KING SERIES FIRSTS: King, Lawless & Preppy Part One

by Frazier, T. M.

  I was wearing real clothes and real shoes.

  It was heavenly.

  The bath had done wonders for my wounds. I found what I needed in the bathroom and changed the bandages on my ear and foot. Then I applied aloe onto my sun burnt skin, which looked a lot less red than it had the day before.

  When I found my way downstairs and to the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. In the middle of a small yellow kitchen with avocado green appliances was an old, faded table completely covered from top to legs with carvings and little drawings. People’s names, pictures of penises, quotes, and a lot of INSERT NAME was here’s. But that wasn’t what caught my attention. It was what was in the center of the table that had me drooling.

  Pancakes.

  Stacks upon stacks of mouthwatering, buttery, perfectly round pancakes.

  Preppy stood at the stove with a spatula in hand, flipping pancakes on a griddle pan. He wore a lacy red apron over his red short-sleeved dress shirt and faded jeans. His yellow checkered bow tie peeked over the top. His white sneakers were scuff-free and matched his white suspenders.

  But pancakes.

  Before he was done telling me to help myself, I’d already shoved two so far in my throat I might choke, but I didn’t care. They could be fucking poison, I didn’t care. If I died with a mouthful of pancakes while the poison ate out my insides, it would be a fate I’d surrender to willingly.

  Because pancakes.

  Preppy turned the burner off and flopped another stack down on the plate in the center of the table.

  “Slow. Remember?” he reminded me. He poured me some orange juice into a red plastic cup, and I managed to swallow down the pancake that was threatening my life. After that, I made a half-assed attempt to take smaller bites and chew slower.

  “So, what exactly are we doing today?” I asked.

  “Errands,” Preppy answered vaguely. “Business.”

  “Why can’t I just stay here?”

  “Oh you can, but I would have to cuff you to the bed again. I’ll be a while. So eating, peeing, or anything other than laying there is kind of off the table.”

  I rolled my shoulder, which was still sore from being tethered to the bed. “Business it is then. What kind of business?”

  As with most of my words lately, as soon as they were out, I wished I could suck them back in.

  Something you probably shouldn’t be asking about, you idiot.

  Preppy didn’t seem to mind my stupid question, but he didn’t answer. “Shut up and finish your food, so we can get out the door this fucking century.”

  Preppy had a way of talking that was different than anyone else. His demeanor was light, but his words and language were crude.

  But then I shut up, and I did what I was told.

  Because pancakes.

  * * *

  I followed Preppy out to a large garage on the back corner of the property. I moved slow and still limped. Although my feet were much better than they were the previous day, each step was still more painful than the next.

  I’d never really seen King and Preppy’s house during the daytime. Now, I took a good long look around.

  It sat directly on the back bay. The house itself was huge, and so was the property, at least an acre. Parts of it looked like it had been under renovation at one point, but whoever was doing it had given up. Rusted scaffolding lined one entire side of the house. Blue siding sat under plastic at the bottom, covered in dirt. Weeds had grown around it on all sides. Rusted buckets of paint and miscellaneous tools lay, strewn around in the grass. The back of the house was partially painted a dove gray. THE KING OF THE CAUSEWAY was written in graffiti onto a high peak of the house with black spray paint. It looked as if someone had tried to paint over it at some point, but the bold lettering was still clearly visible through the thin attempt.

  “Are you my babysitter now?” I asked as we rounded the house.

  “I guess I am.” Preppy said. “I’ve done a lot of shit for King, but this is kind of new for me. I’ve never taken anyone on a run before. But he’s also never taken in a stray either.”

  “Stray?”

  “Well, you’re kind of like a stray dog, without the mange. Cute, but too skinny, and kind of scraggly.”

  “Okay, I guess, but I wasn’t taken in. I’m here against my will,” I corrected.

  “When King saved you from that bum the other night, was that against your will?”

  “No, that guy was going to kill me.”

  “Okay. So here is another question: you got somewhere else to be?”

  I shook my head.

  “See? He took you in. Just like a stray.”

