What Doesn't Kill Us--A McKenzie Novel by David Housewright (best books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

court, he told his ex-wife to call his lawyer. “The cops arrested me because they know I beat on that fuck bouncer at Haven last night and then threatened to shoot up the place and I need all the help I can get,” he said.

“Guy confesses on the telephone,” Eddie said. “What a fucktard.”

Shipman ground her teeth together—at least I picture her grinding her teeth—and told herself, it’s not even one thirty P.M. and they’ve already closed their case. Dammit.

“You think that’s dumb,” Gafford said. He had been sitting at his own desk near Shipman. “The boss and I caught a shooting at a fast-food joint this A.M. Talk about comedy.”

He related the entire story, speculating at the end that the young woman who started it all would probably get a suspended dis con while the “Second Amendment guy” might take a fall for as many as seven years for felony assault with a deadly weapon.

“If he had kept his cool—misdemeanor assault and he ends up paying a fine at the most,” Gafford said.

“He didn’t want to keep his cool,” Sarah said. “He wanted to shoot someone in the worst way and so he did.”

“I love mankind … It’s people I can’t stand,” Eddie said. “Charles M. Schulz wrote that. You know. The Peanuts guy.”

“I’m sorry,” Shipman said. “Am I the only one around here with work to do?”

That generated the response from her colleagues that you might expect including Sarah’s imitation of an angry cat, her hand curled like a claw and her mouth making a hissing sound.

“Bitch,” Shipman muttered quietly to herself.

She turned her attention back to my notes.

What happened to me next.

TUESDAY, MAY 19 (MORNING)

The first thing I had written that morning was DO SOMETHING NICE FOR NINA in all caps and bold type. That was because the woman proved once again that she trusted me implicitly, even though I had involved her in God knows how much nonsense over the years. You need to love a woman like that.

It was about ten A.M. Since Nina rarely went to bed before two it was actually early for her. She saw me sitting at the computer while she prepared to leave for Rickie’s and asked what I was working on. I told her I was doing a favor for a friend, which didn’t surprise her at all. I also told her I was unable to reveal the extent of the favor or the name of the friend without permission for fear of embarrassing him, which didn’t seem to surprise her, either. Instead, she asked if I would see her later. I said I wasn’t sure. She said to give her a call.

She embraced and kissed me good-bye as she headed for the door. Unlike the usual quick hug and peck on the lips or cheek that I usually received, Nina kissed me as if she wanted to be talked into staying home. So, I tried to talk her into staying. “You work way too hard,” I said.

She smiled and laughed and said she enjoyed managing her club almost as much as I enjoyed doing favors for friends, at least during business hours. After closing time was a different matter, though. Nina gave me that look, you know the one I mean, and said, “You will make time for me?”

“Nothing shall keep me away,” I said.

Jean Shipman wrote on her yellow legal pad: “What kept you away? You are such an idiot, McKenzie.”

I hadn’t received a phone call from Elliot Sohm’s father or anyone else for that matter and I was wondering if I would. I checked Dave Deese’s DNA website for messages and found two. The first was from Marshall of Minneapolis:

I appreciate the courtesy you showed my daughter yesterday. However, I have discussed the matter with several of my relatives and it was decided that, while we wish you well, we don’t believe it will be helpful to pursue this relationship. You must realize, this revelation does not affect just you and I and Elliot, but a great many other family members as well who will be devastated by the knowledge that you bring us. Thank you for understanding the gravity of our position. Good luck.

The second message I received came from Elliot:

It was so much fun meeting you yesterday. You might not have noticed—I hope you didn’t notice—but I spent a lot of time studying your face to see if we had the same eyes, the same nose, the same chin. I think smile? It’s so cool to have an uncle that looks like he plays sports—please tell me that you play sports. I play soccer and softball. No one else in my family does anything except for my cousin Emma who does everything. I hope to meet with you again soon.

Elliot’s message came a half hour after the one sent by Marshall from Minneapolis, which meant that either she wasn’t aware of her family’s decision concerning me—Dave Deese, actually—or she was rebelling against their wishes. I felt a little guilty about that. All I was looking for was a little information that I would hand off to Deese to do with as he pleased. I certainly didn’t mean to cause a rift between her and her family.

Before I replied to either father or daughter, I decided to do a little more research. This time I surfed the net for Marshall Sohm. The first thing I learned was that Sohm was a German name originating in the high country, wherever the hell that was. It’s not like I looked it up on a map.

The second thing was an article that appeared in the Spooner Advocate, a newspaper published in northwestern Wisconsin:

Marshall Sohm, Sr. of Shell Lake, Wisconsin, will celebrate his 75th birthday at an open house from 2 to 4 P.M. Oct. 25 at the Shell Lake Arts Center.

Cards may be sent to 802 First Street, Shell Lake, WI, 54871.

His children are Marshall, Jr. and Krystal Sohm of St. Paul, MN, Jerome and Tonya