PEDDLER'S BARGAIN Read online

  “That’s a good point,” Brad said. “Although a person coming from the outside usually doesn’t start with enemies.”

  “Not necessarily true,” Lester said, reaching for the next round. “Every senior trial lawyer in town has a number of people that don’t like them. Usually, several resumes get thrown into the trash just because Davis can’t stand them.”

  “So, there really is a chance of coming back?”

  “Listen, what I am saying is… there are politics involved.” Lester took a sip of Jameson’s and looked Brad in the eye. “You have a shot at coming back. But there’s nothing you can do about it right now, so just relax and let the process unfold.”

  Brad nodded, understanding. It would be difficult to stop obsessing, and nearly impossible to relax. He took a long sip. The drinks were finally starting to hit. A buzz. Brad noticed Lester fumbling with his Blackberry.

  “You still use one of those?” Brad quipped.

  Lester shook his head. “Can’t seem to keep up with the latest technology. But yeah, I’m still using this thing.”

  Brad laughed at the outdated gismo. And chuckling felt good.

  “Look at this,” Lester said, pointing to an email. “Monica and a few others want to stop by for a cocktail.”

  “Well, I should probably just finish this up, and get a move on.”

  “Nonsense,” Lester said. “I’ll order some appetizers, and we’ll have another round… or two. This is just what you need. Wait until to you see the legs on a couple of these new girls.”

  The comment caught Brad off-guard. Lester was typically the quintessential genteel trial attorney. He only wore Brooks Brothers, suits, and casual wear. He hardly commented on females, but when he did weigh in, he was usually right.

  “This should be interesting,” Brad said. “It’ll be nice to see Monica again.”

  “You guys used to do a lot of work together, as I recall.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great litigator, and always meets her deadlines.”

  “And not unpleasant on the eyes,” Lester added.

  Brad wondered how many drinks Lester had downed before he’d gotten there. Lester had been there for close to an hour before Brad arrived. He’d definitely lost time after coming face-to-face with the Peddler. A chill ran up his spine.

  He shivered for a moment. The scorn in the old man’s eyes, and the reappearing visage, caused him to shudder. Trepidation. Dread.

  He feared what might happen next.

  Eleven

  Later, a wave of showers pelted the streets and sidewalks. Brad watched the downpours, dismally, until the crew from the office arrived.

  They showed up and exchanged pleasantries, shaking out their coats and umbrellas. An awkward young man accompanied a few attractive women in their late twenties, Monica, Stacey, and Caitlin.

  All the young attorneys stood at the corner of the bar, circled around Lester. He ordered a round for everyone, and slid the appetizers in front of them.

  Brad introduced himself.

  They were intrigued by Lester, who had recently finished trying a multi-million-dollar case.

  A few others straggled in and joined the crowd.

  Catching up with Monica, Brad asked about her engagement, and she showed him the ring. A rock. He polished off a drink, ordered another, then headed for the restroom.

  Brad stepped around the troupe, making subtle eye contact with Caitlin. She batted her lashes and looked away. The feigned disinterest caught his attention. Brad grinned coolly, patting her shoulder as he walked by.

  He quickly relieved himself and washed up.

  The face reflecting from the mirror shimmered, seeming contorted, like someone else for a moment. A lot younger. Brad looked over his shoulder, but nobody was there.

  When he glanced back at the mirror, the reflection smirked. Brad noticed reddish bumps covering the young man’s face.

  A shudder ran through him. Contemplating the visage, he lost cohesion.

  Brad’s head swirled, fearing stress was taking its toll.

  Surely it couldn’t be who he thought. His mind was just playing tricks, a high-pressured day, the interview, and the odd encounters. Drinks on a part-empty stomach.

  Perhaps he needed to unwind. Another cocktail might do the trick, and some food to help level off.

  Brad grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands. Another drink, surely was in order, and some light chatter. Anything to get his mind focused elsewhere.

  He needed to forget about the job interview for a while, and longed to distance himself from the Peddler.

