The Widow and the Will (2 page)

Chapter 4

Hudson Marks arrived at his office promptly at seven a.m., as was his usual habit. Dressed neatly in a fresh pair of tan khakis and a red polo shirt, he had no need to wear a suit to the office that day even though he was a lawyer. He had no court appearances and expected no client meetings. Hudson liked the laid back kind of day he thought he would have.

As he unlocked the door and stepped inside the small two-room-and-a-bathroom suite, if you could call it that, he reached to flip on the overhead lights. The sound of snoring came to him immediately and he looked to the right at the couch against the wall. His brother, Ford, was sprawled on it, passed out and reeking of alcohol and cigarettes.
Dammit
.

Sighing, Hudson dropped his briefcase so that it whacked against the side of the couch. It had no effect on the sleeping man. “Hey!” he shouted. That produced the desired results. Ford snorted and sat up, startled. He snapped his eyes back shut from the bright lights and then placed both of his hands on his head, moaning the whole time. Hudson grinned devilishly.
That’s the price you pay, big brother
, he thought, but didn’t say out loud. He didn’t have to be that much of an ass.

“Shit, man, what did you have to do that for?” Ford whispered.

Hudson shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Because you aren’t supposed to be passed out in the office. Where’s your bike?”

Ford rubbed his face and head. “I don’t remember.”

“For Christ’s sakes, Ford.” Hudson’s voice rose, causing Ford to cringe.

“Gimme a second, would ya?” Ford stood up slowly and listed to the right, then steadied himself. “I didn’t ride last night. Joe picked me up. He must have dropped me off here instead of at home.”

“Ya think?” Hudson muttered as he pulled his truck keys from his pocket. “Are you still drunk?”

Ford opened one eye and squinted. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”

“Shit.” Hudson shoved the keys back down into the folds of his pants. “I’d tell you to take my truck and go home, but I don’t want you for a client. Go back to sleep, it’s early.”

Ford ignored him and shuffled toward the bathroom. Hudson sighed again and grabbed his briefcase. He crossed the room, which was really a kind of waiting area with the couch, a secretary’s desk, and small cabinet housing the coffeemaker, to open the door to his private office in the back. He tossed the bag on the single client chair in front of his desk and then went back out to the main area. While he waited for Ford to relinquish the bathroom, Hudson prepared to make a pot of coffee. Yeah, he was irritated to find his older sibling sleeping off a drunk in the office, but it had become so commonplace he couldn’t really get that angry. In spite of his penchant for drink, Ford was responsible enough not to get on his motorcycle in a compromised position. Hudson would rather find him on the couch, safe and sound, than dead in the morgue or sitting in jail. He filled the coffee pot from the water cooler and poured it in. Jamming his thumb on the brew button, he slid the pot in place to collect the elixir of life that would soon come pouring forth.

Ten minutes went by without a sound from the bathroom. No running water, no flushing. Just as Hudson went to knock on the door to make sure Ford hadn’t passed out again, his brother emerged looking pale and sweaty.

“You didn’t barf in there did you?”

Ford glowered at him. “Yes, I did. Sorry. I cleaned it up.”

Hudson growled. “You better have.” He looked his brother up and down and shook his head. “You’re a mess. I’ll call you a cab and you can go home.”

“I’ll be fine. Let me have a cup of coffee and then I’ll borrow your truck.”

“Highly unlikely.”

The brothers stood silently at opposite ends of the room while the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, disguising any odor of disinfectant that had leaked out of the bathroom. When they both had cups, Hudson went into his office and Ford sat back down on the couch.

Hudson glanced around his tiny inner sanctum and smiled. The space was only about twelve foot square, barely fitting his large oak desk, a filing cabinet and another brown, microfiber couch. It wasn’t the poshest of spaces, but it was comfortable and inviting. For as many times as Hudson found his brother passed out in the main area, he’d taken a nap or two himself behind the closed door.

