Civil Sons

by C. M. Cevis

  Instead, he lit another cigarette and looked up into the night sky as he inhaled and tried to ignore the loud slurping, sucking noises and the scent of very powerful, potent blood coming from inside. Damn shifter senses, he thought to himself.

  18

  THE PARTY HAD BEEN GOING on for hours now, and the band was starting to get antsy. The media had arrived with the intention of seeing them perform, and their lead singer hadn’t shown up yet. Max dialed his sons’ number for the third time in as many minutes and frowned as the call went straight to voicemail. That wasn’t like Owen. He wouldn’t have let the guys down like this. Something was going on.

  “Jackson,” Max called out, getting his attention and waving him over. “When was the last time you heard from Owen?” he asked.

  “Hours ago. He called to ask me something about how to dress tonight, wanted to make sure what he had planned was going to work with the rest of us,” Jackson said. Max nodded.

  “That doesn’t sound like he wasn’t planning to attend,” Samson said softly from behind.

  “Something is wrong,” Max said. “Go to Owen’s apartment, see if you can find anything there that might shed some light on what’s going on,” he said, handing Samson the extra key to Owen’s place that he had. Samson nodded and turned to leave without hesitation.

  Max turned back towards the restless crown and sighed deeply.

  “We might have to end this and call it off soon,” Xavier said, jogging up to where Jackson and Max stood.

  “That might not be a bad idea, but let’s give Samson time to get to Owen’s place first. Just a few more minutes,” Max said. Xavier nodded and waited.

  ~*~

  SAMSON KNOCKED BEFORE HE USED the key, just in case Owen was home and playing hooky for some reason. Once it was clear that no one was answering, he let himself in and closed the door behind him before turning on a few lights so that he could see.

  “Hello!” he called out. No response, no movement. Nothing. There wasn’t anyone there. Hadn’t Max told him that Owen’s best friend was staying there? And that the girlfriend sometimes stayed? He hadn’t gotten the impression that either of them were at the party, which was odd, but if they weren’t there, why wasn’t at least one of them here. At least the one who was living there temporarily.

  Samson made his way through the apartment, moving small things here and there, looking for anything out of the ordinary, though he didn’t find anything. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to talk to the girl and the friend. What kind of people didn’t show up for something like this when it involved someone that you supposedly cared about?

  Samson pulled his phone out and dialed Max’s number. “There’s no one here, and nothing that’s cause for concern in the apartment.”

  “That’s concerning in itself,” Max mumbled, clearly talking more to himself than to Samson.

  “Didn’t you say that the girl and the best friend are here? Are either of them there at the party?”

  “Not that I’ve seen,” Max responded. “But Owen and Roger were supposed to be getting ready together.”

  “Do you know where?” Samson asked, already on his way out of the condo.

  “Owen booked a room here at the hotel, in case he was running late enough not to have time to get ready at home,” Max said. Samson didn’t like this one bit.

  “Don’t go up there without me,” he said, punching the elevator call button and waiting impatiently for the thing to arrive.

  “I can take care of myself, Samson. You know that.”

  “That’s not the point. I’m on my way back now. Meet me in the lobby, and we’ll go up together. And if you happen to spot the girl or the friend, stop them.”

  “Alright,” Max said, relenting. Samson wasn’t about to let Max go into who knows what kind of situation without him, regardless of how well he could defend himself. Samson had been sent there to protect him, and that was what he was going to do. Part of him thought that maybe Owen should have had someone guarding him as well. He was a special case: Someone famous for being the Suzerain’s son, but also for being the lead singer of a rock band that was well known. He’d have to talk to Dracon about it if they actually found the kid.

  ~*~

  MAX KEPT HIS PROMISE AND waited for Samson in the lobby of the hotel. He wasn’t truly interested in the party anyway, and he’d finally given his blessing for them to make up some sort of emergency to explain Owen’s absence and possibly perform without him. Samson had made a good point though. He hadn’t seen Roger or Mia at the party, and that was quite odd for two people as close to his son as they were. Max scoured the party and the lobby but didn’t find them or anyone who had seen them.

  “Ready?” Samson said, approaching. Max nodded and held up a room key.

  “The front desk gave me the spare. From what the girl who was working when Owen checked in said, he was with Roger, and Roger has the second key.”

  Samson grunted a response, the deep frown on his face reflecting the deep frustration Max was feeling at not knowing where his son was.

  The room was on the eighth floor. The hallway when they stepped off of the elevator was almost silent and completely abandoned. Max motioned in the direction that they needed to go, and Samson strode along beside him as they watched the room numbers until they came along to the one that they needed. The two men exchanged a glance, and Max swiped the keycard before stepping back so that Samson could be first inside.

  The room had been used to get ready, that much was clear. Owen had left the clothes that he’d changed out of on the bed for his return, and there was what appeared to be an overnight bag tossed in a chair. The towel in the bathroom was damp, and a toothbrush was sitting on the sink. A gold bracelet sat on the side table, and Samson picked it up, eyeing it carefully.

