“Goddamnit.” He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Before handing it over, he gave Dave a light slap across the face. Not hard enough to hurt. He’d claim he was playing, but hoped the meaning was clear. “I need a gun.”
“Relax. I’m on it. It’ll just take a few days.”
Dave slid the weapon away and left. He climbed into his piece-of-junk, hand-me-down loaner from his father and headed home. He’d have the house all to himself. His father had to work late, and his mother had a ladies-night-out scheduled. Maybe he’d order a pizza, take Winston for a walk. He could watch some porn, see if he could convince Bobbi to come over. Maybe she’d finally step out of her panties.
All his hopes were dashed when he pulled up to the house and saw a familiar car sitting in the driveway.
“Ah, Christ.”
She slid out from behind the wheel as he killed the engine. His sister Gina tossed her hair over her shoulder, her typical annoyed expression. The feeling was mutual. He shut the car door behind him and settled his backpack on his shoulder. Gina had her own collection of books in her arms. She looked ridiculous, as always. Gina always prided herself on not caring what others thought, even bragged about it. Her clothes didn’t flatter her at all. Her shoes were falling apart. She waited for him as he walked up the driveway.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a campus to haunt?”
“Mom invited me over to dinner.”
“You’re an idiot. She’s not even going to be home tonight.”
They walked together toward the door.
“I’d rather be an idiot than an asshole, like you. Mom texted me. Said she was making a casserole. You probably got your days mixed up.”
“Whatever. Hang out all you want and starve.”
Gina unlocked the door with her own key.
“How’s school?” she asked. “How’s Bobbi?”
“Don’t act like you care.”
“Jesus, Brandon. Can we talk normal for just a single time?”
“Probably not.” He closed the door behind them. “Winston! Come here, boy! I’m home.”
Strangely, the dog didn’t come. Winston typically spent his days sleeping on Brandon’s bed. He’d be halfway downstairs before his key even touched the lock.
“Winston?” Gina called. “Where you at?”
“Like he’s going to come for you.”
“Shut up.”
Gina dropped her books on the couch. Brandon kept his bag on his shoulder, not letting it out of his sight until he had a moment alone. Gina turned and walked backwards, facing him, as they aimed toward the kitchen. That habit of hers always annoyed him, and he took great pleasure whenever she tripped and fell.
“Hey!” she said. “Did you see that video online? Someone got the shit kicked out of them at your school!”
“Yeah. I fucking saw the video.”
“Do you know who it was? I can’t believe—”
She went quiet as they turned into the kitchen. The look on Brandon’s face wasn’t one of shock, but of surprise. Gina noticed, and turned to see what had caught his attention.
A man they didn’t know stood behind the center island. He was tall, with broad shoulders. He wore a white dress shirt, with the top button open. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he prepared a simple sandwich. The refrigerator door was open behind him.
He looked up, an irritated scowl on his face. His eyes were dark, almost as if the man didn’t get enough sleep.
“Which one of you dick-heads left an empty bottle of mustard in the fridge?” He held up the mustard. “It’s not that hard to handle. You use the mustard. It runs out. Now, here’s the important part. You throw it away. Then you tell Mommy or Daddy to get new mustard. See how that works?” He grabbed the counter, visibly frustrated. “A turkey and cheese without mustard. For the love of shit.”
Gina grabbed Brandon’s hand in fear, her palm cold and sweaty. They had shown no affection toward each other for years. The gesture surprised him.
The stranger didn’t frighten Brandon, only anger him.
“L-Look,” she stammered. “We don’t have any money here.”
The stranger laughed.
“Yeah. Trust me, I see that. This place would be right at home on Sanford and Son.” His eyes narrowed, almost accusingly, as he pointed a butter knife at each of them. “I’ll bet you don’t even know what that is, do you?”
The backpack on Brandon’s shoulder felt like a lifeline. Whoever the stranger was, whatever he wanted, he would not get it. He’d stab him a hundred times if he had to.
“Who the hell are you?” Brandon asked.
