The Lair of Jack: Long Shot Love Duet (Book Two)

by Aven Jayce

  Quinn jumps back and takes hasty steps in my direction. He positions himself in front of me, warning the old guy by way of rigid body language to back off.

  The man chuckles and smokes his cigar, puffing and hobbling as he makes his way to the back door.

  “He’s drunk,” Quinn says, as we watch him leave the house. “His breath reeks of alcohol.”

  “He’s creepy, is what he is.”

  Shannon interrupts, walking back into the room. “This is good enough on the ground floor. I’ll go out to the patio. Do you guys want to hit the balcony area? I’m afraid to go up there.”

  “Sure,” Quinn says.

  “Great, I’ll get the others in the kitchen to help take out the trash and load up. After that, I think we can tell Howard we’re done.”

  “Yay.” I take the hefty black trash bag off the side of the cart and we work our way up to the balcony. “People tossed food and trash everywhere, didn’t they?”

  “They were definitely having a good time. You see those two passed out by the bar?” He motions in that direction. “And did you hear all the people fucking in that hallway by the kitchen?”

  “Yep. What was this party for, anyway?” I ask. “The guests all looked like college students.”

  “Hard to tell. Introduction to College Orgies 101?”

  I laugh, catching a whiff of the old man’s cigar. Quinn smells it too, drawing in his upper lip and flaring his nostrils like he’s going to sneeze. We look over the railing, checking to see if he’s following us, take another sniff and realize it’s coming from the second floor living area, up here... where the original owner was shot.

  “Ghosts,” Quinn jokes, biting his fingernails while pretending to be frightened.

  “Ghosts do scare me a little.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since that guy.”

  “Then we should go down the hall and see what’s there so you can get over your fear.” He grabs my hand and pulls me in that direction.

  “No.” I lean back and twist away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know; it doesn’t feel right.”

  “There’re no evil spirits lurking up here, I promise.”

  “I know. I just got a bad vibe for a second, that’s all.” I peek around his side and toward the upstairs living quarters. “Okay, let’s finish. It doesn’t look so bad.”

  We saunter into a family room, clearing half-eaten food and empty cups off the floor and furniture, dumping everything into the trash bag.

  Enormous windows that span from floor to ceiling line one side of the room, while empty black shelves cover the walls. Empty, except for one photo.

  The new owners haven’t done much by way of decorating. It feels more like a rental or a party house than a home, impersonal and sparse.

  I pick up the one photo on the shelf and run my finger over a man’s face—a middle-aged guy wearing a suit and holding a cigar. I wonder if it’s the same creep who was downstairs. Maybe this is his house.

  I try to make out the blurred background, bringing the photo closer to my face. He’s standing in front of... in front of...

  “Quinn.”

  “Huh?” He looks over his shoulder at me.

  “I just realized where the fuck we are.”

  “What?”

  I drop the photo and rush out of the room, looking down the hall, first toward the stairs, and then to the opposite end, farther into the living quarters.

  I see it.

  I scurry in that direction while Quinn races to catch up.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “This way.”

  We arrive in an open space at the end of the long hallway and I point to a set of wooden double doors carved in an elegant pattern. Richly decorated molding along the doorframe reaches the height of the ceiling. I look up, exploring the detail, my heart racing and palms starting to sweat.

  “Do you remember it?”

  He fingers a small hole in the door. “Do you think that’s from a bullet?”

  “Quinn, we read about this place when we were researching Jack’s family online.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Remember the photos of this on the police crime sites... photos of these giant doors and the office behind them... photos of Paul Jameson slumped over his desk, lying in a pool of blood?”

  “Shit.”

  “We’re in Paul Jameson’s old house.”

  “Shit.”

  “We’re standing in the house of the guy who built the family fortune. Standing right outside the room where he was killed.”

  We take a step back, then twist to sprint away, stopping dead in our tracks when we see the old man stalking us from the end of the hall.

  “Who the hell are you? What do you want?” Quinn calls out.

  “Adlyn.” A cold breath drifts through the hole in the door.

  “Oh my God!” I spin on my heels and stare at the hole, backing slowly away, then twist again, seeing the man is gone. Poof. Vanished.

  “We’re so fucking out of here,” Quinn says, grabbing my hand and tugging me down the hall, through the living room, snatching the trash bag, flying down the stairs, pushing the cart back through the hallway, past the gold candles, past another screaming fuck fest... Bang me harder, big boy. Pound me in the ass... through the dining hall, and into the sterile kitchen.

  We stoop over and put our hands on our knees, panting like dogs.

  “Are we done for the night?” I ask Howard.

  “Almost. You guys alright?”

  “We just need some fresh air.” I grab our jackets from the hook next to the door.

  “The kitchen staff at the Fox can unload the vans if you wanna take off.”

  “When are you guys leaving?” I ask.

  “Oh, I forgot, you don’t have a car.” He looks at his watch. “Probably another twenty minutes. I need to double check everything in the house and see if we’re square with the owner.”

  “We’ll walk, thanks.”

