Down the Brink Page 16

  “Are you sure the results would be that extreme?”

  Trumbull turned away, his neck muscles prominent and stringy, like they could barely support the weight of his head. “Not completely. But that’s my best guess, knowing what I know about how the module interacts with the mind.”

  Roy stood. “Can you at least think about it some more, make sure there’s no way you can restore the module’s effectiveness without taking it that far? If you can find a way, we’d compensate you quite well for your time.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Trumbull struggled to his feet.

  Roy held out his hand, palm out. “Thanks, I’ll let myself out.”

  He got in his car, slid his key into the ignition, then stopped. Trumbull had been all gung-ho about the module back when they contracted with him to create it. Like it was the culmination of his life’s work on computer-based behavior modification, or whatever the hell he called it. Now he seemed hesitant to even think about it. An attack of conscience, or something else? Did he really believe it couldn’t be enhanced without the dire consequences he described, or was that just a bluff?

  Maybe it was a ploy to push for more money. Trumbull knew how critical the module was to GSI’s business model—and MoonPop’s existence.

  Roy started the car and pulled away from the curb. Too bad Trumbull was the only one he could trust to touch that module.

  “Back in a minute, Beau.” Walt Trumbull stroked the cat’s face once more, then hobbled to the bathroom.

  He flicked on the light and stood in the doorway for a moment, catching his breath. Every day, it got just a little bit worse. The pain in his chest, his abdomen, and his hip bone. And the weakness, like death was closing in on him. He glanced at the row of prescription bottles on the bathroom vanity, grabbed the pain pills and washed a couple down with tap water.

  Walt raised his eyes, daring himself to look in the mirror. He was no young man, for sure, but he looked maybe twenty years older than he was. His skin had taken on the ashen tone you’d expect in a terminally ill man. His eyelids sagged over bloodshot eyes dulled with pain and drugs.

  Planting his hands on the counter, he leaned over and hung his head. He thought he could beat it if he threw enough money at it. That’s why he wrote the damned module in the first place. For the money. But ever since, whenever he saw a news story about some hideous violent crime or another, he winced, knowing it was likely his handiwork that caused it. Not the poor soul who’d been arrested and who’d be thrown into one of those money-machine prisons.

  At least the work paid enough at the time that he could afford the treatment he needed. Late-stage colon cancer was a bitch to fight, even for the stronger, younger man he was then. The chemo was intense, but so was his will to live. He endured three soul-crushing rounds of it over a couple of years, and several surgeries to remove this or that. He fought through each day, hoping the treatment would work if he could just tough it out long enough.

  And he’d been cleared. Cancer-free. He started getting his strength back, his life. He tried not to feel quite so guilty when he saw the news stories. After all, the money he got for that module saved his life.

  But about six months ago, when he went in for a routine screening scan, there it was. Not only was it back, but it had spread with a vengeance. New growth in his colon, his liver, his lungs. And his bones. The doctors shook their collective heads. They could try to treat it again, but the regimen would be harsher than anything he’d endured before. And very unlikely to make a difference. In fact, they told him the stress of it on his body could kill him faster than the cancer alone.

  Didn’t matter, really. He didn’t have the money—or the stamina—to go toe-to-toe with cancer a second time. Round One took everything he had.

  But now, Benetti’s problem could be his opportunity. He could alter the module—or just say he did—and get enough money to pay for treatment. He shook his head. Or not. Even if money weren’t a problem, he couldn’t face going through all that again. But the money would surely buy him far better palliative care than he could afford right now.

  He pushed himself up and stood as straight as he could. It was getting harder every day to move around, to take care of himself and Beau. It might not be much longer before he needed help. Live-in care. Or worse, a facility. Neither of those came cheap. And he had no idea who would take care of Beau.

  Walt shuffled back into the living room and groaned as he eased himself back down into the recliner. Maybe he should take Benetti up on it. While he still could.

  CHAPTER 43

  First Monday in February, 2022

  Seco, Texas

  Gil looked in his rearview mirror and fussed with his tie yet again. He hadn’t had to wear one in years, and he’d forgotten how to adjust it so it looked decent and didn’t choke him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get it right today. It either left a gap that made him look hayseed, or it felt just like a noose. How appropriate.

  Of course his boss let him go while he was in prison. They couldn’t keep him on the payroll for six months of doing nothing, and they couldn’t stop work on construction projects while he cooled his heels in prison. So they hired someone in his place. He couldn’t really blame them. Business was business. So when he got out back in November, he had nothing lined up. And he still didn’t.

  Used to be, a prison record—especially a short one—wasn’t that big a hurdle to finding a job. In fact, with arrest rates high, it’d become the new normal. But with crime rates down, the prisons themselves let a lot of employees go. And so had all the businesses that served prisons or their employees—and that was a lot. Laundry, uniforms, restaurants, you name it. Lots of people on the street, looking. Employers could afford to be picky in filling what few openings there were.

