The Sins of the Father
by Amanda Rohrssen
Chapter Twelve
A heavy sigh escaped into the equally heavy silence, joining the concentrated air which had grown more and more laden with heavy sighs since J. Gander had taken over. He sat now with his fingers to his brow, propping his head up as his troubled gaze stared through the documents on the desk below.
The office was more than fifty years old, and had housed a fantastic line of noteworthy leaders whose accomplishments J. Gander felt he couldn’t even remotely aspire to. Two portraits in particular hung on the walls, both of which held significance for the newest SHUSH director. One was of the first SHUSH leader, the one who paved the way for generations of directors, and the second was of the late Director Bonaparte, who had been a great mentor and friend to him. What J. Gander wouldn’t give to hunt down the man who had so callously ended Bonaparte’s career with two bullets to the head, echoing the assassination of President Kenneldy thirteen years prior. He had vowed to find the killer, even if it took him the rest of his career.
Another sigh. He pushed himself back, the leather on the chair squeaking from the friction, and redirected his thoughts elsewhere for the time being. The framed 5X7 on the corner of his desk caught his attention, and he picked it up, fully aware that he was postponing the inevitable.
The day he had been sworn in as Director of SHUSH had been one of the proudest in his life, though he wished it had been under different circumstances. Still, Bonaparte had made strictly clear in his documents (his HU-2870s to be exact) that it was to be J. Gander Hooter to succeed him, much to John’s astonishment. It was usually the chief agent who stepped up once the director’s time had ended. The only thing that would have made that day better was if his best friend could have been there. But, as had seemed to be the trend ever since he had taken up with Blunt, Jacob had been on assignment and unable to break himself away. Their friendship had seemed to wilt as a result, a fact which appeared observable to J. Gander alone, and continued to do so even after Jacob had transferred to the local division. Still, Jacob had been the voice of encouragement when so many others had doubted J. Gander’s ability to lead, doubts which undeniably sprouted from the fact that he was the youngest SHUSH director in the history of the organization.
Another sigh. How could this happen? What had led his old friend down such a dangerous path, spurred him to risk his near perfect life?
In the ten years since Jacob had officially ended his globe-trotting with Blunt, J. Gander had noticed a change not only in their friendship, but in Jacob himself as well. It was glaringly obvious to J. Gander that something was and had been amiss in his old friend’s life for some time, he just didn’t know what.
In an effort to repair whatever damage had been done, the moment J. Gander was named Bonaparte’s successor he knew he wanted no other mallard serving as his chief agent than Jacob. Now, however, he was faced with some disturbing evidence that could ruin Jacob’s career. He was not at all looking forward to the forthcoming meeting.
A brief knock preceded a brash opening of the door. It was Jacob, late as usual.
“You wanted to see me, John?”
There was a kind of hopeful glint in his eyes that made it that much harder for J. Gander to look at him. He addressed his stapler instead.
“How long have we known each other, Jacob?”
His friend was quiet for a moment, as if the question confused him. He shrugged.
“Geez, John, I don’t know…22 years? Ha! Man, we’re really turning into a couple of old geezers, aren’t we? …And by ‘we’, I mean you, naturally.”
John’s short beak turned up in a weak smile, but not even Jacob’s charisma could downplay the situation. A third sigh settled heavily into the air.
“Tell me about The Old Haunt.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “The Old Haunt? Used to be an upstanding place until a few years back. Now it’s just a seedy bar where copious amounts of the city’s reprobates loom. Why?”
The small stack of papers slid across the desk toward him, and J. Gander’s tired stare finally rested on his ex-partner. “This.”
Jacob moved forward and scooped up the papers, glancing through them carefully.
“Oh, come on, John, you don’t honestly believe –"
“I don’t know what I believe, Jacob. Not anymore.”
Black eyes narrowed under a severe brow. The edge of John’s impressive oaken desk was suddenly occupied by Jacob’s strong hands, as if threatening to overturn it. His grip was so tight the feathers around his knuckles paled.
“Twenty-two years, John,” he snarled lowly in a voice his friend recognized as one reserved for hated adversaries. “Twenty-two years, and you dare to question my integrity…If you weren’t my friend, I’d break your beak here and now. As it is, it appears I value our friendship more than you do. The title’s gone to your head.” With a sharp jerk Jacob released the desk and took a deep breath. “I’ve got a family to get home to. I can only hope by tomorrow you’ll come to your senses.”
There was nothing left to say. Jacob departed with a lasting glower that didn’t make a dent in J. Gander’s calm, hard stare.
The car had sat in idle for a good twenty minutes before J. Gander finally turned off the engine. Silence settled over him like fog, making him all too painfully aware of what he was doing out in the middle of what was quickly becoming one of the most criminally active areas in the city.
