Here Comes Mr. Trouble

by Battles, Brett

  A second box was discovered in 1957 in Memphis, Tennessee. This box still had four drawers intact, though empty. Attempts to figure out what they might have contained failed. This box is also stored at TFS headquarters.

  As of this writing, they remain the only two boxes that have been discovered.

  While it is apparent these boxes have an important function, that function is still unknown.

  17

  Mrs. Ortega was all smiles and hugs when they got there.

  “A homework slumber party,” she said to Maggie. “Mija, what a great idea. We should do these more often. Fun and educational.”

  As more proof of her approval, she got them three large pizzas—something Maggie’s mom almost never ordered—and then left them undisturbed in the dining room.

  Eric could tell Maggie was seriously not happy with the situation. She barely talked to him and said nothing at all to the Trouble sisters. He tried to start a conversation a couple of times but finally gave up.

  Surprisingly, the evening turned into exactly what they were pretending it was—a homework slumber party. With little else to do, they broke out their books and studied. Even Fiona and Keira had brought along work, though Eric was pretty sure Keira had tucked Noriko’s Revenge inside the history book she was pretending to read.

  Having finished his math homework for Ms. Lindgren, he’d begun working on his Spanish worksheets for the coming week. Next up would be the essay for Mrs. Bernhardi’s English class.

  “Ugh,” Fiona said. She was sitting to Eric’s left while her sister was directly across from them. Maggie had chosen the chair at the head of the table, as far from them as she could get.

  Eric finished the sentence he was writing then looked over. “Something wrong?”

  “Broke my lead and forgot my sharpener,” she said, holding up her pencil.

  “I’ve got an extra one.” He got a pencil out of his bag and handed it to her.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  They worked in silence for a few seconds.

  “What are you studying?” he asked her.

  “Advanced Trigonometry.”

  “Whoa. Seriously? What grade are you in?”

  She shrugged. “Tenth, or maybe eleventh.”

  “Uh, isn’t that something you should know?”

  “We’re home-schooled. With the business our family’s in, if we went to a regular school, we’d be absent all the time. Schools don’t like that, no matter how smart you are.”

  Home-schooled. That made sense. But it did bring up another question.

  “So where do you guys live?”

  “What? Don’t you think the plane’s our home?” she asked.

  “Your brother called it your mobile headquarters. I just thought that meant you have a place somewhere that doesn’t move around.”

  “I was kidding.” She laughed and looked back at her book.

  Eric waited several seconds then said, “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  He frowned. “But you do have a permanent place, right?”

  “We have to keep the plane somewhere.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to disturb you,” Maggie said from her end of the table. “But I’m trying to get some work done. That’s why we’re here, right? So if you could hold it down, I’d appreciate it.”

  Fiona grimaced. “Sorry.”

  Eric wasn’t sorry, though. He was annoyed. Maggie was supposed to be his best friend, yet all she had been doing was denying that anything was wrong and basically saying he was crazy. But she’d seen what had happened to him after he was scanned. She’d seen the SUV trying to run them down. She’d seen the Maker’s box. Granted, none of that was as odd as, say, seeing a phone book get spit out of the air, or experiencing time speeding up, or feeling the effects of the gold-ball talisman, but still, it should have been plenty for her to at least realize that things in his life were currently miles from normal.

  Before he could tell her how he felt, Fiona leaned over and silently mouthed, “It’s fine.”

  What was it with girls telling him when he should and shouldn’t speak? Because this definitely wasn’t fine. But he kept his mouth shut and went back to his Spanish homework.

  At ten, Maggie stood up. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going to bed.”

  Keira immediately jumped up from her seat. “I’m tired, too.”

  Maggie glared at her for a moment then looked at Eric. “You’re on the living room couch.” She left without saying goodnight.

  “See you in the morning,” Keira whispered, then followed Maggie out.

  After they’d been alone for a few minutes, Fiona said, “You know, she is a good friend.”

  “Who? Maggie?”

  “Yeah. She’s been concerned about you.”

  “She’s not concerned about me,” Eric said. “She thinks I’m stupid for listening to you guys.”

  “You don’t understand girls at all, do you? If she didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t get so upset. Look, she hopped in our car with you yesterday evening when she had no idea who we were, only because she thought you shouldn’t go alone. And she’s had plenty of time since then to tell her parents or someone at school or even the police what she thinks is going on.”