“Ah, yes. Introductions. Manners. Not one of my strengths. I would offer to make you both a sandwich. But, you know, no mustard.” He nodded at each of them. “Gina, Brandon, I’m Jack.”
CHAPTER 7
JACK KURSED TOOK a bite out of his turkey and cheese sandwich. Even without mustard, it was tasty. He’d been running all day, never even got the chance to eat. So much to do, so many preparations to make. Even without the need for sleep, time sometimes worked against him. He took the moment to enjoy his sandwich. The best place for a cold-cut was his old convenience store. He missed that place. One day, he’d have to dive back into that little ma and pa shop, get it running again. If for nothing else, the subs and sandwiches.
He wasn’t in a good mood. The trip he’d made—he’d already forgotten the name of the town—was long overdue. He’d been putting it off, simply enjoying life with his daughter Tiffany. They worked together on schoolwork, ran on the beach, watched TV, and played games. Tiffany would have her little mortal obnoxious friends over. They’d spend the night, and Jack had gotten much better at actually not wanting to kill them.
Life was good. Tiffany was making him a better person, even if she had quite a long way to go with the violin.
But there were times he had to shove the better part of him away, and get to work.
His brain dissected and analyzed Brandon and Gina Shaeffer, almost without him even wanting to. It was instinct, an old habit, a product of having a mind free from rest. He didn’t have the enhanced senses of a vampire or a werewolf, but his senses were far more tuned to detail.
He plucked out facts that files and surveillance lacked.
Brandon’s scowl was almost laughable. He was the typical tough teen. He cared about his sister, perhaps a few others, but he buried those feelings deep down. Caring about anyone simply wasn’t cool. He was lost, without direction. He’d been in a fight recently. The knuckles on his right hand were bruised, swollen. He needed glasses, but that was another thing his ego wouldn’t allow him to entertain.
Gina had a little more sense, but not much more. She was mortal, after all. Her sense of style needed some help. She fancied herself above the scrutiny of others, but the truth was she was dying inside. She longed to be recognized, appreciated, and her purposeful choice in eclectic clothing was designed to get more eyes on her, not drive them away. Gina had some intelligence, and not just because her grade point average was high during her first year of college.
She feared Jack. That, above all else, told him she was smart.
“Okay,” he said, setting his sandwich aside. “Let’s get down to business.” He almost forgot something. “Ah! Wait, one sec.”
He turned his back and searched for something to drink from the open refrigerator. Nothing jumped out at him. He settled for a bottle of water. Behind him, Brandon had lowered his backpack to the floor.
“Anybody thirsty? Water? Anybody?”
Nothing. Gina’s lip quivered. Brandon bore a hole through him with his eyes. If stares could kill, maybe Brandon would have a chance.
“Alright, then. Let’s get started. First off, do me a favor and put your phones on the counter here. There’s no calling Mommy and Daddy for help.”
Gina complied immediately. Brandon hesitated, instead choosing to cross his arms.
“Brandon,” Jack said, holding out his hand.
Despite his mood, he’d actually learned much about patience over the past few years. He thought he knew patience, being a cursed, two-hundred-year-old being. But having a young daughter taught him things about patience he’d never dreamed of.
Brandon held out his hand, offering the phone. Before Jack could take it, Brandon dropped it on the counter.
“Listen,” Gina said. “Our parents will be home soon.”
“No, they won’t. Your father’s working late. And your mommy, well, she’s, uh … busy.”
“Bullshit,” Brandon said. “Our Mom is going out tonight. She’ll be coming here to take a shower, get dressed. You’d better leave. Now.”
Jack laughed. He didn’t want to tell the Shaeffers the truth about their mother, but if that would help get them focused on his message, then he was more than willing.
“She’s way ahead of you. Took a half day off, already showered, got dressed, and some other grooming choices. She’s five blocks away, spending some quality time with one of the doctors from the office. I’ll tell you this. Your mom puts on a good show.”
“You’re a fucking liar.”