  That was the first time I considered being there as anything other than a violation of my free will, and Preppy made me see that.

  “I mean, yeah, he saved me,” I conceded. “But on the other hand, he also expects me to pay off a debt that isn’t mine by bending to his psychotic will.”

  “There are two sides to every argument. Two ways to be wrong. Two ways to be right,” he sang as we passed the fire pit in the back yard. It wasn’t just a hole in the ground as I’d previously thought, but a large brick circle built a few feet off the ground. Beyond the pit, at the end of the huge yard, was a wooden dock with mangroves threatening to swallow it on either side. From the dock was the mirror calm waters of the bay surrounded by nothing but nature.

  No other houses. No other docks.

  A bird took off from a nearby tree, shaking the branches. It hovered just inches above the glassy water. A small black snake dangled from its beak.

  This place was as confusing as King. Hard edges, unfinished and unrefined, yet mysterious and beautiful in it’s own way.

  A tattered frat house in some ways and a complete paradise in others.

  “Who else lives here?” I asked as we entered a side door to the detached garage. Tarps at different stages of fading covered rows of what I assumed were cars and bikes. They hung thick with dust, wrapped a dirty fog. Specs of debris came alive in the one ray of sun that invaded the otherwise dark garage, through the corner of a broken window.

  “It’s just the two of us in the main house,” Preppy said, lifting the tarp off of a shiny black sedan that looked like something right out of a movie from the fifties. “But Bear keeps an apartment here in the garage. He crashes here when he doesn’t feel like being at the clubhouse, which is a lot lately.” He gestured to the door at the far end of the wall that was covered from top to bottom with random bumper stickers.

  Preppy started the car then ran to open the garage door. He drove the car out of the garage and put it in park so he could repeat the garage door routine except this time he closed it.

  He rolled us down the driveway at an extremely slow pace. “Don’t want to kick mud up onto Busty Betty,” Preppy informed me, lightly smacking the steering wheel.

  “You named your car?”

  “Um…yeah, of course. Everything important should have a name.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” I said, no longer referring to the car.

  “Oh come on. You are important. And you do have a name. We just don’t know it yet. Maybe, your name totally sucks. Like it could be Petunia Peoplebeater or something. You should be grateful that you are possibly avoiding a total name tragedy,” Preppy joked.

  “I guess Doe is better than Petunia Peoplebeater,” I agreed with a laugh.

  “Damn right it is.” Preppy accelerated once we reached the end of the driveway and turned onto the road.

  The only town I’d been to before Logan’s Beach was Harper’s Ridge. Along with being a much more populated area further inland, it also held the dubious distinction of being where I had first woken up in that alley. Where Nikki had first befriended me, if you could call it that.

  Fucking Nikki.

  Something tugged at me from deep inside when I thought about her. A part of me wanted to mourn her loss like I’d known her all my life, instead of a few weeks. A piece of me wanted to cry for her,
but I shook those thoughts away because she didn’t deserve my tears. She’d abandoned me.

  The bitch shot me.

  Preppy gave me a tour as he drove. When we crossed over a steep bridge, I learned that it was ‘The Causeway’ referred to by the graffiti on the side of the house.

  I found myself sticking my head out the window like a dog. When I opened my mouth, I could taste the salty air on my tongue.

  I could be back on the street at any minute, so I decided to enjoy the time I had free of the burden of my immediate survival.

  Our first stop was at a tiny well-kept home with white siding. Preppy put the car in park. “Stay here,” he ordered, before getting out and slamming the door.

  I leaned back in the seat, preparing to wait for him when he startled me by suddenly appearing at my window.

  “I want to be your friend, kid,” he told me. “I feel real fucking sorry for what you’ve been through. I know what it’s like to go through shit and end up on the other side of it. I’m a nice guy, for the most part. But just because I’m nice doesn’t mean you should take advantage. You did that once, and I let that shit go. I just hope you’re not fucking stupid enough to do it again. So, this shouldn’t need to be said, but I feel like I need to say it anyway. Don’t go anywhere, ok? Don’t try and run away. Cause it doesn’t matter that you’re my friend. I’ll slit your fucking throat and leave you to rot somewhere no one would ever find you, mmmmkay?”