  “She did tell someone at school, remember? After the fire alarm, she went to the office.”

  Fiona shook her head. “You are such a boy. She just wanted you to think that’s what she was doing, hoping it might make you see things her way. But she was never going to go through with it. She was too afraid it would get you in trouble. Besides, there’s a big part of her that believes something weird is going on. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “How do you know she didn’t go? You were with me.”

  She shrugged. “I asked her.”

  “When?”

  “When we were waiting in the car at school while you were playing around with your buddy Peter. But I already knew the answer. Oh, and that’s another thing. When the scanner knocked you out, no one was more concerned than she was. She’s doing exactly what a best friend should do. She’s trying to protect you.”

  As much as he didn’t want to hear it at the moment, he knew she was probably right.

  He decided to change the subject. “So I take it your brother hasn’t been the boss for that long.”

  She gave him an odd look.

  “This afternoon,” he said, “that little fight about him being in charge.”

  “We weren’t fighting, we were just…”

  “Disagreeing?”

  She took a deep breath. “Ronan’s only been Mr. Trouble for about a year. It’s not an easy job and he’s got some pretty big shoes to fill. My sister and I sometimes forget that.”

  “I kind of get the feeling that you think you might be able to do a better job.”

  She raised an eyebrow and then, after a few seconds, smiled. “Maybe, but it’s Ronan’s job, not mine. He’s a good Mr. Trouble. Someday he might even be great.”

  “Should it concern me that he’s not great yet?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. With all of us together, we’re an unbeatable team. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

  He hoped she was right. “Has your family really been fighting the Makers for two hundred years?”

  “Actually, two hundred and fifty. Great-to-the-seventh Grandpa Thomas Leatherwood became the first, back in 1762.”

  “Leatherwood? Like you called yourself at school?” Eric asked, and then he suddenly remembered. “The pamphlet! Your family history. I knew I’d seen that name somewhere before.”

  “So you did read it,” she said.

  “Ah, well, I kind of half-read it, then fell asleep. Sorry. I don’t remember reading why you changed your name to Trouble, though.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Did you bring it with you?”

  “It’s in my backpack.”

  “Then I suggest you take another look at it before you go to s
leep.” She stood up. “Check out great-granddad to the third, Robert. You’ll find your answer there.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Maybe it’ll help me understand what’s going on a little better.” He yawned. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He leaned over to his backpack, unzipped the front section, and pulled out the pamphlet. As he sat back up, he was surprised to see Fiona still standing there.

  “You won’t actually find all the answers in there,” she said, looking a little as if she’d been caught in a lie. “Most clients never even hear the name Maker so the details would only confuse them.”

  “But I have heard the name. So I’m not like most of your other clients.”

  “No, you definitely aren’t. In fact, I’d say you’re not like any of our previous clients.” She seemed to be lost in thought. “Hold on,” she finally said, then set her book bag on the table.

  Out of the main section, she pulled out a dark purple purse, and from inside that, a worn-looking, business-size envelope that had been folded a few times. She hesitated, then handed it to him.

  “It’s a copy of a letter Thomas Leatherwood wrote to his son before he died.”

  “You mean the first Mr. Trouble?”

  She nodded. “Don’t tell Ronan I have it. And especially don’t tell him I let you read it. I like keeping a copy with me. Helps remind me why we do what we do, and how important it is.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Now get some sleep. Tomorrow things will start turning around. You’ll see.”

  “What about tonight? Do you think anything will happen?”

  “Ronan and Uncle Carl are taking turns watching the neighborhood. We’ll be fine. Goodnight, Eric.”

  “Goodnight,” he said.

  He carried the pamphlet and the envelope over to his makeshift bed on the couch and lay down. Before he started the letter, he reread the pamphlet, this time paying more attention. But Fiona was right. It didn’t really have a lot of answers.

  He unfolded the envelope, hoping it would tell him more. Inside were several sheets of paper that had obviously been handled many times. He started from the top, first reading the stamp that had been imprinted on the page above the letter, then the letter itself.

  When he was done, he read it again.

  And when he finished that time, he read it once more.

