Steady Trouble (Steady Teddy Book 1)

by Mike McCrary

  Gordo can’t find any air.

  Good.

  I take in long, deep breaths, turning away from the bed. Throwing back the curtains I place my hands on the window, leaning forward so all that I see is the night sky with planes taking off and landing in the distance. I focus on the coolness of the window glass. The lights flickering outside. Watch them rise, fall and drift out into the night as the planes go about their schedules.

  Gordo coughs. Gags. His body finally finding some much needed oxygen.

  “Still waiting, Gordo. Answer the man,” I say, still looking out the window.

  “Look. I know this is not what you want to hear. I know this isn’t how you want to hear it, but it is the truth. The McCluskeys are your family. To be more specific, Jonathan is your dad. Both of you.”

  “Wait,” Skinny Drake says, now pacing the room, trying to get his head around this.

  “Bullshit,” I say.

  “Teddy—” says Gordo.

  “My parents died.”

  “Wait,” says Skinny Drake.

  “Yes, your mother and the man who raised you did die, but there’s more.”

  I push myself off from the window. “Do tell,” I say as I grab my bat on the way back to the bed. Gordo stands up, facing me. I jam my bat into his gut sending him back down on the bed.

  “It’s complicated?” I ask.

  He grinds his teeth and nods.

  “Oh good. Hate for all this to be simple.”

  Gordo points to the couch next to the bed. “Please, sit down, both of you. This, what I’m about to tell you, this one might sting a bit and I’d rather you not be so close to me with that damn bat.”

  Chapter 35

  Skinny Drake stops his pacing.

  He nods, letting me know he thinks it’s a good idea for us to take a seat. I sit on the couch near the bed. Gordo clears his throat. Skinny Drake takes a seat next to me. He lays his gun on his knee then looks to me to do the same with my weapon. Reluctantly, I place my bat in my lap.

  Gordo notices both gestures. “Okay. You were never supposed to know any of this, and you certainly weren’t supposed to hear about any of this from me. Remember something. Now, I know it’s a new idea, but you’re my family too. I’m your fucking uncle, okay? I didn’t want this for you. I fought Jonathan on this for years. For a stretch, we even stopped speaking to each other over you two. In the end, unfortunately I wasn’t strong enough to stop this trust idea of his. But please understand that this situation, our current situation, was the best I could negotiate. It’s the best I could get from my brother under the circumstances.”

  I grip my bat tighter. “That’s awesome. Can you get the hell on with this?”

  “I need to explain the whole picture. Jonathan, your dad—”

  “Do not fucking say that again,” I say, pointing my bat at him.

  “Fine. Given the kind of person he is, his state of mind, this was the best situation for everybody. You were both supposed to get some money and live happily ever after once he died. That’s what I wanted him to do. That was it. Nothing more, no trust, none of this other shit. Then he changed his mind—his mixed up, broken mind. He changed the idea into this trust thing. A trust to be fought and won. He wanted the trust to include the rest of the family and that wife. That fucking wife…”

  “Gordo, focus,” Skinny Drake says.

  “What do you mean by fought and won?”

  Gordo rubs his hands together. “He wanted his two families to fight it out. He wanted only the strong to win the money. Meaning, he wanted the survivors to have everything.”

  “Two families?” I ask.

  Skinny Drakes gets up and starts his pacing again.

  “My brother had, how do I say it, appetites when he was younger. Different tastes outside his marriage.”

  “What are you saying?” asks Skinny Drake. He turns to me. “What is he saying?”

  “Think he’s saying we’re bastards.” I say it as calmly as I can as I stand up with my bat in hand. “Think he’s saying that his brother liked fucking around and obviously didn’t care for birth control. That it? We’re the shame of the McCluskeys, which, from what I’ve seen, is saying something. Thus Mama McCluskey really don’t like us. She sure as shit doesn’t like us having any of the family fortune. Am I close on this one?”

  Gordo nods, looks away from me.

  “Wonderful to hear.” My anger is bubbling toward the top, but I’m controlling it best I can. I think to what Lizzy said about holding it and using it later. It helps for a second, then I remember she said it minutes before her head was blown off. I know Skinny Drake is watching me, making sure I don’t go off the rails. Putting up my hand, I let him know I’ve got this.

  Turning back to Gordo I say, “Now. I need to know something. Something you said just a second ago, something you tried to breeze right past us.” I lean forward and place my bat on the tip of his nose. “What did you say about my parents?”

  His eyes almost cross looking at my bat. His speech in uneven. His voice elevated. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to put that down. I’m just the messenger on all of this—”

  “Talk!”

  Gordo bounce-skips along on the bed while trying to back away, his eyes wide like two moons. He takes a second to collect himself, swallows big, and says, “When you were younger, Mama McCluskey found out about you. Found out you were a part of this world and Jonathan was your… whatever you’d like to call him. She made him track you down. They found your house in Texas…”

  I can feel the words coming next.

  Don’t even need to hear them.

  Our house in Texas. My parents’ house. The home invasion. The thing that changed my world forever, but that I can never remember. After all these years I still can’t remember any of it. I’ve created fabrications in my head of what I think happened. I made guesses about what the gunmen looked like. Mainly composites of movie bad guys and criminals on the news. I made up the faces of the people who killed my parents.

  Don’t need to make them up anymore.

  I’ve met them recently.

