engine, you have to convince them they’d be fucking retarded to pass it up.

Very PC of you.

I say what other people are thinking. It keeps ‘em honest. Now look, the job’s new, I know. And it’s cool—I choked my first time too. But you gotta stand up for yourself around here. Don’t let these assholes push you around. It’s what they’re used to, and if you wanna get any higher up on the food chain you have to make them take you seriously. Otherwise, you’ll be moving out of here in three months and I’ll be stuck here on my own with these nutjobs.

Yeah, Franklin replied, glancing at his computer, then at the pile of papers scattered across the floor. You’re right. I choked.

Well, to be fair, the trash engine project was a really big piece of steak. I tried to talk Weissman into letting me come on and help you out but I think he likes seeing new guys fall off the log right away. Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?

Rolling his eyes, Franklin said, What would I do without you, Dom?

He grinned and cracked his knuckles in succession. Right now? Probably be filling out applications for Burger King. You’re welcome.

Franklin returned the grin. Thanks.

Don’t mention it. So what are you doing after work? You feel like dropping by Duncan’s and having a drink?

Forgot about my wife and kids again, did you?

Nope, he replied, his grin turning lecherous. I was just hoping Lily finally told you about us and you’d already filed for divorce. I hate having to sneak around.

Ha, ha.

I know, I’m such a card. He stood up and cracked his neck. The combination of Dom’s height, build, and shaved head made him look like a pro-wrestler about to strut into the ring every time he did that. All right, then I’m gonna take off. Two more days to the weekend. Raising a fist over his head, he walked across the room to the door and laid his hand on the knob, but then stopped, as if he’d forgotten something. He turned back to Franklin. Hey, by the way. You know how my office looks out over the plaza, right?

Yeah.

Well I’ve been keeping an eye out for our gimpy friend all morning and I haven’t seen him around. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing him before. Weird, huh?

The guy’s homeless. They’re kind of transients.

I guess, he replied, glancing back at the door a moment. Just seems a three-fingered hobo’s the type of guy who doesn’t do a lot of traveling. Freaky looking bastard, wasn’t he?

Franklin nodded his agreement. Yes, he was a freaky looking bastard, all right.

Anyway, Dom said and pulled open the door. "Hasta."

As soon as the door closed Franklin wiped his right hand, the hand the homeless man’s fingers had closed around when he took Franklin’s money, against the leg of his pants. He had already made four trips to the bathroom today, but somehow couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of grime sinking through his pores and into his very nerves.

2

To Franklin’s surprise, the rest of the day went by quickly. No one else came in asking pointless questions he didn’t have the patience to answer, and his work was interrupted only twice, both times by the number crunchers a few floors below asking for figures on the garbage engine project. The damn thing was like a worm that just wouldn’t die no matter how many segments were cut off. A decision was made, the project was nixed, but over the last few years he’d learned that in business, a deal never died until it had been broken apart into microscopic bits and scattered to the winds so that once gone, it would stay gone. By the way things were shaping up it was a safe bet that Franklin’s night was going to be cut short by his duties as the project’s designated gravedigger. It made him wish he’d taken Dom up on his offer to go out and get hammered after work. A couple of drinks would really do it for him about now, and in the end the only thing holding him back from catching up to Dom before he left for the day was the knowledge that if he came home drunk tonight, not only would he never get the chance to pound the last nails into garbage engine’s coffin, but he’d catch hell for it from Lily.

When did I become such a worm? he wondered as he slid into the driver’s seat of his Highlander and popped the glove compartment. He felt the familiar crinkle of cellophane and removed the pack of Marlboro 27’s, shook one out and returned it to the glove compartment.

Those’re the breaks, kiddo, he muttered and lit the cigarette, liking the way the smoke filled his lungs when he inhaled. Yes, the infamous breaks, that mythical excuse that was meant as an explanation for all the misery in the world. Sorry about that apple core in your throat Adam, those’re just the breaks. It wasn’t an explanation, it was an excuse, a nothing statement that was meant to silence questions from children who weren’t willing to accept that the world had only one mode of operation, and that was to keep moving with business as usual as it’s company mantra. No need to worry about the grinding gears, or the way the machine’s joints will occasionally scream like a medieval torture victim, those’re just the breaks.

