“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?” Cort asked his voice filled with shock. Things with John were a lot worse off than he had thought.
“John kinda split ways with Talon and me after that. He, uh . . . well . . . let’s just say he’s running with a different crowd nowadays.”
Cort talked very slowly so that Ben would know he was dead serious. “Ben. Listen to me very carefully. Who is watching my son’s back?”
“Wesley Turner.”
A loud pounding began on the gate outside, followed by a voice demanding Cort come out with his hands up. Cort barely heard it over his pounding heart. God anyone but that psychopath! “Turner? Bloody Wes Turner and his group of scumbags are the only ones watching John’s back? Ah, shit Ben! This is bad, really bad! Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t someone tell me?” The pounding on the door grew even louder.
“I’m sorry Cort. We should have, it’s just that . . . well I was hoping John would find his own way back home. Listen, it’s a long story, Cort. And from the sound of things, you don’t have time to hear it. Listen, I’ll do what I can from my end, I’ll contact Henry Anderson and see what he can do, but you make damn sure you don’t get yourself shot. Although it would make my life infinitely easier, we can’t afford to lose you.”
Cort nodded as if Ben could see him. “Alright Ben, but when I get out of this you and Talon have some explaining to do. I need to know exactly what is going on with my son. Do you understand?”
The gate banged even louder as something massive slammed into it.
“Yeah, Cort, I understand.” Ben said, quietly.
“Well, Ben, it looks like I’m all out of time. I guess I’ll call you from jail. I better go before a SWAT team rips my damn door down.” He hung up the phone and looked over at Jake. “I’m sorry son. There’s nothing I can do.”
“What about Dad? What did you find out?” Jake asked, completely ignoring the now enraged pounding on the gate.
“Later. Later.” Cort said, dismissing him and peeking out the window again.
“Grandpa I know you know something. What is going on with, Dad? Who’s Bloody Wes Turner? Is Dad in trouble?” Jake said, raising his voice.
Cort would rather not do it this way, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. “I don’t know kid. I’m not going to lie to you. All I can tell you is that I talked to him last night and he didn’t sound too good. Sounded very tired. But other than that, as far as I know he’s fine.”
“So he’s okay?” Jake asked. “They haven’t killed him or turned him?”
Cort gently grabbed his grandson by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “No son, he’s just fine. I would tell you if something like that happened. I promise.”
Jake nodded solemnly and looked away. “At least he’s okay.”
A pounding at the backdoor started as well. “There’s not a vampire on earth that could kill your dad kid.” Cort walked over and peeped out the blinds. There were now at least a dozen cops outside. Most were wearing body armor.
“Grandpa, are you going to go to jail?” Jake asked.
“Hmm?” Cort said absentmindedly pulling away from the window he had been looking out.
“Jail, Grandpa, jail!” Jake yelled at him.
Sometimes Cort forgot that his grandson was still so young and needed things clarified. “Oh that? Yeah. You can’t pull a gun on a cop and not go to jail. Even in Texas. But don’t sweat it son. I’ve been locked up a time or two in my life. Ben will figure something out and get me out in no time. But until we can figure out just what the hell we’re going to do, you’re going to have to go stay with your other Grandpa for a bit.”
“But I don’t even know him! I don’t want to stay with him! Dad always said he was a miserable, mean old son of a bitch!”
“Watch your cussing.” Cort said, walking down the hall to the gun vault. He pulled his keys out and shoved each one into its lock then with a grunt pulled it open. He pulled out the .357 he had shoved back into his waistband and set it inside then pulled another gun from an ankle holster and set it next to it. When he was done he slammed shut the heavy door, turned the locks, and handed the keys to Jake.
“You take good care of that son. I don’t want these cops getting into that vault and robbing me blind.” Jake shoved the key ring into his pocket. “Now listen to me very carefully. Your grandpa is a very evil man.”
Jake started to say something but Cort held up his hand silencing him. “I’m not kidding Jake. Don’t you trust him for one minute. He’s out for one person and one person only. Himself. Blood or no blood it doesn’t matter. Do you understand?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so . . .”