It wasn’t often a new attorney, only three years out of law school, could open his own place and keep it afloat. Most of his pals had taken 80-hour-a-week jobs with silk stocking firms just to pay off their school loans and to gain as much experience as possible before thinking about opening their own practice. But Hudson hadn’t wanted that kind of a life. He liked to work, and work hard, and the proof was in the fact that he had very little college debt to pay off. Between scholarships and working multiple jobs, he’d managed to get through college and law school without as much debt hanging over his head that plagued so many others. He knew just how lucky he was. Granted, it had taken him a few extra years to do it, but he had. He felt pretty accomplished for 31 years old.

Hudson had taken one of those grueling positions with Hacket & Hacket in downtown Detroit for one year right after graduating law school, and in that time, lived in a studio apartment, scrimping and saving every cent he could. After twelve months, he gladly gave his notice and opened his own firm right in St. Clair Shores where he’d been born and raised.

Hudson found the space on the end of a building right on Harper Avenue, negotiated a rent he could afford, had a sign made and was off and running. For the last three years, he’d managed to stay in business by handling any legal matter that walked through his door.

Of course, it hadn’t hurt to have Ford working with him, even if he was the resident fuckup. He’d disappeared while Hudson was in law school, reappearing just in time for graduation and it had taken him a long time to forgive his big brother for not being there. Once Hudson realized that Ford had lots of interesting contacts that provided an endless supply of petty drug offenses, traffic tickets, and other misdemeanors to defend in court, Hudson took him on as an investigator and partner. Ford wasn’t interested in college or any other sort of mainstream career, and it helped the firm stay afloat.

Hudson knew he could probably have taken on a couple of other partners, moved to a larger office, and made more money. But that kind of life didn’t interest him. He liked being able to take the kinds of cases he wanted and still have some hours in the day to live however he chose.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” he said to himself, pulling out of the reverie. He sifted through mail from the last few days and found most of it to be junk. Tossing it into the trash can under his desk, he turned to his computer and booted up to check emails. “Crap.” There were a half a dozen from his most recent DUI client who was more insecure than a teenage girl in the first flushes of puppy love. He would need some serious hand holding. Then he skimmed past a couple from opposing counsel in a contested guardianship case. And last, his least favorite, was from a judge’s clerk informing him that he had been appointed to act as guardian ad litem for a minor in a probate estate. “Great. When it rains, it pours.” He pulled up his calendar and checked to see what hearings were soonest and what preparations needed to come first.

As he sorted through his client files and made notes about things he needed to do or be prepared for, he heard the front door to the office open. Knowing Ford was there, he didn’t think much about it until the FedEx guy appeared in his doorway. Hudson glanced at his watch to see that it was already 8:10 a.m.

“Sorry,” the delivery man said as he stretched his arm out with a regular flat letter envelope in his hand. “The guy out there is asleep.”

Chuckling, Hudson took the envelope as he stood up. Dropping it on his desk, he reached to sign for it. “No worries. Thanks.” Hudson followed the man out, only to observe Ford still sitting on the couch, his head tilted all the way back and mouth hanging open. His coffee cup was dangerously close to keeling over. Hudson plucked it from his fingers and set it on the end table. Pushing his brother on the shoulder, Ford slowly rolled onto his side. Hudson picked up his legs and put them on the couch so he could stretch out. “Nighty night, brother.”

Walking back to his office, the unexpected delivery piqued his interest. The return address listed EJR Insurance, Inc. and he hoped it wasn’t bad news. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter. As he read it, Hudson felt his stomach begin to twist. It was bad news. One of his clients was dead.

Chapter 5

Ford Marks lit a cigarette and ignored the nasty look from his brother. He put the window of the truck all the way down so he could hang his arm outside. That damn Joe hadn’t taken him home the night before. Instead, he’d dropped him off at the office so Hudson could find him in the morning.
When I see him again, I’m gonna kick his ass
. His head was still pounding, but at least his stomach had settled. The couple of hours of sleep he managed on the couch had helped with that. In spite of that, he felt fine to drive, but Hudson had insisted on taking him home.

As Hudson pulled his Chevy Silverado into the driveway of the little house where Ford rented a flat above the garage, Ford flicked his cigarette away.

“I hate when you do that,” Hudson muttered.

“Sorry.” He wished he could mean it, but in the moment he didn’t. His head hurt too much.

As the truck stopped, Ford unclipped his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah, call me when you get yourself together. I’m going to need you later.”

