Page 47 of Endangered Species
Dooley no longer lived in the two bedroom double wide trailer Webster remembered from his childhood. He’d traded it out for a large cabin and a dozen acres surrounded by a rickety fence and a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. The lawn was overgrown, weeds choking out the natural vegetation. An old car sat on blocks, and a boat sat rotting in a barn with no doors.
It had taken two hours to drive to the man’s house, two hours warring with himself, but the passing minutes had done nothing to quell Webster’s anger. If anything, it had lit a match on the gasoline burning in his veins.
He’d worked so hard to move on from his past. He’d done so well at stuffing it down and putting it someplace where it couldn’t hurt him anymore. And, just like that, Dooley had ripped it out of him, leaving him exposed and bleeding. If it had been anybody else, he would have told them their past didn’t define them, that what happened to them wasn’t their fault. But it didn’t stop the shame and humiliation overwhelming him until it felt hard to breathe. He’d worked so hard to never feel any of this, and now, it was all for nothing.
He didn’t blame Cy for telling him what Dooley said. Of course, he didn’t. Despite snapping at Cy about him being tainted, it was more a feeling of losing control of the narrative, of losing control of who knew about his past and when he chose to make them aware of it. They’d taken so much away from him when he was a kid, and holding onto that last scrap of knowledge—that one gut-wrenching secret—had made him feel like he was in control of his life.
Part of him had known Cy would have taken this on himself, would have somehow blamed himself for not being there to protect Webster, even though none of it was his fault. He hadn’t wanted that guilt to eat at Cy, to color their future. He didn’t want Cy to feel like he had to fight to protect Webster’s honor. This wasn’t Cy’s fight. It never had been. Webster was an adult, and he needed to put this to rest before Cy was free or this would loom over them forever.
Webster pounded on the door again, the reverberations making his fists ache. “Dooley,” he shouted. “Open up. I know you’re in there, you fucking bastard.”
There was a strange shuffling sound, and the barking dog grew closer. The door opened. Dooley stood on the other side, a beer bottle in his hand, still in his uniform. He no longer wore his gun belt. A small dog growled, baring its teeth at Webster, even as he cowered. He was underweight, fur matted, his bulbous eyes making him look like an alien creature.
Dooley snorted when he saw Webster standing there, leaving the door open as he turned and retreated deeper into his house. When the dog tried to follow him, he kicked out at it. “Go lay down.”
Webster followed Dooley, watching as the dog retreated to a dirty pet bed under the coffee table. Webster took in the stacks of dirty magazines, the endless takeout containers, and the beer bottles littered on every surface. But mostly, he noticed Dooley’s weapon on the table between them and the bullets spilling out over the stained wooden surface.
Dooley dropped into his recliner, staring at a seventy-inch television mounted on the wall. The sound was off, leaving a strange silence in the musty air. He looked up at Nicky. “I was wondering if you were gonna show up. Beer’s in the fridge. ”
Webster ignored the old man’s half-assed attempts at hospitality. “Why?” he asked, not interested in small talk. “Why did you fucking tell him? He didn’t need to know what happened…back then,” Webster said, faltering.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said blandly, staring blatantly at Webster’s chest.
He glanced down at his shirt. “Do you think I’m wearing a wire?” He yanked up his polo shirt, spinning in a circle. “I can take my pants off, too, if you want. The statute of limitations expired a long time ago, asshole. I just want to know why you did it. What the fuck was the point? I told your fucking friends I would keep their secret. I didn’t ask for money or clout or, hell, even a job. All I wanted was to get Cy and me out of prison. That’s it.”
Dooley took a long swig of his beer. “I don’t know what’s got you in such a tizzy. Who cares if your brother knows I used to be…affectionate with you? It was a million years ago. It was nothing.”
Webster wanted to fucking vomit at Dooley’s words. “He’s not my brother!” Webster shouted. “He didn’t need to know. Nobody ever needed to know. You had no right to share that information. Not with Cy. Not with anybody.”
Dooley gave Webster a hard look. “Wait, did you… Are you… Did you and he… I didn’t know you were a…” Dooley fumbled before trailing off, his face somewhere between a smile and a snarl.
“You’re a fucking pedophile, and you’re going to turn your nose up at me because I’m into men? Really? That’s some fucked up moral code you’ve got there, Sheriff.”
Dooley’s gaze flicked away from the television, eyes glittering meanly. “I’m no pedophile. You… You were special. Nothing like that ever happened again. It was your mama’s idea, anyway.”
Webster blinked rapidly, his brain trying to process that information. “What?”
Dooley ignored the question. “What’s wrong? Did your sweetheart not want you anymore after he learned I’d already gotten a taste? I imagine, in there, somebody like him doesn’t have a right to be so choosy. But I guess now that he’s getting out, maybe he thinks he can do better?”
Webster choked back tears, focusing instead on his rage. “Why are you so fucking determined to take everything away from me? Away from us? What did we ever do to you?”
Dooley rolled his eyes. “You think I give a fuck about either of you? I look out for me. Always have. Always will. Your mama learned that the hard way. She thought she was gonna run me around by the nose like she did your boyfriend’s daddy. She thought she’d have me do her dirty work then just take me out like she did him, maybe collect my benefits. It came as a real shock to her when I put that fucking gun barrel between her eyes and shot her.”
Webster’s heart thudded against his ribs, but he didn’t say anything. He had no sympathy for Phoebe. Whatever happened to her had been a long time coming. He hadn’t even attended her funeral. Wasn’t even sure if they’d buried her. With any luck, she was burning in hell.
Dooley laughed at Webster’s silence. “What? No screaming or crying for your mama? Only for your thug boyfriend? What are you gonna do with him, anyway? Huh? I’ve seen that place you work at. They take care of princes and celebrities. What are you going to do with your felon boyfriend with his face tats and prison ink? You think your friends are just going to accept him with open arms? You’ll just live happily ever after, walking hand in hand at the farmer’s market or whatever it is you homos do?”
“My friends love me, and they’ll love Cy because I love him.”
He laughed. “You’re delusional. He’s using you for your salary. He’ll lie around on your couch all day, bleeding you dry, crying about how felons can’t get jobs, probably fucking women behind your back, using you just like your whore mother used men. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”
Webster’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t help it. “What? You’re fucking delusional. You’re the criminal. Not him. You threw him in prison for a crime my mother committed. You used your contacts and your friends to walk him through the system and ensure he ended up with a twenty-five year sentence. He lost a scholarship because of you. He was going to go to college. Have a life. He never hurt anybody. He’s the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known, and you are a fucking monster.”
Dooley snickered. “You’re awfully opinionated for somebody who traded the lives of a bunch of ‘innocent’ people to save yourself and your boyfriend. Yeah, I help cases along. I make sure that these prisoners are put before judges who know people like that are better off behind bars. We’re just taking the trash off the street and recycling it. We’re goddamn humanitarians. Why shouldn’t we make a profit? We’re doing what the legal system won’t. We’re doing what’s necessary to make our state safer for the people who matter, the ones who contribute to society and pay their taxes.”
Webster’s heart stumbled in his chest. “Wow.”
Dooley shook his head. “If you were really the fucking saint you claim to be, you wouldn’t be using those people to save yourself. You’d be doing everything in your power to save them.”
