INDELICATE INCIDENTS: 6-8

Blood in the water. Snowdrifts. Dive bars.

Jakob is a handsome bastard. Jaw you could open beer bottles with. Salesman smile. Great hair. Not like my wild mane, shoulder length and nothing but chaos.

All my brothers were handsome. I’m the plain one in the family.

Even as a kid. Plain Frank with unkempt hair and a dirty face. Angular and off-balance.

Face a scowl. Head lowered. Ashamed of who and what they were telling me to be.

‘The boys got the looks and the brains,’ my dad used to say. ‘You got nothing but a bad attitude.’

He’d throw back his head and laugh. Same good looks as his sons, twisted by booze and bad drugs.

‘First pancake out of the batch is always a little sloppy,’ he liked to say.

It’s true. Still got on my nerves.

My father’s dead now.

Jakob’s face is everywhere these days. On the news. In newspapers. Every gossip site on the planet. Memes and videos and podcasts documentaries and fucking television specials.

Every moment of our lives dissected and cut open for the world to see. Jokes and laughter. Analysis and opinions.

They asked every question and studied every second of our lives but the one that mattered most.

I’m lucky in my anonymity. Aside from government IDs, there are no pictures of me past the age of sixteen.

The people who play me on the shows don’t look like me. More feminine. Sensual curves. Soft where I’m bony.

Great hair, every one of them.

Pull a baseball hat over my head and put on a pair of oversized sunglasses and it’s like I never existed.

It’s nice.

I pass one of those video billboards. Jakob’s face flashes across it, hundreds of feet high.

I have to tilt my head back. Stand in the middle of the crosswalk like a fucking tourist and gape up at my little brother’s face.

It’s like you can’t get away from him.

Unless you actually want to find him.

I keep my eyes on the ground these days. Fade into the scenery. Don’t look at me because I’m not really here.

It works. I’m very good at it.

7.

Snowdrifts I’m running through snowdrifts clawing at them pushing with my raging chest but my limbs are frozen and heavy cold and wet and I’m so so tired but I can’t stop can’t slow down can’t even risk a glance behind me or I’ll be caught.

I don’t want to be caught.

I can run I can keep running I don’t have to stop or look back if I go forward if I keep going I’ll be safe and sound safe if I keep going forward I can keep my head above the snowdrifts and it will be okay for a little while longer.

But I’m sinking. The snow gets deeper and deeper the faster I try to run. I’m weighed down on all sides in fine powdery snow sharp sugar on my tongue. Hands sore and face burning but I’m going to keep running I can dig everyone out of the snow.

Except I keep sinking.

I’m a weight I’m pulling someone down behind me into the snow I’m falling and I’m caught but I never really got away in the first place and the snow is in my mouth my nose I’m choking in on it and I hear them screaming above me my brothers DennisGeorgieTobiasTimAaronJakob Grady Derek Ben even my fucking parents, god rest their shitty souls.

They’re all screaming and I’m dragging them all down down into the snow where it’s cold and dark and I’m trying to stop falling I swear to god I’m trying so fucking goddamn hard but I’m an anchor and an anchor can’t do anything but sink.

Something is pulling me down into the snow and it’s cold it’s burning and it hurts all over and everywhere at once and I can still hear them screaming and I wish for a bullet in the brain of everyone and they’re falling only because I pushed them.

Something is wrapped around my ankle. Something warm and thick and eating away at my skin easy and steady. It’s not pulling me down oh no I don’t need any help with that.

It’s guiding my downward spiral aiming me towards a target and I’m a bomb I’m blackness I’m the bad parts of DennisGeorgieTobiasTimAaronJakob and there’s nothing left to do but burn baby burn.

8.

I’ve been waiting at this seedy little bar for twenty minutes. There’s neon flashing signs behind the bar. Endless rows of dusty bottles. Christmas lights decorate the ceiling for some reason.

I know if I go to the bathroom it will be covered in graffiti and band stickers.

My kind of place.

Open beer bottle sweats on the counter. The wood is warped and discolored. The bartender eyes me with professional disdain. I nurse my drink and keep my eyes on the bar.

Wish I’d brought a book with me.

He shows up fifteen minutes later. His hair is a pale, silver grey. He’s grown stubble. It doesn’t suit him. I’m pretty sure he’s wearing the same suit he had on when I met him over a decade ago.

Looks just as threadbare as the last time I saw it.

‘What am I doing here?’ he asks by way of greeting. Slides onto the stool next to me.

‘Hey, Agent Nescio,’ I say. ‘Long time no see.’ Take a sip of beer, wetting my lips.

‘You’re not supposed to try and contact the people following you, you know,’ he says. ‘It goes against the whole nature of things. You’re not supposed to try to get my attention.’ I shrug.

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ I ask.

Nescio orders a vodka soda. The bartender deposits the drink, drifts away. His eyes stray back to us now and then.

I can’t blame him. We make for an oddly matched pair. Nescio in his threadbare suit with the shiny elbows. Sleek hair and company man posture. Me with frizzy brown hair mashed under a stained baseball cap. Oversized jacket and fingerless black gloves.

Derek once told me I dress like I’m still homeless.

It’s a hard habit to break.

‘And here we are, Frank,’says Nescio once the bartender’s focus shifts back to the football game on the battered TV. ‘You have my attention.’

‘You read my note,’ I say. Nescio nods.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Very succinct.’ I wait. He focuses his attention on his drink.

I’m no good at waiting.

‘And?’ I ask. He looks pleased at having won our silent stand-off.

‘I know the situation,’ Nescio says. ‘I’ve seen the news.’ He pauses. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Jakob.’ Can’t even be bothered to look me in the eye.

‘Yeah, everyone’s real sorry,’ I say. I take a swig of my beer. Point the mouth of the bottle at him. ‘Actually, fuck you. You don’t get to be sorry. Not after what you did.’

‘You didn’t bring me here to rehash ancient history, did you?’ he asks.

‘I told you why I wanted to see you,’ I say.

‘Tell me again,’ he says.

I drain my drink and slam the bottle down on the bar. Signal the bartender for another. I belch. Agent Nescio winces.

‘If you brought me here to watch you get drunk-’ he starts. I shake my head.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I brought you here to help me find out where the hell Jakob is.’