  “That’s Roger’s,” Max said, noticing the questioning look on his face. “He must have taken it off when he and Owen were getting ready and forgot about it.”

  The room looked as if the two of them had come there, gotten ready for the party and left without incident. So what had happened to the two of them between leaving the room and arriving downstairs?

  “Would Owen have taken the stairs, maybe? To avoid being seen?” Samson asked. Max shook his head.

  “No, but he’d have found the freight elevator.”

  “Then that’s what we should do,” Samson replied. Max sighed and nodded. Samson was right, this room wasn’t getting them anywhere. Whatever had happened hadn’t been in there and standing there staring at the discarded clothes on the bed was pointless.

  “Let’s go.” Max opened the door, and he and Samson walked back out into the hallway. It was Samson who suggested going in the opposite direction of the mail elevator bays. At the end of the hallway, they came to a dark alcove that contained an old and not very well-maintained freight elevator.

  “Right,” Max breathed, pushing the call button and hating the way that the unit squeaked and squawked its way up the shaft to come get them.

  The ride was tense and silent as both men seemed to be thinking hard about what had happened to the man of the hour. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and they got the first bit of their answer. There, sitting slumped up against the wall, bloody and a bit bruised, was Roger.

  19

  THE PARTY BROKE UP AS soon as the police arrived, and those who had attended were all divided up to be interviewed in case anyone had seen anything that might help with the case. Roger had refused being looked at by an EMT since all he really needed was a bit of blood to heal up. He’d joked that that was what he got for going so long between meals, and while Max had chuckled along with him, Samson hadn’t. There was something that he didn’t like about Roger, but he couldn’t pin his dislike or distrust to something solid. Instinct and that was all. But his instincts had saved his ass more than once, and he’d trust them before he’d trust someone’s word in a heartbeat.

  Samson had been paying attention as Roger rela
yed what happened to him over and over again, and every time he told it, something changed. That bothered Samson. It bothered him enough for him to say something about it.

  “Roger, if I may. If you were right there when everything happened, when Owen was taken away, and you had your ass handed to you,” That was probably going to tick him off. “Why can’t you seem to accurately remember what happened to the man that you say that you love like a brother?”

  Roger eyed him for a bit longer than was polite before he answered. “It’s not like I was involved in a traumatic experience and might be a tad bit in shock or anything, right?” he said, clearly annoyed.

  “If you were simply some random human sure, I’d instinctively blame it on that. But you are not. You are a Wellborn vampire. Perhaps you should try acting like one.” Max shot Samson a look, and Samson took the hint and shut the hell up. Clearly, Max trusted the guy enough to halfway believe him. Samson didn’t believe a word.

  “Samson may be a bit harsh, but he does have a point. Shock isn’t really something that we do, as vampires.”

  Roger’s entire demeanor change as he responded to Max, smiling gently and shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m trying to recall what happened as best I can, Max. Truly, I’m sorry if it’s me that holding this investigation up. I’m not trying to.”

  Liar, Samson thought to himself as he watched. Roger looked at him over Max’s shoulder and his eyes hardened. Yeah, that kid wasn’t telling the truth at all. But he couldn’t prove it, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m going to go talk to the guys,” Max said, referring to the band. “Samson, can you stay here and make sure Roger is alright?”

  “As you wish,” Samson replied, even though his instinct was to refuse. The two of them watched as Max walked across the space cordoned off by the police.

  “You don’t like me, do you?” Roger asked. Samson noted that he seemed to have intentionally waited until Max was far enough away to not be paying attention.

  “Why does it matter whether I like you or not. I don’t work for you,” Samson responded, not even bothering to look at Roger as he answered.

  “It’s fine, there are a lot of people who don’t like me. But you’d better play nice. If you think that I can’t influence Max to get rid of you, you’re mistaken.”

  Samson chuckled at the little idiot who seemed to have no idea that Max hadn’t chosen him, the Directorate had. “As you say,” he responded.

  “Maybe I’ll catch you when your unaware one day, show Max just how shitty of a bodyguard he’s got,” Roger said with a rather spiteful smirk that didn’t goad Samson into responding at all.

  “Well, this is an interesting conversation to walk up on. Especially when the main one talking shit is supposedly in some sort of magical vampire shock because he saw some bad guys take his best friend,” a voice said as the sound of boots approached from the rear.

  Both men turned to face the caramel girl with the long hair that sashayed up to the two of them, an amused look on her face.

  “Who are you?” Samson asked.

  “Chloe. I’m with the Org,” she said, holding her hand out for a shake. Samson took her hand in his and shook it firmly.

  “I am Samson, Suzerain Maxim’s bodyguard.”

  “Oh? What happened to the old guy... Bannon, I think his name was?”

  Samson watched the woman carefully. It was odd that she knew that. “He was dismissed.”