Jack’s patience held true. He was proud of himself.
“What do you want with us?” Gina asked.
“Just to talk. That’s all. Just some words. Words are powerful. They can accomplish a lot. Could you both have a seat for me?”
They both sat on stools across from him. Jack reached down for his briefcase and pulled out several manila folders.
“Some ground rules,” he said. “Don’t run. If you do, our talk is over, and I’ll kill you both. Understand?”
A tear ran down Gina’s face. He took that as a yes. Brandon didn’t react.
“Let’s see what my little spies found out.” He opened one folder, glancing through the highlights. “Gina Shaeffer. Nineteen years old. Attending Bircham University. Spends most nights either studying or masturbating in her dorm room. Just recently broke up with boyfriend, Paul, when she found him cheating on her.” He put a hand over his mouth in mock concern. “Oh, the scandal! What else? Majoring in mechanical engineering. Wow, sounds fun. If I didn’t need a magical trinket to fall asleep, I think reading this shit just might do it.”
Gina’s lip quivered. He could see the humiliation, the sense of violation in her eyes. She was coming to the slow, painful realization that she’d been watched, stalked. Not knowing for how long only made it worse.
“Why? Why are you—?”
“And now, you,” he said, nodding at Brandon. He revealed a much bigger folder. “This is some good stuff, here. Action-packed, reads like a damn screenplay. Failing three classes, been picked up by police five times, has a girlfriend that won’t give up any of that sweet, sweet skin. Has almost alienated everyone that ever cared about him in the past. Just a big, tremendous disappointment to your parents. Probably to your sister here, too, if we’re all being honest with each other. And apparently, you have absolutely no game in the back seat of a car.” He held up a finger. “I don’t entirely blame you for that. Seducing a woman in a car, it’s not a simple thing. But, I’d say overall, you’re a miserable little pile of adolescent shit.”
Brandon tensed up.
“You—”
“But all is not lost. I’m here to help.” He looked at Gina, not wanting her to feel excluded. “The both of you. I know all the things you’ve been going through, all the acting out. It hasn’t been easy since your uncle died—”
“Kurt? Uncle Kurt? He’s dead?”
Jack smirked at the memory. The tiny mortal thought he could kidnap his girlfriend at the time, rattle Jack enough to kill him.
He was wrong.
“Yeah. It was really tragic. Sad. He died in my arms. I almost cried. Anyway—”
“What happened to him?”
Slowly, Jack’s patience slipped.
“Please, don’t interrupt me—”
“Look, you’d better tell me what happened. Or I’ll—”
Brandon stood up, balling his fists. Jack would have laughed, if he wasn’t so furious. His patience vanished. He slammed his fist on the marble counter-top, drawing a squeal from Gina.
“I said don’t interrupt me!”
Finally, silence, and Jack took the moment to relish it. The fear was thick in the air as the teens said nothing. Gina turned pale, and her eyes searched the kitchen for something, anything, to help them. A weapon of any kind. She wanted to run, desperately. Brandon stood motionless, heaving and pouting.
“Actually, go ahead and finish,” Jack said, trying to hide a smile. “What will you do?”
He said nothing.
“That’s what I thought.” Jack pointed back to the chair. “Sit.”
It took coaxing from Gina. She grabbed her brother’s wrist.
“Brandon,” she said. “Sit down.”
He finally did so.
“Your uncle’s been missing over a year,” Jack said. “What the fuck do you think happened to him? Do you think he’s been shoving his fist into some prostitute on a beach in Tahiti?”
Gina cried. She barely kept it together. It was all she could do not to sob. Her fists clenched in front of her. Her knuckles were turning white, she was squeezing so hard. Brandon was perfectly still, a faraway look in his eye. Unlike his sister, only a single tear leaked.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve been watching you for a while, but I forget you’re still teenagers … kids. Your brains, they haven’t fully developed yet. Truly, it’s amazing you both can shit and wipe your own ass. So, let’s try this again. I’ll go slow. Your Uncle Kurt, he’s dead. He’s not breathing anymore. He has gone to sleep, and he’s never going to wake up. He’s shuffled off this mortal coil. Do you understand? Any questions?”