  Twelve

  Returning, Brad noticed that Caitlin had moved to the corner of the bar. The rest of the crew gathered closely around Lester, entrenched in the midst of another war story.

  Caitlin stood alone, so he eased beside her.

  “Here you go,” Caitlin said, handing him a drink. “I was watching it while you were gone.” Their eyes locked as he reached for the glass.

  “Thanks,” he said, flirtatiously. They stared at each other as he sipped the drink. She was attractive, fashionable, and fit.

  “Lester told us that you’ve done a lot of trials,” she finally said, almost giddy.

  “Well, I haven’t done nearly as many as Lester.” Brad smiled, charming her. “But I’ve done a few in my time.”

  “You’re not nearly as old as him,” she said, poking Brad’s shoulder. “So, you’re old enough to have a lot of experience… without losing your boyish charm.”

  “Guess you could look at it that way.” He smiled at her coolly. “So, anything new with you?”

  “Well, I’m training for a half-marathon,” she said, finding common ground. “You’re a runner, aren’t you?”

  “Sure, but I couldn’t handle a half-marathon, right now.”

  “Have you ever done one,” she said, “a half-marathon?”

  “I’ve done two,” he replied, shaking his head modestly. “And about five marathons, so I’ve got some experience distance running, but not a whole lot.”

  “You seem very fit,” she said, rubbing a hand along his lapel. The movement pulled him a little closer. “That means you must do a lot of 5K races. Fast.”

  Brad nodded smoothly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that’s my sweet spot.”

  “You like the speedier races,” she said. “I don’t blame you.”

  He noticed Lester settling up the tab. Then, the old sage slid off his barstool.

  They nodded goodbye.

  And the young attorneys patted Lester’s shoulder, then Monica gave him a hug. Lester grabbed his overcoat and cap, and then trundled toward the door. Brad watched him step outside and light up a cigar before shuffling down the sidewalk.

  A lull fell over the discussion after Lester departed. Brad worried the others would throw off his game with Caitlin. He turned his back to the crew. “What else interests you?” Brad asked her, inching closer.

  “Well, I’m ambitions about becoming a trial lawyer,” she said earnestly. “That’s why I am so intrigued with you and Lester. A lot of the litigators at the firm don’t have nearly the trial experience as you guys.”

  “Nowadays, fewer and fewer cases go to trial,” Brad explained. “Everyone is focused on Alternative Dispute Resolution avenues, and settlement… You just don’t get as many jury trials, especially in really big cases.”

  “That’s what I mean,” she said, eyes-wide. “With the number of experienced trial lawyers diminishing, there are fewer mentors.”

  Brad glanced at the crew. They seemed preoccupied, wrapping up after Lester closed out the tab. Monica leaned over to Caitlin, explaining they were all headed to another bar.

  Caitlin looked at Brad, as though checking to see if he wanted to join them.

  He shrugged.

  Then, she turned to Monica. “We might follow you guys over later. We’re not ready to leave just yet.”

  Monica glanced at their drinks and grinned. Both of their glasses were almost empty,
not like they had a reason to stay.

  Caitlin and Brad quietly waited for the troupe to leave, sipping the remainder of their cocktails slowly.

  The pause led Brad to drift into his past. He thought about Wayne, the misfit in school, who haunted restless nights.

  No matter how much Brad drank, nothing could numb the memory of that oddball, or dissipate the regret.

  Thirteen

  Eventually, the crew piled out of the bar, and headed down the sidewalk out of sight.

  Brad leaned over and ran a hand through Caitlin’s long, blonde hair. “Want to change it up a bit?” he asked after a moment.

  “What do you have in mind?” She leaned in close and smiled.

  “Let’s get a bottle of exquisite wine.”

  Caitlin raised her eyebrows, and stepped over to an empty stool. She patted the seat next to her. Brad sat down. He watched as she slid onto the barstool. Her skirt hiked up, revealing long, taut legs.

  She caught him looking and smiled seductively.