  “You live like, five miles from here.”

  “We’ll catch a bus if we get cold.”

  “Suit yourself. You wanna take any food?”

  “Next time,” we say in unison.

  “Okay, don’t leave without your tip, the family’s out back by the pool, thanking everyone with big bonuses. Hundred bucks each.”

  “That’ll pay our utilities this month,” I express to Quinn. “Hey, did you say, family? So it’s not an old guy?”

  “What old guy?” Howard asks.

  “The one who was sitting in the great room, smoking a cigar?”

  “Didn’t see him... no.”

  He carries a bag of trash in each hand out the door, nodding his good night to us as we hurry out of the kitchen, through the dining hall, and make our way toward the great room.

  “We need to get outta here. Did you hear that? When we were upstairs? Did you hear my name?”

  We walk with urgency, driven to flee the house of a pedophile and the scene of a notorious murder.

  “Why do you think I booked out of there? Of course I heard your name. I don’t scare easily, but that was downright demonic.” He stops in front of the back door, gripping the handle, then pauses for a moment to look up at the second floor. “What made you think we were here in the first place, here in Paul’s house? Was it that photo?”

  “Yeah, it was a guy standing in front of a casino. It took a second to recognize the face from the online sites, I made the connection once I saw the Fox Palace in the background.”

  “So the new owner just happens to have a photo of Paul Jameson?” He tightens his lips and narrows his eyes, glowering at the second floor. “That fucker. Remember months ago when I asked you if we were leaving Jack’s Lair? I think we just stepped right back into it.”

  “Damn it. We got suckered again. So this is now the lair of Jack and no longer the house of Pau
l?”

  “It’s a refuge for a wild animal.”

  “For a Jameson.”

  “Like I said, a wild animal.”

  The door slides open, ripped out of Quinn’s hand. We step to the side allowing two servers from the catering company to walk past before trudging out to the pool area.

  A tall bamboo fence surrounds the back yard, giving plenty of privacy. Much needed privacy, since a woman’s reclining on an inflatable float lounger in the pool, with a beer in one hand, a cig in the other, and her tits hanging out.

  Emma.

  With the air cooler than the pool water, a fog has formed and is hovering around her.

  A flash of light from above distracts us and we look up to see Jack on a second floor balcony. His black robe is open, baring his chest and a skimpy pair of green hip briefs. There’s a second flash that illuminates the balcony and the orange glow of his pipe casts a spotlight on his thick lips and the heavy ridge of his brow. His new hairstyle is much shorter, combed slightly to the side and forward, with wavy pieces framing his face.

  Music drifts out of the speakers surrounding the pool, a song that hints he was expecting us.

  There is a man

  In the cold dark night

  He starts to serenade us from the balcony, using his own lyrics for “The House of The Rising Sun,” wiping a switchblade on his shoulder like he’s cleaning it free of blood.

  They call him the Rising Son

  “Jack,” I whisper.

  He is the KING of many a poor soul

  And you, oh God, WILL be one

  He leans against the railing and a cloud of smoke dances above him in the night sky. The cig is flicked, and small burning embers fall toward us like a shower of stars.

  “How are ya, sis.” He smirks. “How’s the Fox treating you two?”

  “Great. I can’t believe you helped us like that, but you didn’t say goodbye.” I step forward, straining my neck to look up at him.

  “Goodbye? You’re standing right here. Why would I say goodbye?”

  “You have no idea how much I appreciate what you did for us,” Quinn says.

  “Is that a thank you?”

  He nods.

  “You’re welcome.” He nods back. “You interested in making some real money? Enough so you can buy a car, a house, maybe take a vacation on one of those big cruise ships for a week.”

  Our jackets are seized and we’re spun around and hauled into a smothering hug.

  “Yo, what up, bro? What up little bro’s woman?” Dylan laughs. “About time you showed up here.”

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “Dude, what’s wrong? You don’t recognize me with a beard, or what? It’s Tony, remember? Tony Costata?”

  He strokes his beard and marvels at himself, gazing down at his unbuttoned black dress shirt that reveals a new tat on his chest. The one he got in prison is covered, replaced with a gorgeous flock of sparrows soaring to his groin. It’s attractive, although the gun in the waist of his jeans is unnerving. A dope like Dylan shouldn’t have access to a gun.

  “Nice shave job,” Quinn says, rubbing his brother’s bald head. “How ya been, Tony?”

  “Tony Costata?” I question. “Where the heck did that come from?”

  “You like it? Jack’s idea, it means a large chop of meat in Italian, and you know how much I like my meat.”

  Quinn, knowing me far too well, raises his hand that I should hold back any taunting comments... I was only going to call him a meathead.

  “Follow me, I’ll get your tips,” Dylan says.

  “Shut the fuck up and step back,” Jack commands. “Learn your place and do your job. I’m talking here.”

  He submits, putting his hands in the air and backing away.

  I glance at Emma in the pool then at the balcony at Jack, amazed that they’re here. “Is this what you call the flip side? What are you doing in Vegas?”