He drummed his fingers agitatedly against the steering wheel, glancing across the street every other second toward the entrance to The Old Haunt. For a “seedy bar where copious amounts of the city’s reprobates loom,” it sure was quiet. A little too quiet. An unsettling quiet that heightened the churning in his stomach. The time for internal argument had come and gone, now it was left to gather his strength. He needed to know the truth once and for all, even if it meant losing his best friend.
The car door protested loudly as he exited, its hinges old and rusty from years of abuse. He made a mental note to buy some oil on his way home.
Voices floated over the saloon-style doors as the SHUSH director crossed the street, taking deep breaths as he went to alleviate the difficulty of clinging to his confidence. The orange light rolled over him like a sunrise as he stepped up toward the entrance, but he didn’t continue inside. Instead he peered over the wooden swingers to spy the participants in the intense conversation. In the back of the bar, surrounded by notable delinquents, was Jacob, his pronounced eyebrows knitted together as he spoke in earnest.
Wanting to get a better view, and perhaps a better listen, J. Gander crept around the side of the building and into the alleyway. Unfortunately for the undersized avian, the only windows on the side of the structure were set up high. A few tattered, discarded boxes littered the alley, and he set about making a tower of them so that he could look through the glass nearest the back.
They were standing in a semi-circle around the table, Jacob in the middle. The only one seated J. Gander recognized as Shannon Mongoose, and his thick sausage fingers were steepled underneath his portly chin. On either side of him stood his twin sons, Dominick and Nino. Flanking them were other members of the Mongoose Gang, one of the most notorious groups of felons Saint Canard had ever seen.
“Come on, Mongoose,” Jacob was saying firmly. “Do your part. Otherwise, you know who I’m going to, and I don’t think you want her taking control of this part of town.”
“We don’t owe’em nothin’,” Dominick said gruffly, folding his beefy arms.
“I don’t think I was addressing you, son,” Jacob replied evenly.
“How much are we talking here?” Mongoose asked, his steely voice grating through the tension between his son and the SHUSH agent.
“Enough. You can’t put a price on this kind of thing. And let’s not forget what he did for you when your son stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.”
Moments passed, and J. Gander couldn’t imagine the expression Mongoose must be wearing. People that usually talked to him like that ended up at the bottom of the Audubon Bay. The mobster reached into his pocket, and the director felt every muscle in his body tense up.
“Jacob!” he shouted, hoping to warn his friend. Jerking upright, he tumbled off of the tower of boxes and raced around the corner before barreling through the swinging doors. “Stop!”
The scene before him froze, Mongoose in the act of handing over a wad of cash to Jacob. John drew his gun and aimed it toward the group huddled at the corner. Unfortunately, the entire mob drew their own arsenal at the same time.
“Whoa, whoa!” Jacob cried, pushing to the front of the group. “Hang on a second, put those down!”
The felons looked warily from each other to their boss, whose single nod sent guns back into pockets. Mongoose seemed to recognize the SHUSH director, and leaned back farther in his chair to watch the impending conversation with the slightest hint of a smirk beneath his thin mustache.
“What are you doing here…sir?”
The afterthought of formality didn’t escape the notice of J. Gander, and the ease with which Jacob consorted with the gang didn’t sit well with his friend.
“I should ask you the same thing, agent,” he said, mimicking his tone. “Except that I already have an idea. They’re one of your payers, aren’t they, Mallard? One of many in this part of town. They pay you off, you let them run things how they see fit.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob seethed through his teeth.
“Don’t try and talk your way out of it, I saw what you were about to do, I heard what you said.”
“You don’t know anything. Stand down, sir. I’ve got to finish things here, and then I promise we’ll talk later.”
J. Gander’s eyes slid over to Mongoose, whose thick eyebrow was raised curiously as he eyed superior and agent. The director could feel a sickly, nauseating feeling creeping into his stomach. Jacob was making him look like a weak fool, and no criminal mastermind would take SHUSH seriously if they knew it was headed by a pushover. John stood his ground.
“No. You’re relieved of your duties until I see fit. Give me your badge and your gun, agent. You’re coming with me.”
“I can’t, I need –"
“Now, agent.”
The soundless car ride was interrupted by a short trip to a convenience store for some much needed oil before J. Gander’s old jalopy dragged its tires into the front parking space at SHUSH Central. Two sets of webbed feet strode into the building, one pair much more purposeful and confident than the other. J. Gander hoped Jacob couldn’t hear his racing heart as they entered his sober office.
“Sit…” His voice sounded muffled and strained, as if an invisible rope had him in a chokehold. When he reached his desk he cleared his throat and repeated himself a little more firmly. “Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand…sir.”
Jacob sounded so cold, so angry, that J. Gander could barely catch the twinge of hurt Jacob was trying hard to mask. That sound alone made the gander already regret his decision. Deep down there was the fear that this act alone would be enough to sever their friendship. But J. Gander was the director, and SHUSH always came first.
“Fine. Tell me exactly what you were doing receiving money from the Mongoose Gang?”
Jacob’s eyebrows twitched minutely as he stared at his superior. “Did you know a man named Charlie Collarton?”
