Reconciliation Ch. 03: Redemption

"I must be drinking too much. Are we talking about souls here?" Reg asked.

"We are. I don't like the shirt metaphor. Because that isn't how humans judge one another. They don't just look at your 'soul's cleanliness now, if that is even possible; they recall what it was before. I prefer a 'tapestry' metaphor. A tapestry is a woven wall decoration, the pictures made by weaving and needlepoint. You 'sew' the picture into the fabric...and good luck trying to get the threads out. It can't be done without ruining the whole piece."

"Why are you telling me this?" Reg asked, nervous.

"Because the black things you've done will always be a part of the story of Reginald Perry. They can't be 'undone'. The harm you've done will last and linger." He saw Reggie's expression. "Disquieting, isn't it? Even if you move, you will know. The universe will know. But there is an answer. You aren't finished weaving. When people look back at the whole 'tapestry' of Reginald Perry's life, you can make what you did prior a footnote...or it can be the major theme of the piece. You can't undo the dark. There are still a lot of people out there who will hate you...and for good reason. You hurt them deeply. And one day, you will probably have to pay a price for all the wrongs you did. But that isn't an excuse not to do good, to not try to make things up. But you need to do that for you. For the mirror. Not because you are afraid of karma running you over."

"So...how do I do that? 'Cause I'm at a loss."

"You need to pay the world back. I'm not sure how...but I'm thinking about it."

Ed looked at his clientele and topped off a few drinks down the bar and returned. "This place is probably a bit different than the places you've usually hung around in. How do you like it?"

"Not bad." Reg shrugged. "The people seem a bit sadder. But they seem pretty settled. This is more a working class joint...except you got a nice mix. Not sure why Hector and the bunch were bellyaching about being banned from here. The talent pool is pretty sparse. Only three or four targets here."

Ed was in the midst of putting a bottle back on the shelf when he froze. "What?"

"I said it's a nice place. A mixed crowd."

"No...FOUR?!? You think we have four cheaters here?" His eyes did a quick inventory of his regulars. He'd heard quite a few of their sins.

Reg felt uncomfortable. "I don't know that I'd say 'cheaters'. But I can see..." he slowly turned his head and scooted in his seat to nonchalantly take an inventory. "I can see...yeah. Three girls I'd definitely put in the 50/50 category and a strong 'maybe'."

Ed seemed outraged. "Who?"

Reg thought about this and leaned in. "Can you keep a secret?" Ed nodded. "So can I. I am not about to slur these women just on your say so. Maybe I'm wrong. I said 50/50. But I don't do that any more."

"Tell me about these women you were cheating with. Not the single ones, the married ones." Ed asked curiously. "I have a few of my own theories on infidelity."

"They write books about these things. But one thing about infidelity which drives some people crazy. There's always a reason."

Ed raised an eyebrow. "A reason?" he said skeptically.

"Yep. A reason. I didn't say it was a good reason, but it's like perceptions: it's real to them. Some of these women...I got to give them props. They are toughing out soulless marriages. Call it 20%. Mind you, I only have their side, but if half of it is true, it's amazing they are still there. Another 40% are sort of up in the air. You can see their point...sort of. But you kind of wonder if they really put the effort into things or just let them slide as much as the men supposedly did."

"And the last 40%?" Ed asked.

"They are just straight up selfish bitches." Reg acknowledged.

++

"Horrible." Curtis intoned offhandedly. Hmm. Seven letters down. Starts with an 'I' from 'Idiotic'.

"Asshole." He threw in when he heard his client wind down, looking for a comment.

"And take a cheese grater to the face and...!" The client's arms made the totally unnecessary sawing motions with his hands to demonstrate what he meant. "And...and...do you have a branding iron somewhere? Or maybe a blow torch?"

Curtis nodded distractedly and looked at the cut out crossword puzzle taped to a piece of paper on his clip board. When he was bored at these client meetings, as he so frequently was, he liked to take a random crossword puzzle and try to fill in all the openings with adjectives describing his clients and have them all fit together. He'd never gotten it to work so far, but this client showed promise. I-N-S-I-P-I-D "Sharpened garden weasels tend to be better at leaving the kind of scars you are looking for. Cheese grater scars fade." He noted professionally.

The client railed on.

"The whore." Curtis said absentmindedly. The silence stretched on, so he looked up at his client looking askance at him.

"You're calling my mother a whore?"

