Page 33 of The Session

Henley explained, “What she didn’t tell you, because she didn’t know, is that it wasn’t all work. There was a little play involved. Bill and some of his friends took a little side trip to a whorehouse and spent the better part of an evening in the company of women who were not their wives.”

Vincent’s expression changed. “Wait, what?”

“Your wife’s new husband isn’t the saint she thinks he is. He’s not only been stepping out on her, he’s been stepping out with, well, let’s just say people engaged in a profession with a high risk of sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Can you prove that?” Vincent asked.

“I’ve got photos, I’ve got credit card receipts, I’ve got incriminating social media posts made by his friends. Yeah, I can prove it.” Henley reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and showed a photo to Vincent. In it, Bill Kaiser was sitting at a table with a Latina woman who looked extremely young perched in his lap and biting his ear.

“And this just happened two months ago?” Vincent asked.

“Yep.”

“Can I have it? All of it?”

“I can email it all to you. There’s just one condition.”

“I’m not paying you for fucking blackmail material,” Vincent snapped.

“I’m not asking you to pay me. I’m not asking you for anything. I’m only asking you to do the right thing,” Henley said.

“And what’s that?”

“The body-cam footage from the shoot-out that happened last week. The one with the paramedic who got caught in the cross fire?”

“Fuck no, I’m not giving that to you. I could go to prison.”

“Okay. No problem,” Henley replied and turned to walk away.

“Wait, that’s it? You’re just giving up?” Vincent called after him.

“I’ve got two other people looking into it. Somebody will do the right thing.”

“What about those photos?”

Henley turned back to face him. “I said, it depends on whether you’re willing to do the right thing.”

Penalty Box

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon. School had let out, and Mark was on the field at Georgia Academy with fifteen kids ranging from age eight to seventeen, running drills and playing touch football with Nerf balls.

They were playing a version of the game that Mark had come up with to allow younger kids to play with larger ones by basing teams on combined ages. He had two special-needs children: Ronnie Kavesko, in a wheelchair, and Talia Waverly, deaf.

He placed Talia in the end zone, where she could see the entire game and use hand signals to quarterback remotely, then play defense if the ball got too close. At the opposite end, he’d stationed Ronnie in a similar role, acting as both remote quarterback and coach. Between plays, Ronnie yelled salty insults at the other players. Mark had asked him to tone it down but only managed to get Ronnie to use PG-13 language. Both teams were amused by Ronnie’s creative insults, using phrases like “putrid raccoon” and “secondhand tampon.”

While Mark encouraged parental involvement as much as possible, this was one of the times he was glad that the only adults present were two distracted moms on their cell phones, well out of earshot.

Normally, he had Devon helping him out with this game, but Devon had parental duties, and no other volunteers were available. So Mark did his best to keep an eye on the game while doing practice throws with an eleven-year-old named Evan Cross, whose right arm had just come out of a cast.

Evan had been a pretty active baseball player until his father got into a car accident. The fact that his dad had been drinking only exacerbated the situation, and rather than being supportive, his father had avoided interacting with him as much as possible out of guilt. Prior to the accident, Evan’s primary way of getting his father’s attention was through baseball games, where he was a pretty good player. Now, with a busted arm and a guilt-ridden dad, he was struggling. A guidance counselor at his middle school had reached out to Mark and asked if he could help.

Mark had spoken to Evan’s physical therapist and come away with the conclusion that at the pace they were working, the kid was never going to get full mobility back. With Evan’s mother’s permission, he took Evan’s medical files to another physician for a second opinion and concluded that what the boy really needed right now was to push himself further than the physical therapist had.

“Okay, I want you to push a little more, but don’t use your left hand. I need you to use your right arm, and you’ve got to raise it high,” Mark instructed.

“It hurts when I do that,” Evan replied.

“Yeah, of course it does. My arm hurts too,” Mark answered, pointing toward where the bullet had gone through his shoulder.