Rough Men by Aric Davis

good writer, and writers write.”
    “Thanks, Jack, for everything. I can’t say that enough. I’ll let you know when this is over.”
    Will hung up the phone, trying to flush the tears from his eyes. Jack was 100 percent correct. It was time to get back to the keyboard and, instead of whining about writer’s block, to start telling stories. He’d picked writing as a way to get out of a deadend of a job—and dead end for a life—and to throw away everything he’d accomplished wasn’t only unreasonable, it was childish. The phone ringing a third time interrupted his thoughts and made him almost throw the thing to the floor.
    Will didn’t recognize the number and almost ignored the call. Then he remembered what Jason had said about calling on a burner, a throwaway cell with a number he wouldn’t recognize.
    “Hello?”
    “Meet me tonight. Bring what you brought the other day.”
    Jason hung up before Will could even attempt a response, and it wasn’t until the phone was back in his pocket that he realized Jason had meant for him to bring a gun.

    “Isaac, I need to talk to Alison for a few minutes.”
    Isaac stood. His brother had gone pale, and before he could disguise it, Alison saw him.
    Turning to Will, he could tell that she had been waiting all along for the other shoe to drop. “Is it bad news?” she asked as Isaac fled to the basement. “I’m not sure I can take much more of that. I suppose you’ll tell me either way, though.”
    “This is good news and bad news,” said Will. “Mostly good, but a little bad—at least you may think so. I talked to Jack. It looks like there will be a delay on my next book, once I get around to writing, editing, and submitting it, of course. It sounds like they want to avoid any negative publicity that Alex’s...situation could send my way.”
    “That sounds OK. Right?”
    “Except, I have no idea who or what I’ll be writing about.” Will considered telling her about the possible advance, finally deciding against it. It would be better not to play with her feelings over something that might not happen. “But none of that matters. They still want to see work from me and, if it’s up to snuff,promote and publish it. If anything, the delay is a good thing. It will give me time to write and really play with what I want my third book to be. I have to imagine that
Bottles
sold enough that there will be people out there actually expecting something from the next Will Daniels book, as weird as that is to actually come right out and say.”
    “That all sounds great, Will. And of course people are waiting for your next one.”
    “The other thing, though, it’s not as pleasant.”
    The light that had risen in her eyes went out, just like that, and he wondered if anything that he might have to do in the following weeks, days, or even hours could be forgiven.
    “Isaac and I went and met up with an old friend on that grocery trip during the blizzard the other day. He’s a friend from when I was still trouble—or at least thought I was trouble. This guy, though, he was the real deal then, and he still is now. I asked him if he could get me any information on who had hurt Alex, and he said he would call if he was able to. We already had a set time and place to meet, so all he had to do was call on the day he wanted to meet if he had any information.”
    “And he called you.”
    “Yes, he did.”
    “So what are you going to do?”
    “I’m going to meet with him, and I’m hoping Isaac will come with me.”
    “I know you’re going to meet with him—I’m not an idiot. It’s obvious you’re set to go do something. I mean, if he can get you info and show you who hurt Alex,
then
what are you going to do?”
    “I don’t know yet. I suppose I’d want to turn them into the police, but I’m not sure that would even be an option. I know that Wixom—the guy who’s helping us—would never have gotten involved if there were even a possibility of police