"Oh...sorry...I thought we were talking about your whore of a wife not your whore of a...never mind."

Andrea sat there with a red wig, a large hat and a big pair of sunglasses. Curtis noted she was smiling vacuously. When she didn't want people to know her thoughts, she tended to put on that expression. The stupider the smile, the more emotional she was. Right now, her I.Q. seemed to be hovering around a 2. He sighed. Not unexpected, but still...

They were meeting in a library reading room, which tended to be quiet, open to the public and anonymous. Curtis had carefully selected one where the Children's Section was far away from the reading rooms to protect her sensibilities and triggers.

"Anyway, when can you start?" the man asked.

Andrea had her own way of dealing with meetings like this: she went over her personal 'to do' lists on her iPad to try to distract her. Buy little Jennifer Acero down the street a birthday present for Saturday. Make sure to refill Mr. Mkertchian's prescriptions and find out if Curtis was still slipping him bottles of booze. A man of his age shouldn't be drinking, no matter what Curtis said about Choice. Wire brush Moloch's grates for the neighborhood barbeque. Buy more 9mm wadcutters for practice. Do the monthly sniper rifle cleaning. Life was very busy for a modern housewife.

She noted that the Envelope still lay on the table, untouched by her husband. That bespoke volumes to her. So much so that she felt confident enough to ask the question on her mind. "So...how are your children Mr. Moran?" There was a trace of acid in her voice.

"Moran? Who's this Moran guy?" Wes said disingenuously.

Andrea caught the briefest of eyerolls from her husband before he responded. "Please Wesley Moran. There is a certain presumed...intimacy when one discusses these matters. One can't stand on rather thinly concealed pseudonyms. Not if you want the job done properly and professionally. Or did you think that we presumed that you found our number on a bathroom wall? My clientele is select. No, you got our number from the card you have in your pocket. You've sat there giving me a laundry list of atrocities, mutilations and injuries you want inflicted upon someone, but you have not given us a name." Curtis paused and he chewed his lower lip. "Typically, the men seem to blame the wives..." he said delicately.

"Beth? BETH? No! Why would I...she's their mother! She's a good mother! Why would I want to do that to my kids? Who would take care of them?"

Andrea nostrils flared but was otherwise quiet. "Who indeed?" Curtis said laconically.

"No...I want you to get Reggie Perry. He's a..." Wes stopped because Andrea closed her iPad cover with an explosive snap. She reached down and picked up her purse and put it on her lap, unzipping the top, stowing the iPad and glancing speculatively at the man in a disturbing way, a dreamy smile on her face.

Curtis rolled his eyes. He reached over and touched her leg below her skirt and above her knee. She started at the contact. He spoke slowly. "We're pretty much done here. Why don't you go and get the car and I'll be outside in a few moments." She glanced at the envelope still sitting on the table, then looked at him, and nodded. She walked out without a backwards glance.

"What exactly is going on?" Wes asked. "Is there some kind of problem here?" This 'meeting' already had him nervous and the way the redhead was glanced at him was freaky.

"We cannot take your business." Curtis said simply.

"What? Why? What do you mean?"

"We have what the attorneys call a 'conflict of interest.' The company," At Wes' raised eyebrow, he repeated "The Company has certain obligations to Reginald Perry. We can't get involved."

"Hey! I got you the money! You can't wimp out at the last minute."

Curtis blinked. "You seem to misunderstand what exactly I do. The core business of VBT Enterprises is consultancy and marketing."

"Marketing? Consultancy?"

"Yes. My coalition wants the public to remember the wealth of options you have when you deal with the hills and valleys that life brings to you, and make sure that as an informed consumer, you don't make any glaring mistakes if you choose alternate ways to deal with life's stresses. This current life is very...sterile. Devoid of the vim that is the intrinsic nature of Man. We would like to encourage that spirit."

"I don't understand." Wes said, puzzled.

"Of course you don't." Curtis agreed.

"But your card said..." Wes trailed off. The card did not promise contracted atrocities. He'd read it several times.

"That is a little additional sideline I have worked out." Curtis seemed to confirm. "I have added expenses these days. Something to keep the bottom line healthy." His eyes unconsciously flicked back to the door that Andrea had exited.

