A Man, A Musket, And A Murder Vol 8

 Two men sat at opposite sides of a large oak desk, the smoke of dozens of cigarettes swirling around them.  Vic Musket gave every detail of his unfortunate situation, explaining how he was blowing the small fortune he was paid from his last case at an upscale hotel.  It had been week after week of drugs, sex, booze, visionquesting, and sodomy that led up to him waking to find a dead prostitute in the bathroom.  Vic had never harmed women in his life, and although he was blackout drunk he was sure he was innocent.  Besides, he didn't have a drop of blood on him.

Bertram, Vic's only comrade in this dangerous time, had sent two requests for the DA back in the city to call him on a secured line.  The phone sat silently between them, a jack-in-the-box that was waiting to pop and reveal Vic's destiny.  The men were Killing time with the kind of awkward conversation that occurs when old acquaintances reunite.

"Are you married, Vic?  Got any kids?" Bert asked, dividing the last of the scotch in their glasses.

"No, no.  Never married, or had kids.  Got three abortions under my belt, though.  How about you?"

Bert winced at Vic's callous response.  "You won't believe it, but I married my college sweetheart about six months after our 'incident'.  I have told her about you a million times, and about how you saved my life from a knife-wielding maniac.  I may have lied a little and said I was mugged instead of pissing off a street pimp, but to me you are a hero all the same."  Bert leaned in closer, making eye contact.  "Seriously, Vic.  I have never been the same since that night, and I haven't wasted my second chance.  And I will do everything in my power to repay you..."  His eyes were welling up.

"Stop."  Vic interrupted. "Why the fuck is it taking so long for this guy to call you back?"

"This is a secure line, Vic.  He can't just call me from his cell phone.  He needs to get to a secure line himself.  But he will call.  Guaranteed.  Just give him some time."  Bert looked excited, like he had been waiting for years for the chance to repay him.  "You know, I have a son and two daughters these days.  My son is a freshman in highschool now.  I named him Victor, just to remind me of the kindness you showed me that..."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"  Vic said angrily.  "Jesus Christ, man.  I met you for a total of about three hours a couple of decades ago and you name your kid after me?  Well I have news for you... you named your kid after a degenerate fuckup.  Didn't you ask yourself why I never had any kids?  Why there isn't a little Vic running around here right now?  It's because the world doesn't need another booze-guzzling, whore-mongering, killer-for-hire.  My bloodline ends with me, no more Muskets.  And here you come along, telling me how great a guy I am, and you have a fucking son keeping my name alive?  Just do what you can to save my ass here, and I will be grateful for that.  But hearing that you named your kid after me makes me want to put a gun in my mouth!"

The phone rings.

To be continued...