Monarchs

by Rainey, Stephen

  "I think they did."

  He started to lead her around the building to the parking lot, but Courtney abruptly froze, one hand shooting out to grasp his arm.

  "Jesus."

  In the first parking space at the corner of the building, she saw a filthy red pickup truck and, next to it, two figures silhouetted by a streetlight at the far end of the lot. One was leaning against the truck, arms crossed belligerently, while the other — a shorter, huskier fellow — was chugging away at a bottle of beer. When he realized that Courtney and David were standing a few yards away, he tossed the bottle over his shoulder, and it bounced away in the parking lot with a sharp bang-clank. The two men exchanged brief glances and then began to advance.

  Courtney's heart nearly exploded when she confirmed that the wide, leering eyes of the shorter man were the same lascivious eyes that had peered at her through the grimy windows of the pickup truck the morning before.

  "That's them," she whispered.

  "Take it easy," he said in a calm voice. "Nothing to worry about."

  The taller of the two men stepped up to David, while the other circled around behind them, and she could feel his eyes crawling over her body. She saw that the first man had a long hunting knife sheathed at his belt. He was lanky, his clothes and face grimy. Probably in his early 20s.

  "Evenin', Mr. Blackburn," he said, his voice as grating as a chainsaw. His eyes shifted to Courtney, and he gave her the lewdest of smiles. "Ma'am."

  "And how can I help you gentlemen?" David asked, his voice soft but steady.

  The man nodded at Courtney. "Who you got here? She's a new one, ain't she?"

  "That's none of your concern."

  "Well, now, I don't think that's quite for you to say, Mr. Blackburn. Let me tell you about my concern. Seems to me we had an agreement, and you've not done your part to honor it. Now have you?"

  "I've got news for you, Ben. You and I have never had any agreement."

  The man named Ben looked over David's shoulder at his companion. "Hear that, Hank? Now he says we got no agreement."

  "Well, I reckon he's mistaken," came the voice from behind Courtney, a low tenor with a sharp nasal twang.

  "Yeah, that's it. He's just mistaken. Well, then, Mr. Blackburn, we gonna have to get a few things straight. Right here and now, aren't we?"

  To Courtney's horror, Ben reached for the knife at his belt. At the same time, she felt a hot, moist hand clutch the back of her neck, and a second later, something cold and sharp was pressing urgently against her right cheek. For a split-second, something glinted brightly at the corner of her eye.

  A blade.

  She felt pressure in her abdomen as her bowels knotted. My God, these men might kill her where she stood. It was happening so fast, she couldn't take it in.

  "We gonna give you one chance to rectify your mistake," Ben said to David. "But one chance only. And if this bitch means anything at all to you, you ain't gonna want to blow it."

  Terror was setting in rapidly now. But faster and harder came the rage.

  "Relax," David said to the men, his voice still steady and under control. "Let's not be hasty here. You don't want to be hasty."

  "But Mr. Blackburn, we've been the picture of patience for quite some time now. The waiting is over." Ben smirked at him.

  The blade pressed a little more insistently against Courtney's cheek. A little voice was telling her to release her demon.

  What did she really have to lose?

  Hank must have felt her muscles tensing because he leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "You just stay real calm now, bitch. Don't even think about moving."

  Her upper body relaxed a little, but her leg muscles remained coiled like tight-wound springs. If she could break his grip without him cutting her, even wearing her heels, she figured she could easily outrun the stubby little freak.

  What about David? Could he escape as well?

  "This is quite a mistake you're making," he said to the man named Ben. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

  Ben laughed harshly. "I think you got that exactly backwards."

  Her rage now a blazing pyre, Courtney had almost convinced herself to make a move on the man and damn the consequences when the world around her seemed to become a blur.

  Before she even realized what was happening, David had spun around and, from behind, delivered a powerful kick to the short man's knee, which dropped him like a sawn oak and sent his knife clattering away on the pavement. She felt David's hand grab her bicep, and with one seemingly effortless tug, he pulled her toward him, away from the fallen man and well out of Ben's reach. Then, in one smooth motion, he knelt, picked up Hank's knife, and brandished it at Ben, whose eyes now bulged in disbelief, his mouth agape.