  “Building an empire. Bringing the Jameson name back to life. Being king.”

  “Playing king,” Emma says.

  “It’ll happen, Em. Tonight was the kickoff party. Things are taking shape.”

  “You shouldn’t celebrate with a big party before you even get started. It’s bad karma,” she says, twisting the over-sized diamond ring on her finger. “And we need more security than Bozo the clown over here.” She waves her cig at Dylan.

  “It’s only the beginning. I’ll bring more guys in once everything’s set and ready to roll.”

  “I take it he got his inheritance, and he got the girl to marry him,” Quinn whispers.

  “I’d say so.”

  “So are you opening another retreat here?” I ask.

  “Hell no, that’s my side business. But I am gonna use the video footage from the rooms at the retreats to help restart Jameson Industries.”

  “What? That evil porn company?”

  “Owned and operated by evil, not evil in itself, so don’t talk shit. And before you open your mouth again, I wasn’t serious about using the retreat footage, that’s a separate business. My porn company will be legit, no one under eighteen or anything illegal, all clean.”

  “Is there such a thing as clean porn?” I ask.

  “You should watch some to find out, you might learn something, like the proper way to fuck a partially thawed turkey.”

  “Jack,” Emma scolds. “Don’t bring up the fucking turkey again.”

  “Alright, all kidding aside, I need you guys.”

  “For what?” My jaw drops in disgust. “Your porn company? That’s as bad as the retreat.”

  “Worse,” Quinn says. “The retreat was private, entirely underground, porn isn’t.”

  “No listen up, I got a lawyer, guns, and plenty of startup money, plus people working on getting some of the old Jameson connections back. And this is the city to do it in. In these parts, the time with my Uncle Paul was called the golden age of porn, and I’m gonna be the one who resurrects it. But, I still need help with bookkeeping and paychecks, good record keepers and smart management, a handful of tech people, and more bodyguards... Quinn?”

  “No.”

  “What? Fucker, how ‘bout you, Addie?”

  “No, Jack. I’m not getting involved in a porn company. Absolutely not.”

  “Hmm, but you owe me.” He’s vexed by our answers, picking his pipe off the railing and flicking his lighter, inhaling a second hit.

  He is the king of many a poor soul

  And you, WILL be one

  He sings his response to us as Emma uses her hands to waft through the water, directing the inflatable float toward the deep end of the pool.

  “You’ll change your mind.” He points the pipe at us. “And you might not even have a choice. One day I could buy the Fox Palace and bring it back to its original glory. Then I’ll own every soul going in and out of that place, including that catering business and the two of you. I’ll be your boss.” He grins.

  “I’m fine with that. Catering and porn are on opposite sides of the field. Not even close,” Quinn says.

  “Well, so you think. Except you will be back here, working this house whenever I throw a party. There’s gonna be tons of booze and drugs and people fucking. I’m not allowing just anyone to work those nights. So if you think about it, being here tonight, you already started on my team without even realizing it.”

  He pursues Emma’s nude body with his eyes, following the outline of his lips with his index finger and thumb, offering a toothy smile when she looks up. “It’s been a long night, baby. Get out of the pool, I wanna fuck.”

  “Come down to the pool. I wanna fuck,” she asserts.

  “That’s our cue to get the hell outta here,” Quinn says. “Jack, I’m grateful, but not stupid. We’ll see you around.”

  “Here, bro.” Dylan hands over our bonuses. “You should come back and hang with us, this is the life. He’ll take good care of you. I’m living proof, just look at
me.”

  He pockets the cash, watching Dylan step back with his arms out, showing off his new life.

  “I don’t want to end up in a pine box. Take care of yourself,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to the fence gate, unlatching the door and swinging it open for our escape.

  “Wait... hey Jack,” I call back to him. “Who’s the old man with the cigar?”

  “Huh?”

  “The old man inside your house. The guy in the black suit smoking a cigar, who is he?”

  “No clue.” He shrugs. “I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

  I study his face in the dim light as we walk through the gate, wondering if that’s another one of his lies.

  I continue checking behind us as we walk down the street, Jack’s fantasy mansion melding gradually into the darkness. I get it now. He was talking about himself this entire time.

  This is how it starts.

  Everything comes full circle.

  Prepare for it. It’s coming.

  I was connecting those words to myself, to my own life, but the reality is he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking about himself. He was referring to his family, the restart of his life, his future.

  He’s in his den, building an army, while we’re heading back to our fake lives, living as Ellis Moore and Amber Jameson.

  “More Jameson,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Our last names combined sound like ‘more Jameson.’”

  “Dear God, that’s exactly what this world doesn’t need is more Jamesons.”

  “You’re right, more Ellises would be better. No question, the world could use more of those.”

  “Someday.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask with a smile, looking up at the stars.

  “It means when we get married, we might have a kid. Another Ellis. More Ellises.”

  “I like that.”

  With his arm around my waist, he brings me closer to his side, gifting me with the warmth of his body.

  “Love you forever, Addie,” he whispers, devoting delicate kisses across my cheek to my lips.