  Daniel came over to take their order. She edged closer to Brad, slipping her arm under his. Her soft chest nudged into his side. Brad asked for a bottle of Cakebread Chardonnay, chilled in an ice bucket; he requested the proper stemware, too.

  Daniel cleared off the bar, promising he’d get right to it.

  Brad turned to Caitlin and their noses almost touched. She didn’t shy away. A perfect moment for a kiss, but he decided against it. Instead, he leaned in closer, taking advantage of the heat.

  “That dress looks awesome on you,” he whispered. “You’re quite the perfect girl…”

  “Why thank you.” She blushed. “This is exciting.”

  “It was the right move…” he said, “staying here and ordering the wine.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to try it,” she replied, sliding a hand over his shirt.

  For a moment, Brad thought he saw the young man’s face, lingering in the mirror behind the bar; it peered at him, black dots speckled on both cheeks. Then, the bartender returned, placing wine glasses on the bar. Daniel grinned, seeming to enjoy the chemistry, and then the ominous visage slipped away. Brad exhaled, relieved.

  Daniel left to fetch an ice bucket, and Caitlin placed her hand on Brad’s thigh. The contact aroused him. Peeking down, he noticed her skirt had slipped up further, revealing lean muscular thighs.

  Instead of groping her in return, Brad cupped his hand over hers, and rubbed her fingers gently. She smiled, an affectionate touch, and snuggled closer.

  They whispered and laughed until Daniel came back.

  A bottle of white wine protruded from the chrome ice-bucket. They watched Daniel use a waiter’s corkscrew on the cork. He poured a sample into Caitlin’s glass, and invited her to taste the wine.

  She took a sip, and smiled widely. “This is wonderful.”

  Brad nodded coolly to Daniel. He watched as the genteel bartender tilted the bottle. Wine cascaded into Brad’s glass. Sipping the wine, Brad glanced toward Caitlin, who eagerly waited for Daniel to fill her glass.

  “Great selection,” Daniel said, winking at Brad. He wrapped a towel around the neck, and poured wine into Caitlin’s glass.

  She grabbed the stem and took a long sip, while running her free hand over Brad’s thigh. Sensuous. He slid his hand under her skirt, massaging a thigh.

  Caitlin’s eyes lit up. She flashed a naughty grin.

  He checked to see if anyone was paying attention, then moved further up her leg, bumping into her panties. Wet. He responded to her arousal, pressing further.

  Brad knew she was into it for the night.

  Fourteen

  Later, Brad stumbled off the subway platform into a train car. He grabbed an overhead handle to steady himself, then he slid onto a hard, plastic seat.

  The commuter train running north of the city was near empty. He’d left Caitlin’s apartment on Beacon Hill with enough time to catch the last one. The train lunged forward getting started, jostling him. Steel rims squeaked along the rails, pounding at his grieving head. Brad swayed each time the train rounded a curve. Dark tunnels with black rocky walls wavered, as the train hurled past.

  Speeding along, he glanced out the windows at sooty tunnel walls, carved into uneven stone. Lighting flashed in and out. The train whipped around the tracks, and windows shimmered in the intermittent light.

  Brad’s disheveled sight, peered back, unsettled him.

  He’d slipped from a well-balanced, prominent attorney, into a skirt chasing drunkard. Loser. A Schmuck.

  The train rattled around another bend, steel wheels grinding on the tracks. All the lights flickered. Brad caught a glimpse of a stranger peering back from the reflection in the window.

  He shuddered and turned away, momentarily.

  Peeking at the glass, Brad noticed it was the familiar face of a young man, staring back reproachfully. Black spots on his cheeks and chin now appeared bigger than before, mounting into small craters.

  Brad spun around, head hung low, dejected. His mind was playing tricks on him, nothing more, but he knew the face that scorned him. Knew it all too well.

  As the train swayed, Brad’s stomach grew queasy. He glanced at the window again, drawn to it, trying to make sense of the vision.

  There was nothing but darkness, and, the muffled coal black tunnel walls.

  The train jostled around another curve in the track, erratic lighting. He caught sight of the face staring back again.

  A sardonic grin broke from the stoic image, almost jeering.