  He tapped the tip of my nose and jogged up the driveway. Leaving me stunned in the passenger seat.

  The front door partially opened as Preppy stepped up onto the porch, like the person on the other side had been waiting for him. Preppy shuffled sideways and disappeared into the house.

  I sat back against the cushy leather seat. Thankfully, he’d left the car running and the AC blasting. Although there was a breeze on top of the causeway, here on flat land the air was stagnant, the humidity so thick I could see it rising from the grass.

  I rolled my jeans up to above the knee in order to keep cool.

  Preppy’s warning, although freaky as shit, wasn’t necessary. There was nowhere for me to go.

  I’ll protect you, King had said.

  And sometime over Preppy’s pancakes, I’d resolved to stay. King said he wouldn’t force himself on me, so all I had to do was enjoy the free room and board and not give into King.

  You’re going to beg for it.

  Yeah, right. He could keep on believing that while I kept on eating pancakes.

  It was forty-five minutes before the front door opened. An older woman walked out onto the porch with Preppy and brought him in for an extended hug. She held his face in her hands and spoke to him intimately, her forehead almost touching his. Preppy gave her a kiss on the cheek and waved to her as he got back in the car.

  “You okay?” he asked, turning the car back onto the road.

  “Yeah. Why? Are you surprised I’m still here?”

  “Nah, but there is just no cloud cover today. The sun is fucking BRUTAL even with the AC on high, and that took a lot longer than usual. Gladys, she’s a talker.” He gestured to my rolled up jeans. “But it looks like you worked it out.”

  “I’m fine. Is Gladys your grandmother?” I asked.

  “Not exactly,” Preppy said with a devious grin on his face. “She’s business.”

  “Business? What kind of business do you have that includes spending forty-five minutes in an older woman’s home?”

  Then, it hit me. Preppy must have seen the recognition cross my face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Did you have sex with her?”

  “Oh my god, you think I’m a hooker!” Preppy pounded his fist against the steering wheel. He pulled over to the side of the road and wiped the tears from his eyes as he laughed himself into an uncontrollable fit.

  “It’s not that funny,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Yes, yes it is, kid. What exactly did King tell you about me? Did he somehow mention I got a thing for old ladies? Because if he did, I’m gonna kick his fucking ass, cause it ain’t true.”

  “No, he didn’t say that, but you were in there for a while, and she seemed to like you. A lot. If she wasn’t your grandmother, then I just thought…”

  “Go ahead and say it. You thought I was a hooker, pleasuring her with my man meat and getting paid for it.” He turned toward me and leaned back against the driver’s side door.

  “Well, yeah, but now that you say it that way, it sounds ridiculous.”

  “That’s because it is ridiculous,” Preppy said, plucking a pack of cigarettes from the center console. He cranked down his window and lit one, turning his head from me to blow the smoke outside the car. He put the car back in drive and pulled onto the road. “I think I’ll like being your babysitter after all.”

  I felt my face redden, “You don’t have to make fun of me. I may not have much of a memory, but I do have feelings, so can we please just pretend like this never happened?”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll forget all about it,” Preppy said, although the amused look on his face said that was never going to happen. Preppy pulled up in front of another house that looked almost identical to the first one, except this one was blue instead of white. “I’ll tell you what, kid. Why don’t you come inside and see for yourself what it is that I do?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll just stay here and melt into the seat,” I huffed, sounding very much like the brat I was being.

  “Nope. My reputation is on the line here. You’re coming in,” Preppy said, turning the engine off. With that, the AC let out a hiss as it expressed the last bit of cold air through the vents.

  “I thought you were going to forget all about it.”

  “Oh, I totally lied,” he said, rounding the car and opening my door. “After you my dear.”

  I walked to the front door with Preppy following close behind. He rang the bell, and another woman around the same age as the one before opened it and waved us inside.