Nothing but silence and tears.
“Perfect. I’m glad we have that straight. Now, before he died a terrible death, I promised your uncle I’d look after you. Check in on you from time to time. Think of me as your fairy godfather. But not the good kind. There won’t be any pumpkins, no late-night balls. Our little princess here won’t be losing her slippers and nailing the man of her dreams.” He looked Gina up and down, frowning. “Especially dressed like that.”
Jack spread the data in front of him, so everyone could see. Written reports, photographs, some not-so-flattering. He had it all.
“Think of this as an early life progress report. Unless, of course, you piss me off.” He laughed at his own silly humor. “Then it’s a late life progress report.” He took in the Shaeffer data. “Now Gina, your life, so far, has been about as exciting as watching two sloths screwing each other. But this is still important. I want you to pay attention. Okay?”
She nodded weakly.
“Okay.”
“Brandon. You are the reason I’m here.”
“Fuck you.”
His arms fell at his sides.
“The grades, the lifestyle, the attitude. Your clumsiness in a back seat. It concerns me.”
His shoulder slumped. He reached down to either tie his shoe or scratch his leg.
“Brandon.”
The teen froze, looking up to meet Jack’s gaze. It was a good thing he did. His hesitance may have saved his life.
Jack’s tone changed, taking on a grave, serious demeanor.
“If you try to take that knife out of your pack, then our conversation is over. I will kill you. Understand? Maybe I’ll leave you outside, so your mother can come home and find your corpse after she’s done fucking her boyfriend. Does that sound familiar?” He leaned forward. “Look into my eyes. Tell me if you think I’m joking.”
Finally, Brandon’s tough-guy face faded away. He was terrified. His hands shook as he placed them on the counter in front of him. It was possibly the first smart thing he’d done all day.
“So, grades,” Jack said. “Bring them up. School is oh-so important, and all the wonderful bullshit you’ll lea
rn will be with you every day throughout your adult life.” He rolled his eyes. “Anything else? Gina, you’re pretty much in good shape. Brandon, just stop being a fuck-up. Is that it?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, there was one more thing I wanted to talk about.”
He pulled out his phone and set it on the counter. The video was ready to go. Jack pressed play, and the sounds of violence filled the kitchen.
“Oh, God,” Gina said, recognizing the video. “Why are you showing us this?”
Jack said nothing, letting the video of Ronnie Taylor’s assault speak for itself. The beating lasted five minutes. Screaming, kicking, punching, cries for mercy, all sounds Jack had heard before. Brandon wouldn’t watch the video, and almost had a look of guilt in his eye.
“That little shit can really take a punch, can’t he?” Jack said. “Four broken teeth. A broken wrist. Three cracked ribs. Almost lost his right eye. Damn. He must have pissed somebody off.”
He let his words hang out there. Gina looked back and forth between the two of them, slowly putting the pieces together.
“Brandon,” she said. “You had something to do with that?”
“No. I’m not on that video.”
“Now you’re just playing with words. Sure, you’re not in the video. You’re the idiot who filmed it.”
Gina’s eyes went wide.
“What?!”
“You can’t prove anything,” Brandon said.
Jack smiled.
“You think I give a shit about proof?” He waved the phone. “So, what did little Ronnie do to deserve his fifteen minutes of fame?”
Brandon sighed as his shoulders fell. His eyes lowered to the floor. Jack could see the emotion he’d buried finally clawing its way to the surface.
“He hit on my girlfriend. He asked Bobbi out on a date.”
“Jesus Christ, Brandon!” Gina shouted. “That’s all?”
“I didn’t want to do that! My friends did. They set everything up. Followed him when he left his house. I … ” He cried. “Just did nothing to stop it. I wasn’t going to hurt him. So, they shoved the phone at me, made me record it.”
Damned and Cursed | Book 10 | Fallen Skye Page 10