Smoke drifted up, past his nostrils and then his eyes, gathering above his head like his own personal storm cloud. Lily had been riding his ass to quit ever since their daughter Adrian was born, and he’d tried hard to do it, but then the shakes would come, followed by the headaches, with the fogged thoughts the latecomer to the party but as it turned out, also the life of it. So he made promises, and when she stopped believing the promises he started to make excuses instead. A part of him would have very interested to see what Lily would have written on the line asking for an explanation on the divorce petition, if she would actually scribble won’t stop killing himself and hand it over to the courts. Yes, a part of him would have been very interested indeed to see that, but he recognized that part of him to be a spiteful child so used to getting its way that it wanted to see the person who dared push back get a little mud in their eye for the trouble. He didn’t want a divorce. At this point, he was pretty sure that the only thing keeping him from going home after a grueling day of greasing the wheels and sticking a shotgun in his mouth was his family, and that was why the lies were proving so necessary these days. What scared him most, perhaps, was how easy it was to pile another lie on top of the old one, and then another, and another. To his credit at least, he’d made a commitment and was keeping to it. That was something.

Give it another couple of years, and your commitment plus five bucks will get you a cup of coffee. Maybe you’ll have time to think it over when you’re recovering from your first heart attack, or when you’re in the hospital getting a hernia removed, or maybe even—

Oh, shit, he groaned and flipped on the radio. The stations in this city were always a crap shoot. Nine times out of ten you’d hear the same thing playing when you turned it back on as you did when you switched it off nine hours before, but the radio gods were smiling on him today, blessing him with a song he hadn’t heard in a long time. Another cloud of blue smoke drifted out from between parted lips as Third Eye Blind’s love song to a little lady named Crystal Meth came through his speakers loud and clear.

Then I pumped up, I took the hit that I was given and I puffed again… he sang, taking a final drag from the cigarette before he pitched it out the window. The cherry tip rolled end over end as it sailed through the air, then exploded in a burst of tiny sparks when it hit the pavement behind a beat up old Taurus about twelve feet away. The glowing red embers faded, then disappeared entirely, and Franklin put the car into drive pulled out of the parking space. The song was over by the time Franklin left the garage and he began flipping around, looking for something with a good beat that he could hum along with between now and when he would pull into his driveway. A digital squawk courtesy of the Black Eyed Peas came to life and was promptly squashed into silence with a simple turn of the dial. He had better luck on the next station. The latest from the Foo Fighters roared to life like a loud, revving motorcycle and Franklin turned the volume dial even further to the right, and kept it turned to the same station all the way home. Slowly but surely, rock was going the way of disco, and you had to be either deaf or brain dead to not realize it. Another ten years, maybe less, and it would be just another footnote in music history.

Those’re the breaks.

But he was lucky, and he knew that too. No matter how much he may have hated his job or how little respect he had for the guys up top who made all the decisions, sticking with it was a lot better than the alternative, especially with two kids whose mouths needed to stay fed to think about. It took nearly nine years to save up enough money from his previous position with the firm to pay for their house, and even that had been accomplished only with the help of a pretty hefty mortgage. In the aftermath of the Big Dip 2008 the firm let a lot of people go, and it was Franklin’s work record (and, he suspected, a couple good words from Dom, already well on his way up the corporate ladder even then) that wound up saving his ass. Keeping his eye on the ball was the important thing right now. One foot in front of the other, and so long as he kept doing that, at least for the next fifteen years or so, he’d be able to say he had managed to put both kids through college with a minimum of student loans and federal aid. Nowadays those kinds of bragging rights were fast going the way of the dodo, but that’s college funds were for, and between Lily’s money and his they still just managed to add another hundred dollars to each of their children’s accounts with every paycheck. Those weren’t bad shakes, not at all.

He pulled into his driveway and killed the engine.

On the seat beside him was his briefcase, lying in a deceptively peaceful repose like a sleeping pit bull. The lights were on in the living room and through the large bay windows he could see Connor and Adrian sitting on the couch with bowls of ice cream balanced in each of their laps. The second floor of the house was completely dark. Homework time was still an hour away. He reached into the glove compartment and took another cigarette from the pack, promising himself that no matter what, this was going to be the last one for the evening. The first inhalation was sweet, but the second tasted of chalk and he stubbed it out in the ashtray, making a mental note to retrieve it later. Then he picked his sleeping pit bull up from the seat, opened the door, and headed up the walkway to his front door.

Daddy! Adrian cried and leapt off of the couch as he stepped inside. The bowl of ice cream almost fell from its place on the cushion beside her but Connor reached out and caught it in the nick of time, knowing full well that if the ice cream fell to the carpet on his watch he would be the one cleaning it up. At seven years-old, she was the spitting image of her mother, right down to the loose blonde curls and the slightly upward tilt at the corners of her lips. In another six years or so, Franklin knew, he was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Hey, Dad, Connor greeted from the couch while his attention remained on the TV.