He’ll learn soon enough. Cort thought. “Best go pack some clothes before they get inside. Once they do, you won’t have much time before the lawyers haul you away.”
Jake ran into his room and began packing. Two of the windows in the kitchen shattered and a police officer’s voice carried in over a megaphone demanding he open the door.
“You ready kid!” Cort yelled through the house. “These guys aren’t going to wait all day!”
Jake rushed into the living room his bag slung over his shoulder. Cort gave him a firm grab on his shoulder and smiled at him. “It’s all going to be okay, kid. We’ll get all this figured out and I’ll see you in just a few days. Now I want you to go in the living room and keep your hands above your head.”
Jake nodded nervously.
Cort took several deep breaths, walked over to the front door, and turned all the locks. He opened it slowly and then turned the locks on the gate pushing it open with his foot while keeping his hands high in the air. There were at least fifteen cops outside, all with their guns pointed in his direction. “I ain’t armed!” He screamed at them. “Don’t shoot!”
“Get down on the ground!” The cop with the megaphone yelled.
Cort grunted as he landed on his knees. They popped and groaned, but somehow he managed to keep his hands high in the air. He prayed deep down that none of these men had itchy trigger fingers.
Minutes later Cort was handcuffed and in the back of a squad car. He watched helplessly as the lawyers escorted Jake to the back of a brand new Lincoln Town Car. The one named Murphy took Jake’s bag from him and tossed it to the front yard. He gave Cort a one handed salute and a smile as he shut Jake’s door.
“Yeah smile you little son of a bitch.” Cort said, aloud. “You’ll get yours. You can’t work for the devil and not get burned.”
Chapter 10
Jake
Lubbock, TX.
April 9, 1995 8:17am
Jake watched the houses of his street speed by as the car he was now trapped in pulled away from his life in Lubbock. For the second time in less than a year, he’d been ripped away from everything he knew and cared about. Is this what my life will be like from now on? He thought to himself. What’s the point of ever caring for anyone or anything if you’re just going to get ripped away from it?
“What’s going to happen to my Grandpa?” He asked the silent men on either side of him. Both men continued to stare out the window, neither of them bothering to answer.
“Ah come on guys. The least you can do is answer me.” Jake said, looking at the cold, glaring eyes of Mr. Murphy staring back at him from the rear view mirror.
“Just sit back and keep your mouth shut.” Murphy replied with a snarl. “We’ll be at the airport soon.”
Jake smiled inwardly. Keeping his mouth shut was the last thing he was going to do. Time to play the kid card. “An airplane? Cool!” He exclaimed. “I’ve never been on a plane before! Man this is going to rock! What kind of plane is it? Is it a jet, or a single engine? What color is it? Man I sure am hungry, you guys wouldn’t happen to have something to eat would you? Wow look at that car over there! I bet it goes real fast! Could you turn the air on? It’s getting too hot back here.” On and on he went the entire thirty-minute drive to the airport. The white k
nuckled grip Mr. Murphy now had on the steering wheel and the grinding motion he was making with his teeth just made Jake complain and ask questions that much more. This was the most fun he had in a long time and it didn’t stop once they had boarded the plane. For the next four hours, he did his best to drive the three men nuts. He kicked their seats, pushed every button he could find, say he needed to use the bathroom every thirty minutes. By the time they landed, all three men’s faces had turned beet red.
The plane landed in a small airstrip surrounded by trees. “This doesn’t look like New Mexico.” he said, stepping off the plane onto the tarmac. “Where the heck are we?”
“None of your business.” Dolan said, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him violently. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you!”
Maybe I should stop pushing. Jake thought to himself as Dolan shoved him into a waiting suburban.
An hour and a very quiet car ride later Jake’s eyes grew large as saucers as the car pulled up to a very large chain link fence. Behind it stood the biggest house, he had ever seen in his life. It looked like a castle out of medieval times. The property was surrounded on all sides by a fifteen-foot high razor wire fence with giant floodlights protruding from dozens of different poles. Heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds with automatic rifles and German Sheppards. Jake’s first impression was that it looked very much like a prison.