  “Which in vampire means he did something stupid and got caught,” she said nodding. Her eyes darted to Roger, and she seemed to take in his injuries. “You look like you were on the wrong end of a fight tonight. Low on blood, huh?”

  Roger smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Bet I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Chloe smirked in response to Roger’s grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes, Samson noticed. She was watching everything.

  “Did someone call the Org in on this one?” he asked.

  “I was in the area and noticed the police lights. When I realized that it was the same hotel as Profane Persuasion’s release party, I thought it might be a good idea for me to take a look,” she replied.

  “Hm,” Samson grunted as Max approached, a professional smile on his face. He seemed to intend to try and surprise the woman, but she turned to face him as if she’d known that he was coming.

  “Suzerain Maxim. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, holding her hand out yet again. Something that she hadn’t done for Roger. If Samson had noticed that, Roger probably had too.

  “You are?” Max replied, not allowing his professionalism to slip one iota.

  “Chloe, from the Org. Your son and his friend with the fucked up face came to see me last week about a job that I’d just finished. I assume they came because you asked them to make sure that it was us.” Roger shot an angry look at the back of Chloe’s head but didn’t say anything. Samson smirked at that.

  “I see, yes they told me about the meeting,” Max said, nodding. “I assume that the police have informed you why they are here?”

  Chloe nodded. “They have. And I’d bet money that you’re going to get a call from the Org about this within the hour. They’re going to want to know if you want help finding your son.”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that the Org took a more hands-off approach to issues involving vampires because the Directorate normally handles our own issues.”

  Chloe smiled. “That’s why I’m warning you.”

  Max chuckled, amused. “And what would you advise that I respond when they ask?”

  “I’d advise that you say yes because then you can request to have a say in who is put on this one. Otherwise, they’ll make the decision for you, and you might end up with someone who just gets in the way.”

  “Are you who you’d recommend for this one, Ms. Chloe?” Max asked, clearly expecting a yes, but getting a laugh instead.

  “Hell no. You and your son get way too much media attention for me to want to touch this one with a ten-foot pole. I’m a happy little introvert.,” Chloe replied with a grin. Something about that made Samson smile at her response. Honesty was refreshing.

  “If I may, Ms. Chloe?” Samson asked. Chloe turned to face him as Max waited to see what he was going to add to the conversation. “If the media issue was removed, and you were to assign this out to one of your agents based solely on who would be the best at finding out what happened here before something happens to Owen, would you choose yourself then?”

  Chloe hesitated as if she didn’t want to answer. She sighed as her eyes traveled around to those not involved in the conversation as she seemed to decide what to do.

  “I’m biased. So I don’t know that I’d assign myself.”

  “Biased how?” Samson asked, waiting for her to state that she was a fan of the band and possibly emotionally involved. That seemed like a cop-type answer or an agent-type answer. But that wasn’t the answer she gave, and her response made Samson like her a bit more than he had before.

  “I don’t trust that one,” she said, inclining her head towards Roger, who sat up, an indignant look on his face.

  “What did I do?” he almost whined.

  “You didn’t tell the truth.”

  And with that little gem, she turned and walked back into the crowd, leaving the three men staring after her.

  20

  SAMSON ORDERED HIMSELF A BEER and snipped the end off of a very nice, very expensive cigar. The end of it glowed a cheery red, and Samson sat back with a sigh in the soft leather armchair that he’d chosen when he arrived.

  He’d found this cigar bar a few days prior and had been looking for an excuse to come there other than simply because he wanted a good cigar somewhere other than his own place. The warm lighting and dark wood were a welcome change, albeit a temporary one. The pretty girls in the short skirts who were there to serve drinks and ready cigars weren’t too bad either. Especially the redhead who had brought him his c
igar. She smelled like cinnamon.

  “Nice place,” a familiar voice said as an older gentleman in a plain but nice black suit took a seat across from Samson.

  The man’s name was Gregory, but Samson had always just called him Sarge. Sarge worked for Directorate just like Samson did, except Sarge was more of an overseer. When there was a big, badass issue that needed someone to keep track of all the intelligence, put it all together in a neat, organized way and come up with something elegant from the chaos that would tell those higher up what the hell was going on, that job fell to Sarge.

  Originally, Samson had been in contact with Sarge with his findings about Bannon. Since his assignment had changed, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing other than keeping Sarge informed of anything concerning that he saw. That was part of the reason that they were meeting in the cigar bar that night. Sarge was going to tell Samson what the hell was going on, and probably ask a lot of questions about Owen’s disappearance, since it had been two days, and no one knew anything more than they had when everything was fresh.

  “It’s good to see you again, Sarge,” Owen said, standing and taking Sarge’s hand in his for a firm shake before the two of them sat back down.

  “You too, Samson. Though it looks like you got here just in time for the shit to hit the fan,” Sarge said with a chuckle.

  Samson rolled his eyes and smirked. “Literally. The night that I arrived here in Baltimore, I was attacked by a few shifters before I had visited Max or my condo.”