  "As I said," David said, his voice now so cold that Courtney barely recognized it, "you have no idea what you're getting into. I would suggest you go home now, and don't ever let me see you again." To punctuate his point, his right foot lashed out and connected solidly with Hank's gut, just as he was beginning to rise. The man collapsed again, this time with a deep grunt as the air gushed from his lungs.

  Ben clutched his knife in one hand, and Courtney could see in his eyes how desperately he wanted to use it. But he apparently possessed only a fraction of David's nerve because his hand was trembling.

  "Yeah," David said, mockingly. "You're one tough fellow when it's two of you against an unarmed couple. How about now? You want to come at me?"

  Ben's surprise was giving way to anger. "You're gonna regret doing that, Mr. Blackburn."

  "If anybody's going to regret anything, it's you. Now. I don't care what kind of arrangement you thought you had with me. You were wrong. So I suggest you take your sack of shit brother with you, and don't let me see you again. If I do, I won't be responsible for what happens to you. Are we quite clear on this, Ben?"

  "You think you're gonna get away with this?"

  "You think I'm not completely serious?"

  At David's feet, Hank was groaning and beginning to rise. David backed up a few steps, pulling Courtney with him, to make sure Hank had no chance to make a surprise move on them. With a whine of pain, the short man pulled himself to his feet, his face a grimace, his eyes glaring hatefully at David.

  "Give me my fucking knife back."

  David snorted a laugh and gave the hunting knife a long, thoughtful look before slowly holding it out to Hank, haft first. Then, as Hank reached for it, David deftly flicked it up in the air, caught it by the handle, and jabbed its point deeply into Hank's palm. The short man screeched and jerked his hand away, spraying blood into the air, a few drops splattering Courtney's shoes. For a second, she thought Ben was going to charge them, but he remained in place when he realized David was still holding the knife, his eyes daring the other to make a move.

  "Any questions?" David asked.

  Hank remained doubled over, his punctured hand tucked under one arm, and he began to back away, evidently accepting his defeat. Finally, Ben slid his knife back into its sheath, grasped his brother's shoulder, and jerked him upright.

  "Get your ass back in the truck," he growled. Then he looked at David. "You know this ain't over, Blackburn."

  David's eyes narrowed. "For your sake, it had better be."

  With a look so venomous that Courtney felt her gorge rising, Ben backed toward his truck, practically tripping over his brother, who was fumbling at the passenger door handle with his uninjured hand.

  David leaned toward Courtney. "Let's head toward the car. Keep on the other side of these cars — just in case he gets reckless."

  She nodded, her head reeling with delayed shock as they took a few steps toward David's car. His eyes remained locked on the pickup truck as Ben climbed in and started its engine. "Let me guess," she said. "You have rage issues too."

  "Maybe a few."

  "You were set to kill them, weren't you? I mean…if you had to."

  "I don't think it would have come to that.
"

  "You would have, though."

  He gave a little shrug. "From where I was standing, I'd have said the same about you."

  She watched the pickup truck with some apprehension as it slowly backed out of its space, its two occupants still glaring vengefully at them. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know about killing. But I think maybe I was ready to die, if it came down to it."

  He turned his eyes to hers and studied them intently. "Talk about issues," he said at last. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."

  "Why not? You know what I've lived through."

  "Well, you don't know what I've lived through, and I can tell you with certainty that you're nowhere near ready to die."

  David opened the passenger door for her, and when she fell into the front seat and tried to grasp the seatbelt, she found her hands trembling violently. As he slid behind the wheel, she said to him, "David, I don't care what the cops are like around here, we have to call them. We have to."

  "Well, it sounds reasonable. But I'm going to advise against it."

  "Why?"

  He pointed toward the far corner of the parking lot, near the single streetlight. "Take a look over there."