On three sides of the property was a mass of solid trees. As he stared at them, he almost felt as if something was staring back at him. A sickening feeling grew in his gut. He had a very good idea of why his grandfather had so much security. Monsters in the night . . .
Two guards approached, checking the IDs of the men in the car. After they were cleared one spoke into a walkie-talkie and the two sets of electronic gates pulled open. After the car pulled through, they were immediately closed back. “Whatever you do boy, don’t try to climb that fence.” Opening his mouth for the first time, the lawyer known to him as Mr. James, barked at him. “They’re electrified with a few hundred thousand volts. You’d be dead before you even realized your hand had touched the wire.”
After exiting the car, they led him through a large set of heavily fortified doors that looked as if they could withstand tank rounds. Immediately inside was a massive room with a two large staircases. Standing in the middle of the room wearing a large gray frock was an older man with slicked back gray hair and an annoyed look about him. “He’s your problem now, Paul.” Murphy said, shoving Jake towards him.
“Indeed,” he said, with a thick English accent. “Mr. Riker would like to have words with you now that the boy has been safely delivered. I believe you know the way to his study.”
“I do.” Murphy said, with a nod. “Good luck kid.” he said with an evil grin then got close and whispered in his ear. “You’re going to need it.”
“Uh, hi.” Jake said slowly, not sure what to make of this.
“My name is Paul. Please follow me. I will take you to your room. Your grandfather will meet you later this evening for dinner.”
“Uh, okay.” Jake said, slowly. “Is there any way I could make a phone call real quick? To make sure my Grandpa is okay.”
“You may not,” Paul said, heading up the stairs.
They walked up the stairs, down a hall completely void of color or pictures to a room at the very end. Paul opened the door to the most amazing sight an eleven-year-old boy could hope to see. The room was absolutely packed full of toys and games. Three large arcade games sat in the corner as well as four different pinball machines.
The biggest TV that Jake had ever seen sat against the southern wall with a VCR and state of the art surround sound system sitting on top of it. Next to that was every gaming console ever made with several hundred games. Jake’s mouth hung wide open. Everything a kid could ever want was right in front of him. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all! He thought to himself. Walking slowly into the room he tried to take it all. He turned to say something to Paul only to see he was already gone. “His loss!” Jake said, aloud.
Jake immediately ran over and grabbing the remote off the top of it, turned on the TV. “Yes! Cable!” He exclaimed flipping through the channels. Turning on the Super Nintendo, Jake sat down on the edge of the king size bed, controller in hand and went to work. For the next two hours he did his very best to play through every video game.
Right about sundown, as Jake was winding down a game of Super Mario World, Paul returned with a handful of clothes. He laid them gently on the king size bed in the middle of the room.
“Dinner will be served in one hour,” he said, in a thick English accent. “Shower and make yourself presentable.” he then walked out of the room closing the door behind him.
Jake took one look at the clothes and knew he wasn’t about to change into them. He’d never worn a tie in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. An hour later, he walked downstairs still wearing the clothes he had put on that morning.
Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs. Jake took one look at the rage building in the old butler’s eyes, and knew he had made a big mistake. “Stupid boy!” He yelled, his voice echoing through the large room. “I gave you express orders to change!”
“Orders?” Jake reached the bottom of the stairs and looked down at his faded black T-shirt. “Who are you? The clothes police?” Jake never saw it coming. Paul backhanded him right across the bridge of his nose knocking him to the bottom step.
“You will do as you are told!” he exclaimed. “You will not dress as a common hoodlum! Not whilst you reside in this house!”
Jake grabbed his now throbbing nose in shock.
“Come.” Paul said, seeming to gather his wits. “Your grandfather is waiting.”
Jake stood up hesitantly keeping his distance from him.
