Page 112 of His Last Shot

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A Waste of Words to the Man Upstairs

Johnny

Five years after the breakup

“And as always, our Fox 6 team was first to arrive. Our own Dana Wilhelm is on the scene. What are you seeing right now, Dana?”

“Thanks, Brett. Currently, I am standing across the street from the popular bar and pool hall, Dexter’s, here on the south side. It was inside that, at approximately two o’clock this afternoon, the owner and local businessman Dexter Smith was found shot to death in his office. One of the bar employees, who wishes to remain anonymous, discovered the body. The employee was questioned by the authorities but has been cleared as a suspect. In addition, local authorities are telling me that there were no signs of forced entry and that the gun used in the murder was registered to Mr. Smith. However, it doesn’t appear to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound, given the point of entry and how many shots were fired. We are also being told that the perpetrators cleaned out the office where Mr. Smith was found. One of the employees informed authorities that there was a computer, a laptop, and an iPad in the office. However, all of those items are missing, as well as Mr. Smith’s personal cell phone. It appears that the assailants cleaned out every drawer and filing cabinet. In addition, police chief Henderson is telling me that Mr. Smith was heavily involved in alocal, very lucrative illegal gambling ring. There have also been reports of suspicious drug activity being conducted here at the bar. The FBI, as well as state and local authorities, have been investigating these and other claims in hopes of finding enough evidence to arrest Mr. Smith. The bar housed pool tournaments, and Mr. Smith was the president of the Billiards and Pool Association, a local pool league. All in all, it appears that the investigators have a lot to unpack here. As always, stay tuned for the latest updates on this complicated case as it unfolds. For Fox 6 News, I’m Dana Wilhelm. Back to you in the studio, Brett.”

Numb with shock, I sit on the couch, my elbows resting on my knees as I stare at the TV, the weatherman now telling me about how it’s going to rain tomorrow. Lowering my head, I run my fingers through my hair, the silent scream of my inner turmoil echoing in my ears.

Dexter is dead.

More than likely murdered by someone he pissed off. None of which surprises me.

I hate to say good riddance, but….

I shoot off the couch, and my mind becomes a car on a racetrack, speeding through a million thoughts all at once.

Rachel’s face immediately pops into my head.How is she? Where is she? Does she have people around her for support? Thank GOD she didn’t discover the body!

And the poor employee. They shouldn’t have seen that. I can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been.

In the end, regardless of how Micah and Rachel felt about him, he did raise them. He provided for them. I’m sure there was some love there, even if his actions tainted it. So this whole situation has to be so difficult.

As I pace the living room, the sudden buzz of my cell phone from the kitchen counter punctuates the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my own footsteps. I know, even before I reach it, exactly who it is.

Scott’s name flashes across the screen. I swipe to answer.

“Hey, man.”

“Did you watch the news?”

“I did.” I sit on the couch again and remind myself that Scott doesn’t know the whole truth. And he never will.

“I mean, we both knew that man was up to no good, but God. It had to have been pretty bad to motivate someone to do this.” I hum in the phone in response, the pit in my stomach growing with each passing second. “Do you think you'll call Rachel?” he asks.

Hearing Rachel’s name perks me up. “No, and I don’t know if I will.” It’s the truth. At least not yet. Not until I know for certain that it’s safe.

“It might not be a bad idea. You guys were pretty serious, and she might appreciate the condolences.”

I sigh into the phone and once again remind myself that he doesn’t know. “I’ll probably wait. Maybe I’ll go to the funeral if they have one.”

“I’m sure she would like that. Micah as well.”

We both are silent for a beat. What else is there to say?

Scott speaks first. “Alright, I better let you go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“For that inspection on the plaza?”

“Yep. Later, man.”

Silence falls after we disconnect, and a chaotic storm of questions floods my mind, each one a heavy, suffocating downpour.

Should I contact her?