  So the job market was a joke now. So much so that, despite applying all over the place and calling everyone he knew who might have a lead on a job—any job—today was the first interview he’d had since he got out.

  And it was for a shit, low-wage office job, something he never would have considered before. But he needed the income, so he was tense, desperate for them to like him enough to hire him. He gazed up at the glass-skinned high rise, blazing in the hot Texas sun. An indoor job in the corporate world. Everything he hated. But he had to find something.

  “Have you ever done this kind of work before? Sorting mail and delivering it to the slots on each floor?”

  Gil hesitated. Should he lie in the hope it would help his chances, or just tell the truth to the pimply-faced kid on the other side of the desk? “No. But I’m sure I can pick it up quickly.”

  The kid frowned and glanced down at a stack of papers. “Oh, I thought your resume said you’d done this kind of work before.”

  “No. I said in my cover letter that I was confident it was something I could do well.”

  “Hm. Well, I’m sorry. Our mistake for calling you in for an interview, then. We have other candidates who’ve actually done the work before. No need to train them. Thanks for your time.” The kid set his resume aside and began skimming the next one under it.

  “That’s it? You won’t even give me a chance to explain why I’d be a good fit?”

  “We’re done, sir.” He waved a hand at the stack of papers before him. “Like I said, we have plenty of other applicants who’ve actually done this kind of work before. No sense in taking a chance on someone who hasn’t.”

  The kid wouldn’t even look him in the eye as he cast him aside like some unwanted fast-food wrapper.

  Gil slammed the front door and hurled his keys across the room. Good thing Aggie wasn’t home yet. She’d want to know how it went, and he didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it. His first and only interview since he got out, and he didn’t even get a chance to complete it, to even try to sell himself as the right candidate for their little shit job. Pushed aside by some punk kid with no real-world experience under his belt.

  Humiliating didn’t even be
gin to cover it.

  He stormed into the kitchen, doing his best to ignore the bills stacked in the little alcove where Aggie did the household paperwork. They couldn’t keep going for much longer on her salary alone. They’d already had to ask a couple of the utilities to let them get on a payment plan. They’d cut their budget to the bone, and still their savings were dipping into the danger zone.

  But what could he do? They’d gone through all the money he’d been saving to start his own construction firm, so that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Didn’t matter anyway. Building had pretty much come to a standstill. He’d tried—he’d really tried—to find work, any work. Might as well be back in prison for all the good he was able to do. At least there he got his meals, such as they were, provided for him.

  The front door closed and Aggie called out in a hopeful voice, “I’m home—how’d it go?”

  Gil clapped a hand to his face. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Aggie hurried in, smiling. “So? How’d it go?” Her smile wilted when she saw him.

  “They have other, more qualified candidates.”

  “Oh.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve done construction all my life, and it’s gone bust. No one’s building anything right now. And with the job market the way it is, I can’t compete for office jobs against people who have actual experience—no matter how menial.”

  “Don’t worry. Something’ll come up…eventually,” Aggie murmured in his ear.

  Gil broke away from her and slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. A coffee cup fell to the floor and shattered.

  “Eventually isn’t good enough! You know as well as I do what our finances look like.”

  Aggie wiped tears from her eyes. “I can see if they’ll give me more hours at the greenhouse. That’ll help some. Maybe I can take on some private gigs. You know, garden design, that sort of thing.”

  “And who’s spending money on garden design these days?”

  “I’m just trying to come up with possibilities—”

  “Don’t you see? There are no possibilities!”

  Aggie sobbed. “I’m trying. I’m doing my best to help. We’ll get through this somehow. We have to.”

  Gil reached for her, took her in his arms. “I am so sorry. I know you’re doing everything you can. I just feel so…helpless. I should be working. I should be bringing in money. I’ve never been out of work in my life, and I don’t know what to do.” He held her tighter as she trembled and sobbed against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER 44

  First Tuesday in February, 2022

  Seco, Texas

  Aggie arrived at work a few minutes early, hoping to catch her boss in a free moment. She went right to the back of the main nursery building to the cluttered little room that served as his office.

  She rapped gently on the open door. “Miguel?”

  He looked up from a sheaf of papers. “Yeah, Aggie. What’s up?”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure, have a seat.” He frowned. “Everything okay? You look upset.”

  Aggie pulled up a metal folding chair, took a seat, and wove her fingers together in her lap. “Things are a little…difficult right now.”

  Miguel pushed aside his papers, a look of concern on his face. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Gil. He’s been trying really hard. But the job market. It’s terrible. Construction’s dried up, and he’s been looking everywhere, trying to find anything he can. But there’s nothing.”

  “I’d like to help, but you know we’re not hiring right now.”

  “I know. I was hoping I could take on more hours. At least for a while.”

  Miguel blew out a breath and shook his head. “I wish I could help you, but sales are down. A lot.” He smacked one of the papers with the back of his hand. “I’m barely making payroll as it is. I give you more hours, I go into the red. It’s that bad.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

  “I’m working on starting up a mail-order line. Maybe I can pull in some business from less affected areas.” He sighed. “Trouble is, I don’t think there are any areas—even nationwide—that haven’t been hit in the downturn. But I’ve got to try something.”