Hey buddy, Franklin said to his son as he dropped the briefcase and wrapped his arms around Adrian. In another few years she too would reach the age where it wasn’t cool to get excited about her father coming home from work, and then he’d have two indifferent greetings to contend with. Hey sweetie, he said and picked her up, then gave her little body a tight squeeze. How’re ya guys doing?

I made a picture, Adrian said right away, her voice high and excited. Mom already hung it up on the fridge.

Yeah? What’s it of?

Blood and guts and monsters who eat little girls whole, Connor answered in a low voice as he slowly peeled his body away from the couch. There was a mischievous twinkle dancing behind his eyes. They like the blonde ones the best because they can floss their teeth with their hair.

Mom!

Don’t tease your sister, Lily scolded as she walked into the living room from the adjoining kitchen. She flashed a patient smile at Connor. "It’s actually a very nice picture, isn’t it Connor?"

Yes, the boy replied, slumping back into his seat with a defeated groan before muttering you guys are no fun just loud enough for everyone to hear. Ever since Franklin and Connor had stayed up until four in the morning watching a horror movie marathon on TNT, his son’s head had become filled with visions of great, lumbering beasts lurching out of the woods to snatch up pretty young girls and take them back to lairs hidden deep within the catacombs of the earth. Lily almost ripped Franklin a new one for doing it, but he’d seen no harm in letting the boy stay up late to watch a couple of scary movies with his father. Hell, if you don’t like your father’s traditions, start one of your own, and Franklin’s father was one of many kids who used to sit in darkened movie theaters during the nuclear fifties watching with bated breath as alien invasions were foiled and giant bugs were driven back into the earth from whence they came, the action playing out on screens big enough to build a house on. Though traditional in many ways, he’d still pulled Franklin out of bed one night when he was seven years old and asked if he wanted to pop a bowl of popcorn and watch a couple movies. At least Franklin had waited until Connor was a few years older, that was his thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the parents council-approved method of bonding with a child, but Connor was smart, his sense of reality vs. make-believe well-developed, and in the end they’d had a blast together, even if Lily wasn’t exactly thrilled with the twists and turns their son’s imagination had taken since then.

How was your day? he asked, planting a quick peck on her cheek.

Fourteen new orders today, she replied. The basement’s starting to smell like a Bed Bath & Beyond from all the wax I’m using for the candles.

"Yeah, well, don’t go outselling me, or I’m quitting so you can support the family. He sighed and gazed over his wife’s shoulder, his smile becoming wistful. Yeah, that’ll be the life. I’ll sit on the couch all day and collect belly button lint. Keep it in a little wooden box on my desk. Turning his head, he gave Adrian a quick bop on the nose with the tip of his own. And I’ll give it to your future husband as a wedding present."

"Ewwwww," she replied, giggling.

"Yeah, ewww is right, Lily said and rolled her eyes at Franklin, who offered a halfhearted shrug and winked. She was straining to look serious, and was failing miserably. Perhaps in an attempt to distract herself from her husband’s nonsense, she turned and looked at first Connor and then Adrian. Why don’t you two go upstairs and wash up. Dinner’s going to be ready in a few minutes."

Franklin set his daughter down and she followed her brother up the stairs. Connor had a head start of at least five seconds but as soon as her foot touched the first step he shot upstairs like there was a rocket attached to his back, calling back over his shoulder, Eat my dust! Waiting until both children had disappeared at the top of the steps, Franklin then turned to Lily and flashed her his most lecherous grin.

Well m’lady, now that we’re all alone… perhaps we should… he leaned in and kissed her. She returned the kiss, but only for a moment. When she pulled away her features were scrunched up in a disgusted grimace.

You’ve been smoking.

Just one cigarette, he replied. The expression on Lily’s face changed into one of disappointment and Franklin sighed, knowing where this was leading and not looking forward to the trip.

You haven’t been chewing the gum, either.

He shook his head. The gum was a bust. It was just another shot of nicotine that was supposed to replace the one he wasn’t going to be getting from an honest-to-God cigarette. Replace one delivery system with another, but the drug was still the same. Meet the new boss, same as the old one.

Come on, she said, glancing at the stairs only once to make sure the kids weren’t on their way down before leading him into the kitchen. They stopped at the island in the center of the room. On the stove was a pot of mashed potatoes and judging by the wonderful smell coming from the oven, inside was a meatloaf. He wanted to pull open the door to have a look but restrained himself. Though the last thing in the world he wanted to do right now was stand here and get yelled at for a couple of measly little cigarettes, he didn’t feel like pissing Lily off more by putting his indifference on full display. Instead he sat down at the table a few feet away, feeling a little like a petulant schoolboy getting ready for a good talking-to from the principal.