  “Arlene, this is Doe. She’s a friend. Okay if she comes in? Gets awful hot waitin’ in the car.” Preppy’s slight southern accent was suddenly a full out drawl.

  “Why, of course my dear. On a day like today, nobody should be made to sit in the car. Shame on you, Samuel, if you’ve already made her wait for you.” She playfully swatted his shoulder as she stepped aside and shuffled us into her living room. “Sit, sit. I have tea all ready. Let me just grab another setting.”

  Preppy sat on an overstuffed couched draped with lace doilies and motioned for me to sit next to him. A silver tea set that looked as if it had just been recently polished sat on the glass coffee table. Next to it was a three-tiered serving tray filled with cookies and crackers.

  “Help yourself, dear,” Arlene said, coming back into the room with another saucer and plate set. She handed it to me and filled my cup. I looked over at Preppy who was stuffing cookies into his mouth at an alarming rate.

  “Arlene makes the best cookies,” he said through a mouthful of food. Crumbs shot out of his mouth.

  Arlene put a cookie on my plate, and I took a small bite. It was warm and soft and the chocolate melted on my tongue. Now, I saw why Preppy was shoveling them. I finished the rest in one bite and tried not to lunge for the remaining ones before he could get to them. Instead, I sat back and crossed my legs, sipping my tea while secretly hoping Preppy would choke and die so that I could finish them off.

  It was a bit dramatic, but the cookies were that good.

  “See, Samuel. This one has manners. You might learn a thing or two from her,” Arlene said over the brim of her teacup. “So, is this your new lady?”

  “No ma’am, just a friend who’s helping out today.” I noticed that when Preppy spoke to Arlene he didn’t swear.

  “That’s wonderful, dear. Friends are fantastic. Well, just the other day in bridge club…” Arlene went off on a tangent about friends that began with her bridge club, and lost me somewhere around the ti
me when she abruptly veered off into talking about being a nurse in the war. Which war I wasn’t quite sure. I smiled politely and nodded while Preppy inhaled the treats she’d set out for him.

  He looked ridiculous in her living room. His tattoos and suspenders stood out amongst the lace and tea cozies.

  Okay, so he wasn’t a hooker, but maybe Preppy was some sort of granny nanny? Maybe, like a rent-a-friend?

  I thought when he’d said I would be helping him on his errands for the day that we would be going to a bunch of dark alleys and seedy places where he would slyly exchange drugs for money with a carefully choreographed handshake.

  I certainly didn’t expect to be smack dab in the living room of a house that could belong to anyone’s grandma.

  “Oh, I don’t mean to keep you. I know you have other stops. Janine just phoned before you got here, and I know she is looking forward to your visit as well. She made you a cherry pie,” Arlene said.

  “You ladies are going to make me fat.” Preppy leaned back and patted his flat stomach.

  Arlene stood up. “Samuel, you do what you need to do. I’ll be out in the garden. Come say good-bye before you leave.” Arlene set down her teacup, picked up a wide brimmed hat and a pair of gardening gloves, and disappeared through the front door.

  “Let’s do the damn thing,” Preppy said. He stood and walked down the hall, pausing at a door furthest down the small hallway. “Are you coming or do you think this is where I keep all my old lady bondage gear? Because I’m not wearing the ball-gag again, totally hurts my jaw.”

  “Ha ha very funny.” At this point, there could be a three-ring circus behind that door, and I wouldn’t have been surprised. “We’ve already established that you’re not getting paid to be a man-whore.”

  “Nope. Just a man-whore for fun.”

  “So enlighten me. Why exactly are we here?”

  “We’re gardening.” Preppy opened the door and stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. What I came face to face with was far more surprising than a three-ring circus. Rows upon rows of leafy green plants filled the small space. High tech machinery lined the walls. A ventilation system hung from the ceiling. A mister chirped out a puff of vapor every few seconds. Preppy pushed his way past me and set his backpack down on the floor. He opened it and took out some tools. Walking through the rows of plants he inspected each one. Occasionally he used magnifying glass to closely inspect the leaves.