  Aggie rose. “Well, thank you anyway.”

  “If there’s anything else I can do to help, please let me know. I’m really sorry I can’t do more.”

  She waved her hand. “No. It’s okay. Thanks.”

  Aggie hurried to the bathroom and locked herself in. She closed the toilet lid, sat down, put her face in her hands, and cried. Everywhere she turned, a dead end. Gil couldn’t get a job to save his life, and she couldn’t even get some overtime. Hell, from the sound of it, she was probably lucky to have a job at all. What if Miguel had to start cutting staff?

  Slow down, slow down. Breathe in, out. She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate, her pulse beginning to pound. Hold it together…come on…

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Aggie sniffed, tried to sound normal. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Aggie? What’s wrong?” Karen called through the door.

  If there was anyone she could confide in, it was Karen. Aggie took a deep breath, wiped away her tears, and slowly opened the door just wide enough to peer out. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. What’s the matter? Why’re you crying?”

  She let Karen in and shut the door. “It’s too much.”

  “What is, what’s going on?” Karen reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, you can tell me.”

  “I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. Gil can’t find a job. Miguel can’t give me more hours. It’s like everything that can go wrong, has gone wrong. And keeps going wrong.”

  Karen folded her into a warm, soft hug. “Oh, honey. Something’ll come up. It always does. You’ve been through so much. I don’t know how you’ve held up as well as you have, you know, with what happened to Lennie and all.”

  Aggie cried harder. She still felt guilty, ashamed, and more than a little responsible for Lennie’s suicide. Karen had no idea how involved they’d been. She thought Aggie had only met Lennie for drinks a couple of times. Maybe she deserved what was happening. Maybe she was being punished on some level for what she’d done, and Gil was paying the price along with her.

  “Hey, it’ll be okay. You’re a strong woman, you and Gil’ll get through this. I know you will.” Karen pulled back, brushed the hair out of Aggie’s eyes. “I don’t have much, but I do have a little money set aside. If you need some to help tide you over, I could maybe help. Let me know.”

  “You’re a good friend, Karen. Thanks for offering. I really appreciate it, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Aggie sniffed, smoothed down her hair in the mirror. “Well, I’d better get to work. It’ll help get my mind off things.”

  Besides, the last thing she needed was to look like she wasn’t getting her work done. No way could she risk losing her job. That would be the last straw.

  Gil sloshed the last of the coffee into his mug and plunked down on the living room couch with his laptop. Time for his usual morning routine, the endless and fruitless hunt. He sighed and wondered how much longer he should bother to keep it up. What was it they said? A sure sign of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Well, by that measure, he was as looney as they come.

  Every single day since he got out of prison, he logged on and pored through job sites and Craigslist postings. And every time, he either came up totally dry—or he applied to yet another place that never even bothered to respond to him. So far, he’d only gotten as far as an interview once: that debacle with the pimply-faced kid. Hardly worth the humiliation, that one. Over the months, he’d honed his daily search to such a rote ritual, he could probably do it in his sleep. Maybe he was doing it in his sleep. Be his luck to miss a truly p
romising posting someday just because he skimmed on by in a daze.

  He closed the laptop and finished his coffee. That didn’t take long. Hardly any new listings to sort through today anyway. Now he had the rest of the day to do—what? He’d never felt so useless in all his life. He’d always worked, ever since he was sixteen, old enough to responsibly swing a hammer. He’d helped his dad on construction jobs, working around school hours and learning the trade from the bottom up.

  His dad always intended for him to inherit the family business, but he and his mom died in a car accident before Gil was old enough to take it on. So he’d worked in the construction industry, honing his skills, watching and learning what business practices worked and which didn’t. And saving his money to open his own. He’d been pretty close, too. But now that they’d burned through that money trying to stay afloat, his dream of owning his own firm was at best deferred—perhaps destroyed forever. If only he hadn’t gotten arrested and thrown in prison for making a simple mistake. None of this would have happened.

  Gil got up and wandered through the house. At least now he had the space to move around when he felt like it. Not like in that cramped cell. Funny how a modest rambler could feel like a luxury mansion. Sometimes he took a long, hot shower just because he could. Still, it was lonely hanging around when Aggie wasn’t there. But at least she still had work. It was the only thing keeping them from defaulting on their mortgage. Barely.

  His cell rang. He ran and grabbed it off the table, hoping it was a callback on a job.

  Hello, we’re doing a survey—

  “Fuck off!”

  He jabbed End Call and flopped down onto the couch, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He drew a deep breath and checked his email on the phone. Nothing new. Nothing happening. What if he never got a job again?

  Gil idly scrolled through the phone’s icons. MoonPop. He hadn’t played that since before he went to prison. Not that he’d ever been that good at it. In fact, he stunk. Never even got to the first level, he was so bad. But he’d never spent that much time playing it, he’d been so busy with work.