"Here is the important point." Curtis continued. "While I am not able to help you, even if I could, hiring me would not solve the problem you have. You have a huge amount of pain in your soul. And hiring a flunky like a yard man to clear out the weeds in your life, well, there is no visceral satisfaction to that. There is no sense of," a trace of an ironic smile crossed his face " 'justice'. No sense of closure unless you actually feel the jar in your bones of making whomever wronged you pay personally for his affronts to your dignity. If you want to get rid of that pain, you need to share it with someone else...perhaps 'inflict' it on someone else." Wes looked diffident at this suggestion. "You were aware that he had a private investigator check you out, did you not?" Curtis prodded.

"THAT FUCKING COCKSUCKER!"

Ah...Wrath. Nothing quite like it. Curtis thought.

Curtis slid his arm around Wes' shoulder. His tone was soft. "He's wronged you. This is something a man, a real man, would handle himself. I think you can be that man. I KNOW you can be that man. It is a part of your soul. The choice is yours however."

"Yes but...how do I find him? How do I do it? What about the police?"

"Ah." Curtis started nodding his head and smiling. "I can't attack Reginald Perry for you. But now you are asking for a 'nonperson specific tutorial on violence and crime'. That is always available!" Curtis lifted the envelope and shook $1,000 onto the table. He had a trip to Florida to pay for. Parks were expensive. "I have heard that bar parking lots are particularly good locations for this kind of thing. Those places always attract the wrong element..." he started.

++

"What was that all about? You know I hate your 'business meetings'." Andrea asked in a very controlled voice when he slid into the car. "If that is what you constantly have to deal with, no wonder you have such a low opinion of humanity."

"I find him pretty darned typical." He pursed his lips. "If I had come alone, do you think I would turn down his business?"

She frowned in thought. "No. So you brought me so we could pay off Reggie for stopping me from triggering?" She assayed.

Curtis looked at her in mild shock. "Whatever gave you that idea? The only reason you were triggering was because Reginald Perry caused the problem in the first place. I don't owe him a damned thing."

"Then why did you bring me so you could refu...?" she looked at him as he sat there, fuming. "Oh." She simpered quietly to herself. HE owed Reg nothing. She, on the other hand, felt quite differently.

"Not a damned word!" He huffed.

"Of course not." She searched to mollify his inner conflict. "You are doing this because you want to manipulate my emotions, making me think you care so you can use me. Not that you would have any such real emotions."

"Got it in one." He agreed moodily. "Is it working?"

She laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his right one as he drove. "Perfectly."

++

"It's not fair!" Reg almost screamed at the bartender.

"What's up with the shiner?" Ed asked Reg. The right side of his face was sporting a rather large bruise.

"That's part of my fan club. People who...well...It hurts but it's nothing much."

Ed wiped the bar. "If I were you, I'd be very careful about demanding 'fair' from the universe. Have you considered what exactly you 'deserve'? That and probably more." He gestured at Reg's cheek. "So, what has you so upset?"

"I am trying to get together with Beth. We have a lot of...issues to get over. Trust. But we click...we do. It isn't exactly like high school and college, but it's still there. I can feel it."

"But what's the problem?"

"Wes! Her mom! Her friends! Her guilt! We start to get something developing. Things start working and we get going. Then Wes calls screaming at her about me and the kids and she pulls back. Says I am an unwholesome influence. And a lot of her friends and family are disappointed in her taking up with me. They blame me for this whole fiasco."

"Reginald...you are responsible for this whole fiasco."

"Whose side are you on?!?"

"The one which is healthiest and the least painful for everyone. What is best for you. What is best for Beth. What is best for the kids. Whose side are you on?"

"Mine!" Reg stopped and took a sip. "And...I like those kids. I like those kids a lot. I think that I am better for those kids than Wes."

"Think..." Ed wiped the bar. "I like 'know'." Reg squirmed uncomfortably.

"Okay, I KNOW I'm better. At least I'm there."

"If he doesn't care, why is he calling?" Ed asked. A trio of women regulars left and he glanced at his closed circuit monitors to see if it was safe in the parking lot and the alley...and was shocked to see that it wasn't. "Excuse me a moment. I have to deal with some garbage..." he said, leaving the back of the bar at speed, grabbing a stick.

++

Curtis stood on the curb in the shadows in the alley by Ed's bar, watching the parking lot patiently. There was a movement of air, a scuff of shoes and Ed was there.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" the barkeep barked.

"Hello to you too. Your graciousness knows all limits." Curtis responded, watching the barkeep warily.