You need to put up or shut up, Franklin, she told him as she pulled on a pair of oven mitts. I know your job sucks, but you know what sucks even more? Cancer. And medical bills we can’t afford. Oh, and let’s not forget a couple of kids growing up without their father.

"That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think? I don’t even smoke a pack a day, and I’m pretty sure the last time you actually saw me smoking a cigarette was right before Adrian started kindergarten."

That’s not the point, she replied and opened the oven. That was the meatloaf, all right, and it smelled like edible heaven. She set it on a burner beside the pot of mashed potatoes and pulled off the mitts, set them down too. When she locked eyes with him again he saw business, nothing else. It reminded Franklin of the expressions he had to look at day in and day out at the office, and briefly wondered if it was possible to escape the office even when he was at home. The barking pit bull in the other room was giving him a big no to that one. The point is that you said you’d quit and you still haven’t done it.

A headache was brewing. He could already feel the first shock troopers mobilizing at the base of his skull, preparing to move into the frontal lobe with bayonets at the ready, all gleaming tips that wanted nothing more than to get a little red on them. Franklin started rubbing his temples with both hands. It was so goddamn easy, was it? Wear the patch, chew the gum, and if you tap your heels together three times and say your prayers, you’ll be saved. But it wasn’t easy, not at all, and undoing a habit with nearly twenty years to get it right wasn’t the sort of thing that happened overnight. So far his record of being smoke-free was stuck at three weeks, and every time he tossed a half-full pack of cigarettes into the trash and promised himself that this time he’d stick to it, he’d always catch himself taking deep breaths as he passed the smoker’s corner of the plaza to get his little fix, and an hour later would be shelling out eight bucks for a new pack.

You’re not trying hard enough.

No, he thought with an inward sigh. He supposed he really wasn’t.

You’re right, he said at last, reaching out and tapping her elbow with his index finger. When she turned he took a step towards her and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling her close. Look, I’ve got about half a pack’s worth left in the glove compartment. First thing in the morning, I’ll toss them and pick up some more gum. Maybe grab a couple tubes of those flavored toothpicks too, just to be on the safe side.

You would look kind of dashing with a toothpick jutting out of your mouth, she said with a smile.

Yep, a hipster John Wayne, he replied, his voice barely about a whisper as he lowered his face to hers.

I happen to like John Wayne, she teased, her breath warm and inviting against his lips.

The kiss was interrupted before it began by Connor and Adrian barreling down the stairs like a pair of falling boulders, in the midst of some heated argument whose cause Franklin couldn’t make out. The house wasn’t very old, but the carpet covering the stairs was thin and seemed to amplify any and all footsteps far above their natural register. Franklin and Lily pulled away from each other like a pair of teenagers caught in the act by their parents, but neither of the kids came into the kitchen. The sounds of their argument came now from the dining room, and by the sounds of it, was escalating quickly.

Want to lend me a hand? she asked, backing up to the oven and turning around to pull on a pair of red and white oven mitts. She picked up the meatloaf while he gathered up a stack of plates with silverware piled on the top one from the island and carried it to the table in the next room.

Hey, hey, what’s the problem here? he asked, passing out plates and utensils.

Mom said we could have spaghetti tonight, and then Connor comes home and asks for meatloaf and she makes that instead, Adrian replied, her voice high and pouting, then folded her arms across her chest while her mouth and forehead drew as close together as they were physically able. "It’s not fair."

Guess you should be a little faster on the draw then, Squirt, her brother retorted, a victorious gleam in his eye. "Besides, I’m a boy, so we’re eating what I want to eat."

Don’t get too full of yourself, Lily said as she set the meat loaf on the table and offered an apology-laden smile to Adrian. I’m sorry honey, I forgot all about it. If you want, we can have it tomorrow night. Promise.

But I wanted it tonight, she replied, still pouting. But the discussion was over, the food was on the table, and Adrian was already chewing on a pretty good-sized piece of meat by the time Lily returned with the mashed potatoes. In a previous life, the former Lily Palmer was a waitress at a diner a few blocks away from Franklin’s dorm, and the skills she picked up there had turned her into one hell of a good cook. From the living room came the sound of the evening news, with another heartwarming story about the walking wounded and the living dead duking it out on Capitol Hill. Lily caught his eye from across the table and Franklin stood up, walked into the living room and turned off the TV. When he returned he cut away a big slice of meatloaf and set it down on his plate.

It’s like they’re getting worse every day, Lily groaned and took a bite of mashed potatoes.

Mark Dorman says the news is run by liberal shitheads, Connor said.

Watch your language, Lily replied.

What did I say? Liberal? he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice that suggested he knew exactly