“No, and I don’t see what that has to do with –"
“He had a wife and two kids. Owned a nice little bar for quite some time before the lowlifes took over. To protect his family and stay in business he let a few things slide, let the cons move in and do business there so long as it was under the table. But somebody didn’t want to play by the rules…shoved a shotgun down his throat.” He leaned forward, gripping the desk as he had done earlier that day. “The reason I was collecting money was reparations for Mr. Collarton’s family. Charlie was a good man. He didn’t deserve what he got. I’m going to see to it that his widow is taken care of, and what better way to do that than collecting from the same criminal scum responsible for his death?”
J. Gander was silent for a few long minutes, turning this odd narrative over in his mind. It didn’t quite seem to make sense in the director’s straightforward, black-and-white manner of thinking. But this wasn’t paperwork, so easily definable. He raised an eyebrow behind his small spectacles.
“And why would mobsters and criminals so freely give their money to a dead man’s family? Or more specifically, to you?”
“Look, John, I have my own methods. They respect me down there, and they see things my way, because they know what’s there for them on the other side if they don’t. If Mongoose hadn’t divvied up, I’d have been a little bit more intrusive on his men’s…activities. And without manpower, he knows he’ll lose to Mob Hill. He has every reason to comply.”
The gander’s jaw hung open. “Jacob, that’s completely unethical! Making deals with criminals and baiting them against one another! I’ve never heard of such –"
“That’s because you’re not out there, John. You’re safe and sound in your little office puppeteering the rest of us.”
“And you’re out there gallivanting around with the very people we’re supposed to be protecting the city from!”
“Last I checked, we weren’t cops. Let them do the protecting and serving.”
“Aren’t you afraid of retaliation? What about your family?”
“What about them?” Jacob snapped. “You have no idea how much I’ve already had to sacrifice for their sake! My independence, my freedom, my time, my job…”
“Your job? I didn’t mean to imply…wait…Does this have to do with your transfer a few years back?”
The slicked back feathers on Jacob’s head ruffled slightly as he ran his fingers through them, as he always did when he felt frustrated or worried.
“I didn’t tell you before, but it was never my decision to break away from Blunt and stay local. It was Gail’s. With Drake on the way, she wanted me home more. She gave me little room for another option.” He smirked. “I hate it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but…I miss being out there; actually making a difference; having adventures; using intrigue, gadgets, death-defying stunts to defeat real-world threats. I’ve felt trapped ever since I transferred. In working with the downtown mobs to maintain order, I’ve found a purpose, I feel useful again. But it’s not the same. Believe me, John, this isn’t what I had in mind.”
The gander smiled. “I know. You wanted to be on top of the world. You had to know what you were getting into when you married, though.”
Jacob shifted his weight, growing tired of this subject. He’d had this same internal conversation with himself for years now. “I thought I did. I didn’t plan on fatherhood taking so much away from me.” He grew quiet, an agitated look returning to his aging face. He crossed his arms and stood up to his full height. “I don’t take bribes, John. You know me better than that.”
J. Gander struggled to put Jacob’s actions in any perspective that didn’t seem underhanded. “So you mean to tell me that in some strange, roundabout way you’re trying to rehabilitate the cons of this city by enforcing contributions to their victims’ families while at the same time allowing them to continue running their covert, illegal activities?”
“Something like that.”
J. Gander rubbed his brow. It was all so bizarre, and it was too much for the bird to make sense of at the moment. But he knew for certain that no matter what happened, the last thing he could do was fire his best friend, and Jacob had never been purposely malicious or corrupt despite some of his questionable methods. Perhaps he had been too hasty in suspending the agent. Besides, if things did get out of hand, he could always assign more agents to Jacob’s beat to handle things.
Finally he lifted his eyes and smiled faintly. “And to think…I want you to be my chief agent.”
Jacob blinked, clearly not expecting the offer. “You’re joking.”
“No, I’m quite serious. All of the men here respect you and look up to you, Jacob. I know it isn’t exactly your ideal, but you’ll have a lot more say in the way things are run. After all, the only person you’ll report to will be me. It’s either this, or staying where you are. There are a lot more benefits to being the chief agent than you might think, and certainly it will help your family financially. Carrie’s starting high school this year, right? In another year she’ll be driving.”
Jacob cringed. “Don’t remind me.”
John smiled. “Just think about it. Talk it over with Gail. I’ll expect your answer by the end of the week. In the meantime…be careful with the way you deal with Mongoose and Hill. I trust you’re doing your best to uphold the law, but you never know what a mob leader will decide to do. I want you to use more caution.”
“Oh come now, John…I’m always cautious.” Jacob flashed a brief boyish smirk before adding, “So…does this mean I can have my badge back?”
“Of course.” J. Gander slid the badge and handgun across the desk toward his friend, but kept his hands on them as a grin filled his bill. “Once you’ve cleaned and organized your office.”
Jacob groaned.