Paul led him through the giant entryway into an even larger room with wood paneling on the walls. As with most of the house, he had seen so far, the room was completely devoid of any pictures or artwork. A long mahogany dining room table sat in the middle of it. At the head of the table sat a very old, very frail looking man with an overly large straw cowboy hat on. His bushy gray eyebrows threatened to overwhelm his cataract covered eyes and an overly large blue flannel shirt hung loosely on chest. Instead of a dining room chair, he sat in an electric wheel chair. Oxygen tubes attached to his nose and a brownish yellow urine bag hung from the side of his chair with a tube running up under a stained blanket covering his lap.
Jake tried to hide his disgust. Even from across the room he could smell the old man’s strange musty stench. He stood there nervously not quite sure what to do next when Paul’s overly loud voice caused him to jump. “Mr. Riker, sir! May I present your grandson, Jacob!”
“Eh?” the old man screamed across the room.
Jake could have sworn he saw a glint of annoyance in Paul’s eyes but the butler quickly hid it. “Forgive me sir!” He said, even louder. “Your grandson sir, Jacob!”
The old man didn’t say anything but nodded, his mouth chewing some unseen morsel hidden away in his cheek.
“Uh . . . hello.” Jake said, nervously.
“You’ll have to speak up. Mr. Riker has trouble hearing.” Paul whispered.
“Hello!” Jake yelled across the room.
“Hmmph.” The old man muttered then began coughing. “What the hell are you wearing?” he said, when he was done hacking. Reaching into a pocket on his flannel shirt, he pulled out a very thick pair of glasses and placed them on his nose. His eyes seemed huge as he stared at Jake for what seemed like an eternity before speaking again. “You look like a hippie.”
“Nice to meet you too.” Jake said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t give me lip boy!” He exclaimed then began another hacking cough that ended with him spitting a large wad of yellow phlegm into a rag.
He hears better than he lets on. Jake took a second to remember his mother’s smiling face. This was her dad. Disgusting or not, he deserved a little respec
t. “I’m sorry, um, Grandpa!” he said, loudly. “I didn’t mean any disrespect!”
“Ah well. I guess you can’t help it.” He said, snapping his frail boney fingers. “Your daddy was trash. Only figures you’d come out the way you did.”
Jake was speechless. He hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond to that.
Paul walked into what could have only been the kitchen, and returned with a very large, very rare, bloody T-bone steak and set it in front of him. A matching steak he set in front of Jake. There were no sides, no baked potatoes or vegetables just a large bloody steak. Jake stared down at it in disgust. It wasn’t that he didn’t like steak. He loved steak! He just preferred them not to still be mooing.
Paul stepped away from him and began cutting up the steak for the old man. When he finished, Riker, without a word of thanks, waved him away with his hand. Man Grandpa and Dad were dead on about this guy. Jake thought to himself, He’s a real mean son of a bitch.
They ate in silence for the next ten minutes, all of which Riker chewed or rather gummed the same piece of steak the entire time, his eyes never leaving Jake. Jake felt a tingle up his spine as if someone had just walked over his grave. He lowered his eyes unable to meet those of the old broken down man before him. “You look like your daddy.” He said, then snorted and dropped his napkin to his plate. Without saying another word, he turned his electric wheel chair and wheeled away.
Paul walked over and looked down at Jake. “Return to your room. Dinner is over.”
“But I’m not done yet.” Jake said, quickly taking another bite of his bloody steak. It was disgusting but he was ravenously hungry. Paul hit him in the back of the head knocking the piece of meat from his teeth. “I said, dinner is over!” he jerked the plate away.
All the video games in the world aren’t worth this. Jake thought to himself. Alone he walked slowly up to his room and laid down on his bed then stared around at all the pointless stuff surrounding him. When his parents had been broke and living in little more than a shack, he had dreamed of having a room like this. Now he would gladly give it all up just to have them both back. “I sure miss you Mom and Dad.” He said aloud into the big lonely room. A tear fell down his cheek. “And you too Grandpa.” Although it was barely nine pm, he fell asleep.
C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation Page 14
