Rough Men by Aric Davis Page A

involvement.”
    “Will, do think the police are going to catch the men who killed our son?”
    “No. Do you?”
    “No, I don’t. That makes me feel very weak and also very scared, but I don’t think they will. I think that, even if they do, it will be an accident.”
    They thought about that together, eyes locked, and then she said, “I guess what I mean is, I want you to be safe. And I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret every time you close your eyes. But”—she swallowed, and steel came into her eyes—“I want those men punished. If that means that you and your brother need to call every old hood that you know from some long-buried little black book, you do it. Those men killed my son.”

W ill and Isaac sat at Founders. Will was drinking a glass of Breakfast Stout, and Isaac was too. Both brothers were nervous, but only Isaac had admitted to it on the car ride over to the brewery.
    The Sig felt heavy in Will’s jacket, but not like it had when they’d gone to Jason’s tattoo shop. If anything, it felt like a keyboard to a writer or a hammer to a carpenter. It was a tool necessary for the right sort of job. Isaac was carrying as well, a small 9mm that Will had picked up as a summer carry piece, if he ever got around to taking a concealed carry class.
    They were at a table near the rear of the brewery, figuring that Jason would be able to find them even if they tried to hide from him. The building itself was packed. Most of the tables, about twenty in all, were occupied, and the fifty-seat bar had nary a single empty stool. Conversations roared, and Will understood why Jason had picked this place, even if it seemed like the last sort of bar that he would ever hang out in on his own. It was perfect. With the varied tables of oddly mixed groups, they wouldn’t stand out in the least.
    Jason appeared out of nowhere. He just sat at their table with a pint of a beer that was dark, though not as dark as their own.
    “Dirty Bastard,” he said. “The beer, not you two fucks. Never had it, but it sounds about right, considering circumstances.” He took a long pull from the glass, draining half of it, and then placed it on the table. “How’re things, gents?”
    “Lovely,” said Will. “What have you got for us?”
    “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Jason said, wearing a smile like he’d just met with two old friends. “I can’t fucking tell you right here. You see those two assholes over there?” Jason nodded at two hipsterish kids standing in a glassed-in box just outside of the bar. One of them had horn-rimmed glasses, a handlebar mustache, and a worn messenger bag with an Apple patch sewn onto it. The other looked about the same, just different affectations, a fedora, vest, and neon-green scarf. Both men were texting on iPhones.
    “I see them.”
    “Well, when they finish their smokes, we’re going to saunter on over there into the smoke-box so my good buddies won’t let me get lonely while I puff on a butt. Sound good?”
    Will and Isaac both nodded, and all three men drank from their glasses of beer. The beer was good and made Will’s head hum a little, but he didn’t feel the urge to consume vast sums of it, either. As if on cue, the hipsters left the smoking area, and Will, Isaac, and Jason left their beers on the table to walk to the room. Will held the door open for his brother and his old friend and then followed them in.
    “OK, this is going to be short and sweet,” said Jason. “I got a name, this fuck who likes young pussy, guy named Mumbo. Fat Hispanic kid.”
    “What kind of name is Mumbo?” Isaac asked. “That’s seriously weird.”
    “It’s the kind of name that either a junkie whore mother gives you or one of your buddies give you. Does it fucking matter? Guy goes by Mumbo, and I know for a fucking fact that he was there.”
    An electric hum had kicked up in Will, and Jason eyed him like he could see it. “Now, don’t get crazy thoughts going. I don’t know