  Her gaze followed his pointing finger, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw, tucked into a space between a van and an SUV, a parked police cruiser, its occupant a mere silhouette but obviously watching them intently. She whipped her head back to David and said, "He was there the whole time, wasn't he? He saw everything that happened."

  David nodded grimly. "That he did, my dear. That he did."

  Chapter 7

  "You knew who they were the moment I told you about that truck," Courtney said, pointing an accusing finger across the bar at David. "You knew exactly who they were."

  David had poured himself a better-than-hefty tumbler of scotch, and he held it to his lips for a long moment to avoid answering her. When he did, he turned his eyes to the window. "I'm sorry. I didn't figure anything would come of it, and I didn't want to upset you needlessly."

  "Yeah, well, consider me upset." She had already downed a full snifter of brandy and was working on her second.

  Jan sat on the stool next to Courtney, her hands encircling a near-empty pilsner glass. She pulled one hand away from it to touch Courtney's shoulder. "Honey, those guys are mostly bluster. And it sounds like David taught them a lesson they're not soon going to forget." Her tone was heartening, but she turned to glare at her brother, plainly infuriated with his conduct.

  "Bluster my ass," Courtney said. "I had a knife at my throat. Do you know what that feels like? That son of bitch was going to cut me."

  "Not a chance," David said, ignoring his sister's withering stare. "They were out to scare us, that's all. They don't have the balls to do more than that."

  Courtney heaved an exasperated sigh and clenched her fists atop the bar. "So, just who are those men? Would you tell me that?"

  Jan said softly, "You met their father at Tall Ships last night."

  "Surber, right? Dwayne Surber? Ben and Hank are his sons?"

  She nodded. "They're all in it together."

  "And Ray," David added. "Don't forget Ray."

  "Dwayne's brother," Jan said.

  "Oh. Anyone else out to get a cut of your fortune as well? Their cousins? In-laws, maybe?

  "Let's not get riled," David said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "We came out in one piece, didn't we? I'm glad I could be of service to you."

  Courtney lowered her eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "You did get us out of that…better than I might have expected." She looked at Jan. "It's just that I can't believe there was a cop there the whole time, and he just sat there. He just watched."

  "I warned you," Jan said. "We can't rely on the law here."

  "I'm beginning to wonder about a lot around this place."

  Jan gazed at her, seemingly close to tears. "I'm sorry things have turned out this way. I just wanted things to be better for you."

  "I know." She gave Jan a guilty look. "I'll admit, I haven't made it easy for you."

  "Yeah," David said, cutting her a smile. "You upset old women wherever you go."

  "Oh, for God's sake." She couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, that's my mission in life."

  "And you do it so well," Jan said, grinning weakly.

  With that, the tension in the room eased noticeably. Courtney studied David thoughtfully for a moment. "So, how did you learn to do what you did? I mean, disarm that freak like that?"

  "Attribute it to panic. And a bit of martial arts training."

  "What's a bit?"

  "Red belt in Tae kwon-do," Jan answered for him. "And a green belt in Judo."

  "Is that impressive?"

  "Reasonably," Jan said. "Of course, it's taken him twice as long as the average moron to earn them."

  "Can you break bricks with your head?"

  "I would never harm a hapless brick."

  Courtney laughed. But after a long silence, her serious mood returned. "So, David, if you can't go to the law, what do you plan to do? You made what sounded to me like a serious threat if those men come back."

  He raised an eyebrow. "A threat?"

  "You said you wouldn't be responsible for what happened to them if you saw them again. What did you mean by that?"

  His eyes wavered a little. "Oh, come on. I just meant that if they go playing with fire, they're likely to get burned."

  She felt a pang of apprehension. "Well, I think you're going down a dangerous road."

  "We've had to deal with twisted people before, and I doubt these will be the last. We'll be fine."

  "I'm glad you have so much faith in your own resources."

  Jan pushed her brandy glass toward her. "Here. Finish your medicine. You'll feel better."