  THIS IS A TRANSCRIPT FROM

  THE TROUBLE FAMILY ARCHIVES

  DOCUMENT LEVEL A TOP SECRET

  ***FOR FAMILY MEMBERS’ EYES ONLY***

  Original Document Located in Archives Vault

  May 29, 1780

  My dear son Edward,

  Forgive me for waiting until after my death to reveal the things I’m about to tell you. I worried that if you were told too soon you would not believe me. You needed to get some experience first, and see some of the things that I have seen before you would be open to the truth.

  As I write this, you are only fourteen, but over the past year you have already joined me on several of what you call my “adventures” so I know that even now, you have seen things no other man has ever seen. By the time you read this, it is my hope that you will have completed several adventures of your own and, because of this, will be more open to believing.

  As you know, your direction in life has been chosen for you, as it will be for your son, and his son, and his son’s son. Perhaps at this moment of reading you don’t even have a son, but you will. It is your destiny.

  And all of this is my fault as much as it is anyone’s.

  I’ve talked about the great shipping company I inherited from my father when I still lived in England. But the story I have told to you and to others—that in 1762 I decided to sell my ships and make a new life in what was then the colony of Massachusetts—is not the complete truth. It was a decision forced on me by an event that changed my life and put the Leatherwood family on the path you now find yourself.

  In that fateful year, I sailed on one of my ships to the colonies, but my intent was only to conduct some business in Boston then return as soon as possible to London.

  The trip was not an easy one. We encountered storm after storm, and I worried at times that we might never make it. Mostly, my ships carried items to sell in the colonies but, as usual, there were also a few passengers onboard.

  One gentleman, an older man of perhaps fifty who was traveling alone, took an interest in me. He would often look for me so that we could pass the time in conversation. When we were only halfway across the ocean, I realized that he had an illness that would eventually take his life, and it was apparent the storms were not helping his condition.

  One night, several days before we reached Boston, he knocked on my door. It being late, I did not want to let him in, but he insisted he needed to talk to me so I relented. We sat at my small private dining table, and when I asked him what he wanted, he said, “Mr. Leatherwood, we did not meet by chance on this voyage. I have been sent to you.”

  I am not exaggerating when I say he seemed to get weaker and weaker as he spoke. Many times, he was stopped by a coughing attack or by the need for a moment or two of rest. When he did talk, what he said was unbelievable and troubling.

  He told me that he had undertaken the voyage to pass a tremendous responsibility on to me. When I asked what this responsibility was, he said, “One that you cannot avoid.”

  He said our family had been chosen to make up for crimes we had committed. When I told him I knew of no crimes and that our family was well respected, he laughed. Then, in some detail, he spoke of smuggling and bribes and price increases after deals had already been agreed on. This all happened when my father and his father before him had run the business. All things I knew about but had thus far avoided committing myself.

  “But your biggest crime was one of inaction.” Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “The Noretta.”

  There was no need for him to add anything more. I knew the story.

  Fifty years earlier, The Noretta, owned by a rival trading company, had smashed into a tiny rock island during a storm. One of our ships was nearby and witnessed the accident. The tale, as it was passed down to me, was that my grandfather had been captaining our vessel and refused to look for survivors so as to keep on schedule. No one from The Noretta was ever seen again.

  My grandfather never felt any shame from this, nor had my father. “Business is business,” he’d said to me. “You will understand when you are in charge one day.”

  But I had always felt shame. And when the old man mentioned The Noretta, I could not keep that shame from my face.

  “Yes,” he said. “I see you are aware of this stain on your family. But I also know, Thomas, that you are a good man. Unfortunately for you, just being good is not enough to atone for these crimes. The responsibility I am giving you will give your family the chance to do just that.”

  “Understand, this is not just some idle task, or even a request. This is a curse. A true and powerful curse. You can either wear it as a heavy chain around your neck, or embrace it and let it transform your family’s destiny.”

  He told me there was an evil power that walked the earth, destroying lives and claiming those who weren’t theirs. It would be my job to fight this force and stop it wherever I could.

  “They are not people like you and me, but you will see them as people. You must not let that fool you. You must stop them, for to stop them is to keep them from growing in power.”

  Finally, he told me I was to sell my business and make a home in the colonies, never to return to England again.

  While I had listened carefully to all he said, I was now beginning to think him mad, perhaps even an escaped lunatic. Stay in the colonies and not return to England? I had no intention of doing that. But to keep him from knowing what I really thought, I told him, “I will consider your words but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, it would be unwise for me to say more at this point.”


  I stood up, thinking doing so would encourage him to leave. But he continued to sit.