The Prisoner and the Chaplain by Michelle Berry

Author:Michelle Berry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wolsak and Wynn Publishers Ltd
Published: 2018-10-07T16:00:00+00:00

Larry is closing the store up for the last time. He’s locking the door and is going to take the keys over to Mr. Mallone, the guy next door who owns the shoe repair shop and wants to expand. Mr. Mallone gave Larry and Susan a good deal and they’ve divided the money in three and put Jack’s third away, according to advice from the lawyers.

Larry thinks it’s kind of funny how much time he’s spent with lawyers lately, considering all the crimes he commits. He turns the lock on the door, last time, looks into the glass at the empty store, at his father’s drunk ghost slumped at the counter, at the non-existent grandfather clocks and all the tools, now sold, that it took to make them work. The sound of the store will stay with him forever, the ever-present tick-tock, tick-tock that made his skin crawl when he was a kid. A countdown of life. Always. No wonder his father drank himself to death. No wonder Larry does the things he does – the constant reminder that time is running out.

“Lawrence.” A voice, behind him in the dusk. Larry sees the reflection of a man on the glass of the empty store. He turns.

Jack.

Twenty-eight years old. A slight beard. He’s taller than Larry. And wider. Chunky, almost fat. His stomach protrudes. He’s missing some teeth, and his hair and beard are reddish-brown, stained looking. His eyes are hollow, drugged. Jack is holding a cigarette in his hand but he doesn’t take a drag. Wearing a hunting jacket, camouflage, and army pants with pockets everywhere. Big boots. Biker boots. Larry wouldn’t even know him if it weren’t for the way Jack said his name. Lawrence. The same way he used to say it before he would hurt Larry. He can feel it’s Jack, even if he doesn’t recognize him.

“Jack.”

They look at each other. Awkward. Larry, nervously, glances down at the ground first. The old emotions creep up in him, he can almost feel the concussions, the beatings, on his skin, in his head. Larry remembers what it was like to be four years old to Jack’s six. To be seven to Jack’s nine. Always one step ahead – two years bigger, better, smarter, meaner, taller, and one step more dangerous.

Jack. His brother.

“So.” Jack stares at Larry. “What can I say?”

“Closing the store for good,” Larry says, looking up at the darkened sign that reads Gallo’s Precision Repair – soon to be replaced by Mallone’s Shoe Shop. Larry added the money Mr. Mallone gave him to his coffee tins. Lots of them now, quite the collection. Larry feels safe with money. Money takes care of him. And he knows he can always get more. But there is something in Jack’s behaviour, in his stance, that makes him suddenly think about his coffee tins and worry. Worry about his safety in general. All the old demons and fears emerge, and Larry’s head suddenly aches.

“I hear Dad died,” Jack says. No emotion.

“You call him ‘Dad,’ do you?”

“What else should I call him? He was my fucking dad.

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