“Okay.”

“Get something to eat. A shower.”

Ford rolled his eyes mentally.
Who’s the older brother here
? “I’ll text you in a couple of hours.”

Hudson gave him a two-fingered salute and then backed out to leave.

Ford trudged up the stairs to the studio flat and pulled his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, hoping his head would stop pounding with some more coffee in his system. That and a handful of Tylenol. Once inside, he sighed and bent over with a groan to pick up the pile of mail on the floor. Sorting through it, he separated a green index-card-sized notice. He had a certified letter waiting for him at the post office to be picked up.
Great, another bill I bet
. He tossed it on the bed, then shuffled past it and toward the kitchenette to toss the rest of the mail into the trash can next to the two burner stove. He squatted down in front of the small refrigerator and opened it to see if there was anything to eat. A six pack of beer, an old package of salami and packets of hot sauce from Taco Bell. He grabbed the lunchmeat and was assailed by the smell of rot when he peeled back the cover.

“Shit.”

He tossed it into the garbage on top of the junk mail and then listened to the popping sound coming from his knees as he stood up. Ford looked around, suddenly wondering where his cell phone was. There, on the counter, charging, where he’d left it when Joe arrived the night before. Flicking the screen to life, he saw eight missed calls, five voicemails, and a dozen texts. Some from various women he had sort of dated, a couple from Hudson and, most disturbingly, from his parole officer.

“Great,” he muttered.

He deleted the voicemails and skimmed the texts. Luckily, he hadn’t missed his scheduled appointment with his PO. The woman was only calling to remind him about the upcoming meeting. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he still had two hours to make it. He damned well better, seeing as it was the last one he’d ever have. How he’d managed to keep his felony conviction and prison time a secret from Hudson, Ford would never know. He didn’t plan on fucking that up now. He’d make his appointment and hopefully finish putting the past behind him.

Ford leaned against the only countertop space and rubbed his face with his hands. Just another hangover in a long string of overindulgent nights. He knew his lifestyle was hazardous and would eventually come back to bite him in the ass, but he didn’t have the willpower to stop all his bad habits. Not then, anyway.

It if weren’t for Hudson, he probably would have been dead by now. When they were kids, his little brother was his focus and what kept him out of trouble. But he didn’t need looking after anymore and now the roles seemed to be reversing themselves. The more debauchery Ford committed, the more scrapes Hudson pulled him out of. Deep inside he was guilty and ashamed for not having done something more with his life, but on the surface Ford just couldn’t bring himself to care. It would probably be better if he died. Then Hudson wouldn’t have to watch him toss his life into the toilet.

Shaking his head, Ford decided a shower was more important than coffee. The tiny bathroom was kitty corner from the kitchenette and he crossed the room to it in only a half a dozen steps. He turned on the hot water full blast and stripped naked, tossing his filthy clothes into a pile near the doorway.

As he let the scalding water ease his aching muscles, Ford tried to remember what he had done the night before. His buddy Joe had picked him up around eight or so, but almost everything after that was a blur. Many shots and many beers had followed. They might have played some pool. They might have even bar hopped a little. “I’m still going to kick your ass for dumping me at the office.” His lone voice echoed off the walls of the tiny shower stall. Joe had probably done it on purpose, thinking it would be funny.
If I wasn’t such a fuckup, I might have thought it was funny too
. Unfortunately, all humor had dissolved from his life where Hudson was concerned.

Having no clean towels, Ford climbed out of the shower and let himself air dry as he searched through the piles of clothes throughout the flat. Some piles were dirty, but there was one last heap that had some clean underwear, t-shirts and a single pair of jeans. He pulled on the clothes, then gathered up the rest and stuffed them into a green duffel bag. Grabbing a black leather vest from a hook next to the door, he made sure he had his smokes, phone, and the green card for the post office. He slung the duffel over his shoulder and headed down to his bike. Fastening it tightly on the back of the seat, like a little green passenger, he then climbed on in front of it.

Turning the key in the ignition, his old, beat-up Harley Davidson Heritage roared to life. Coffee, food, post office, parole officer and laundry, in that order, was what he had on his mind as Ford Marks rode away.