  "No doubt." She tilted back the snifter, the burn in her throat far from unwelcome but ultimately unsatisfying. Alcohol could not drown the problems they faced. "Well. I think I'm going to retire shortly. I could use a good night's sleep. Any chance your noisy great aunt will give it a rest tonight?"

  "I'll see that she does," David said, giving her a serious look. "Her first peep will be her last."

  "That sounds ominous."

  He smiled. "I'll gag her with duct tape."

  Jan snickered. "Maybe you'd better let me handle any dealings with Aunt Martha."

  "Whatever you think best, dear sister."

  "Whichever one of you, I don't care," Courtney said. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

  "It's covered, dah-ling."

  Thus reassured, she drained the last of her brandy and stood up, only to find her knees wobbly. She braced herself against the bar until the weakness passed. Between the alcohol and the lingering shock of her ordeal, her body had borne about all it could for one day.

  "Would you like me to walk back with you?" David asked.

  She held up a hand and shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Good night, then."

  "Good night."

  Jan stood up and gave her a motherly hug, which she had to admit felt warm and sincere. "Thanks," she said, returning the hug. "I'll be fine."

  "I know you will."

  She made her way down the long hallway to her suite, strangely happy just to be free of Jan and David for a time. Yes, they were trying to comfort her — she truly believed that — but she knew Jan was still withholding information from her. And David. Well, he remained inscrutable, and his continual assurances somehow rang hollow. Even though he had likely saved her life tonight, he was a long way from having earned her trust.

  It wasn't paranoia that led her to make sure every window in her suite was closed and locked, the back door dead bolted. After a moment's consideration, she decided to lock the door to the hall as well. Despite David's nonchalance, she had no faith that the Surber brothers would easily forget their humiliation, and if they had already been brazen enough to trespass on Blackburn property in the middle of the night, then it was no stre
tch to believe they might return with even more malevolent intentions.

  As she readied herself for bed, she became aware of the inevitable singing, chirping, clicking, and scrabbling from the dark woods outside. So much life out there, and so close, seemingly willful in proclaiming its presence. Consciously, she realized that as long as the night creatures were carrying on so energetically, there were probably no interlopers in the immediate vicinity. On a deeper level, however, the cacophony still unsettled her.

  After she had brushed her teeth and slipped into her long T-shirt, she turned out the lights and settled herself in bed, only to discover that the room had developed a slight case of the spins. The damned brandy, she thought; she wasn't used to sucking down so much alcohol so fast. Being with Jan again had made it too easy to lapse back into the old, not-so-responsible patterns of their college years. Still, fatigue and spent nerves had a far stronger grip on her body, and it wasn't long before consciousness went spiraling away, quietly and unmourned.

  The last thing that registered in her awareness was that silence had replaced the noises of the night, but even that disconcerting fact wasn't enough to halt sleep's inexorable advance.

  When she opened her eyes again, pitch darkness and total silence greeted her. After several seconds, she was able to make out the illuminated digits on the nightstand clock, which read just past two, and a thin wash of moonlight tinting her half-open curtains. She remembered that, just before falling asleep, the night sounds beyond her window had suddenly ceased.

  Her fingers tightened on her pillow, and all her senses sprang alert, an inexplicable rush of dread melting away any lingering effects of the alcohol. She sensed no movement, heard no sound above the beating of her heart, but the impression of a presence lurking nearby bore so heavily upon her that it compressed the air in her lungs. She lay there for eons, listening, waiting, her chest so tightly constricted that her ribs felt ready to crack.

  It was actually a relief when the soft, almost-melodic moan began to drift out of the darkness, for then the pent-up air in her lungs finally burst free.

  The moan became the same warbling litany of meaningless syllables she had heard before, only much softer now, almost hypnotic in its rhythmic rising and falling. To her surprise, she found her hand pulling away the bedcovers, her feet sliding out of bed and working their way into her slippers. The action was so automatic that it confused her, for her mind had not willed it to happen. When realization fully set in, she remained calm, but an inner voice began to whisper more and more forcefully, I am not in control. I am not in control!