Played by Ben Huizenga
'Drunk' thought Will. 'Very drunk tonight.'
It was around 1 am when Will Morlock was driving
back to his home, his blood-alcohol level
hitting about .200. Not the big leagues, but
pretty good. Will had experience driving while in altered
states and he didn't have much of a problem. He even obeyed
the speed limit. He had finished his column for the week
and sent it out to the publisher, so he'd done as close
as he got to celebrating when he went to a blues club and
got sloshed. He liked blues. They didn't grate on him
like almost any music but blues and certain classical types.
He hit the brakes swiftly as he noticed the light turning red.
There was a screech as the brakes did their job as well
as could be expected with their maintenance.
"Get brakes checked" thought Will as he drove the last few blocks
to his home, a plain looking flat with no distinguishing features
whatsoever. Will unlocked the door, walked in, considered
checking his messages, decided screw it, and walked upstairs.
He gulped down a couple of sleeping pills, changed clothes,
got into bed, and tried to sleep. He couldn't. It took
him a couple of minutes to figure out why. Then he realized
it was that damn light on the answering machine. On the theory
that if it was bad news, he wouldn't remember it anyway, Will
flipped on the messages and prepared to hear some idiotic sales pitch.
*beep* "Mr. Morlock, I have something that may interest you.
I've read your columns, and I believe you are the right person
to receive this information. Be at 2135 N. Halsted tomorrow morning,
9:00. Good day."
The light went off. Will stood there thinking for a bit. He
was not tremendously impressed. Several times before, he had met
a so-called 'informant' who thought he was Deep Throat himself,
who then proceeded to reveal the dark secret that the IRS bought
jelly doughnuts for employee use or some similar load of crap.
But he had nothing better to do, and he didn't know what to
write on for next week, and he'd learned a while ago that good
writing requires some moving around, so he decided to give it a try.
Then his face made a dent in the pillow and he stopped deciding
things for a while.