  Brad trembled in fear as the visage expanded, growing larger, and larger. Reddish welts covered portions of the tormentor’s cheeks and chin. Huge welts, craters. Some of them had risen with dark concave recesses in the center, tiny volcanoes.

  A black bug wormed its way out of a crevice. It paused near the young man’s lip. Miniscule claws nipped at skin, as the bug slowly worked its way along.

  The young man grinned wider, derisively.

  Then, a hand appeared and scratched the reddish bumps. The visage winced, reflecting discomfort, a never-ending itch that couldn’t be abated by simple clawing and scraping. The bug was shaped like a spider or tick, but had nodules enfolded from either side of its head. The nodules were covered with feelers, branching out in various directions. Each one wiggled, feeling, and sensed with antennae, charting a course for fertile ground.

  Brad knew it was looking for a place to burrow beneath the skin. An entry point, needed for the bug to chomp through flesh, and find a warm place under the surface to lay eggs.

  The sight made Brad grow woozy. His stomach turned.

  The jaded smile broke off. Wayne’s tongue slipped out, lapping the bug from his upper lip.

  Schmuck.

  Grinning at the repugnant act, he stared madly at Brad, then the silhouette shimmered, and slowly began to fade. You’re just a schmuck, he seemed to say.

  Terror raced through Brad’s veins.

  He couldn’t breathe, and his stomach felt queasy. It turned from too much drink, and fright of the unknown. The young man’s face was a reminder of past regrets, misgivings that couldn’t be undone.

  Brad leaned over and wretched.

  Fifteen

  Stumbling at the basement door, Brad pulled out his keys and floundered with the lock. Creaking the bolt back, he turned the knob, and then opened an old wooden door.

  The basement was pitch-dark. He fumbled for the light switch, eventually flipping it.

  Brad was half in the bag; he reached for the railing and descended the steps into the dank basement. A light bulb hung from the ceiling, providing scant illumination.

  He shut the door and staggered to his makeshift living area. A camp cot was wedged into a corner by fieldstone walls. His clothes hung from a rod attached to a beam, everything wrapped in plastic. The workbench propped against a wall served as a nightstand. Another light bulb hung above his living area, but it didn’t work.

  He lived in the shadows. Wine racks stood nearby, s
tocked with dusty bottles.

  A small rectangular window overlooked the driveway. Light reflected into his living quarters from a streetlamp outside.

  Brad plodded toward the window and put his wallet and keys on the ledge. Then, he took off his overcoat and suit jacket, and draped them on the cot, and then sat down.

  This meager existence caused a wave of depression to slip over him. With two kids in college, and the fallout from losing his position, Brad couldn’t afford to move out. And his wife still hadn’t relented from her demand for a divorce.

  He was too drunk to read a book. Brad swayed on the edge of his bed.

  Looking around, reminded him of memories in the house. Brad recalled putting together Christmas presents for the kids. They’d wait until the children went to bed, then Brad pulled out tools and worked into early morning hours assembling sleds, bikes, castles, and dollhouses. Mary labored at the stockings and wrapped presents. Together they hauled presents up the basement stairs, putting them under the tree.

  Now, the kids were gone, and he sat in a dank basement, alone. Mary wasn’t going to come around, ever. He knew that. There had been too much turmoil for many years. The kids had been the glue that held them together, but now they were gone.

  Depression dug in deeper. He regretted not staying with Caitlin for the entire night.

  Somehow, he’d hoped waking up in the house might make things better. Maybe the Peddler would come through. But that was all nonsense. He looked over at the wine rack and recalled the satisfaction he had from building it.

  Glancing at the bottles, Brad stood and staggered over to it. “Hair that got the dog,” he muttered.

  Brad reached for a bottle of Merlot, then grabbed a corkscrew from the workbench. After removing the cork, he peeled back the tin and took a long plug.

  He considered venturing upstairs for a glass, but thought better of it. Instead, he sat on the cot and gulped down half the bottle. Then, he laid back on the cot without bothering to undress.