"You are not welcome here. I don't want you or your chippy around here."

"No one says 'chippy' these days and I resent your slur to her character."

"So what are you doing here now?" Reg had shared a few of his adventures with the barkeep. "I'm not going to let you hurt Reg. He's grown beyond your influence."

The pair heard the bar door open by the welter of music released and naturally turned. Reggie stood there, hand in his pocket as he removed his keys and started for his car.

Curtis quirked an eyebrow at Ed. "Beyond my influence? Hmm. I am here for one reason: Curiosity. I am compelled to see how the end of this farce plays out." Curtis said, smoking his cigarette.

++

Reg walked to his car, contemplative. Was his inclusion in the lives of April and Jimmy hurting them? How could it? Right now, he was a better father to them than Wes was. Okay...he was trying to be a better father than Wes was. Did he know if he was hurting them?

He didn't. Could he know? Or could he take that chance?

He turned to the door of his newly purchased car, his reflection curved and dark as the streetlight reflected off the glass onto him.

In the glass, he saw a man in a ski mask raise up with a bar of silver in his hands, swinging it at his head.

++

"By the way, am I distracting you?" Curtis asked Ed offhandedly.

++

Reg, with reflexes honed by a lot of recent fights, dropped down. The aluminum baseball bat grazed the top of his head and shattered the window, the spray of glass hitting his face and shoulders.

He started scrambling away on all fours. The bat slammed into his door panel as he tried to spin around and get up. The next swing came too fast and clipped his left shoulder, making him fall and roll onto his back. The lunging cursing figure raised the bat with a two handed over head swing, aiming it at Reg's head. Reg lashed out with his foot with all his power at the man's groin, his arms coming up to cover his head.

The bat hit his arms, the blow robbed of power by his kick. He was able to grab Wes' shoulder (he'd recognized the voice and the jacket) and dragged him down to the ground. Neither was a ground fighter, but Reg had weight and muscle tone on his side, even with the injuries he'd suffered recently. He was able to land a good elbow into Wes' temple and was able to scramble up, reaching under HIS jacket.

You see, Reg had finally gotten his gun.

Wes was lying there, scrambling around until he saw the pistol pointed at him, when he froze. There was a metallic clunk near his jacket pocket.

Ed and Curtis stood in the shadows as still as statues.

Reg stood there, watching his former friend over the sight on the end of the barrel. It would be soooo easy. Just a little pressure on his finger. He could have Beth and Jimmy and April. Wes would be out of the picture. It was self defense! He could sell that to a jury. Broken car...injuries. It even had the benefit of being true. But...would Beth look at him the same way? Would Kelly? His will fighting his every instinct, his finger slowly removed the pressure from the trigger.

"Wes...move to the side but don't touch the ground. What was that in your pocket?" Wes shook his head vehemently. "Wes...this isn't a request. I think you have a gun. I will shoot you. I've been in the hospital enough lately. MOVE!"

Shuffling his butt over and very pale, Wes moved to the side. On the ground was a large set of bypass rose pruners. Reg started to see red. "Why do you have rose trimmers in your...?" The penny dropped for Reg. "YOU! YOU! You were going to knock me out and cut off my...!" He almost pulled the trigger right then and there.

++

Curtis looked at Ed. "You got to admire these little flourishes they add. I didn't suggest that to Wes. And I got to say, that little weasel is a lot gutsier than I imagined if he's going to live near a guy whose nuts he..."

"SHUT. UP." Ed intoned like a trump of doom.

++

Instead, Reg picked up the bat and swung it. "You were going to cut my nuts off? What the HELL? You're still walking around intact! You fucker! Why did you take Beth? Why did you abandon your kids? Why!" The bat punctuated his questions, though one handed and the left hand at that, the swings were awkward and he wasn't able to get a satisfactory blow.

"Because you were always there!" Wes screamed back at him, his leg lashing out to kick at Reg's ankle.

Reg staggered backwards and leaned against the car, trying to maintain his balance. "What?"

"YOU. ARE ALWAYS. THERE!"

"You can't blame this on me. You dumped the kids months ago!"

"You idiot! She waited for you for a while! Why do you think she waited so long to get married? Why do you think she waited so long to have kids? It's all so clear, and the first opportunity, you just slithered right in. And now...now every time I want to get back into their lives, you are there! I can't stand you! I can't stand the sight of you. I wish I'd never met you! You've ruined my whole life!"