  The home invasion. The thing that left me the way I am, what’s left of me, was at the hand of my real father and his scorned wife. They couldn’t bear letting me exist in the world. My existence upset them. Upset her, Mama McCluskey, the most, and she doesn’t like being upset.

  McCluskey.

  Dad.

  Happy wife, happy life.

  “They killed your parents,” I hear Gordo say.

  I’ve already determined this, obviously, but I guess it’s helpful to have confirmation. His words are fuzzy, as if he’s talking to me from a shower. A voice from the fog saying what I never wanted to hear. At the same time, something I always wanted to hear. The fog has given the answer to a lifelong question.

  Maybe one better left unanswered.

  My mind rips. My soul splits. My mouth goes dry. I’m completely unable to speak. I feel Skinny Drake put a hand on my shoulder, I suppose in an effort to comfort me. It’s nice he’s trying, but I’m not comforted. Not his fault. Gordo goes on, but his words only come through as blips and pieces of phrases.

  “She attacked you. Beat you, severely. Jonathan stopped her from killing you.”

  I see the white globs.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says.

  Globs are forming faster than I’ve ever seen.

  “Teddy,” Skinny Drake says.

  “Wonderful,” I say.

  I feel myself fall as the darkness swallows me whole.

  Chapter 36

  My eyes flip open.

  The room is split up into thick columns of light from the burning sun coming through half-closed shades. I try to shield my eyes with whatever I have access to. Fingers, half a forearm, corner of a pillow. The light is not my friend at the moment. My head is mush. Feels like a mean-ass hangover, but I didn’t touch a drop last night. It’s obviously daytime, but what day is it?

  I’m still in the ho
tel room. Still fully dressed, including my shoes, but someone has tucked me under the covers with my head on a pillow. Fairly certain I didn’t land this way.

  I do remember checking out of the world this time.

  A fresh rush of anger surges hard as I remember more. I remember Gordo’s words before I left my consciousness behind.

  “They killed your parents. She attacked you. Beat you, severely.”

  Must not have been out cold long enough for that information to reach any kind of level of acceptance within me. I feel nauseous. Head pounds. Tastes like a rat shit in my mouth.

  Skinny Drake is seated at the foot of the bed with his back to me. The sliding glass door that leads to the balcony is open, letting in a nice breeze for this time of year. The curtain whips with each burst of air. He’s watching Full House reruns and giggling to himself. There’s a room service cart parked in front of him. I can make out a silver, metal dome near my feet that I’m guessing used to cover the club sandwich he’s destroying right now.

  A feeling of gratitude washes over me. I remember more. I remember Skinny Drake picking me off the floor and tucking me into bed and placing my head on a pillow. Like a good brother.

  Shit.

  He is my brother.

  Forgot that part.

  The math of my new family situation is flooding my fuzzy brain with reckless abandon. Skinny Drake is my brother. That is, if this new information can be trusted. Not sure. So far everything that has been coming out of those people has had a veneer of what the fuck smothered all over it.

  Those people.

  Those damn people.

  My damn family. I need to chill.

  “Where’s Gordo?” I ask, sitting up, looking around the room.

  Without turning around he says, “In the bathtub.” His speech is a little mushy because his mouth is stuffed full of room service.

  “He’s taking a bath?”

  “No. I tied him up. Didn’t know where else to put him. Didn’t want him out here when the dude brought the food. You hungry?”

  “No.” I smack some taste back into my mouth. “Thirsty as hell though.”

  “Got you a Sprite. There’s a water pitcher too. Think it cost like six bucks, so we should probably drain it.”

  My head is still thick and messy. Not working through thoughts right. I know this because I didn’t think twice about the fact Skinny Drake has Gordo tied up in the bathtub. Normally that might raise a question or two.

  Today?

  Nope.

  He hands me the Sprite with a straw stuck in it.

  “Thanks,” I say before sucking down half of it. “How long did I check out?”

  “About a day or so,” he says with a wad of food stuffed in his cheek, still not looking at me.

  I glace at the clock near the bed. It’s ten in the morning. I’ve lost a full day plus. Gone. That’s a very odd feeling. This has never happened to me before. The white globs have come and gone, but now it seems they finally got the best of me. At the diner with the two assholes, and now this time, couple of nights ago. This is all new and I don’t like it. The idea that I can be brought to a state of blackout isn’t good. That I can go dark and end up on the floor just because my tender brain doesn’t like what’s going on in front me—this does not sit well with me. Gotta get ahold of this thing. I can’t afford to drop out of life at a moment’s notice, not now, not with who’s chasing after me.

  Need to understand what’s triggering it and squash that shit.

  It’s stress, obviously, but a very specific kind.

  The life and death kind.

  A lot of people could have something similar buried inside them, but most of them will go their whole lives not ever experiencing that kind of stress. But in my new situation I’ve been squeezed tightly in this fun little life and death vice quite a few times. More than anyone would like. But wait, my life wasn’t in danger with Gordo the other night. He was laid out on the bed. We were in charge. We were only talking to him and we were both armed. He was defenseless.

  “You want me to call in some more food? For you, I mean,” Skinny Drake asks.

  “No, I’m good right now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat, but I thought you might want a bite.”

  “Order some damn food then.” Even I hear the bitchiness in my tone.

  Finally he turns my way, facing me. I try not to show my surprise as I get a good look at him. There’s a scratch that stretches across his face from his forehead down to his chin. Looks pretty deep too. Still red, showing the early signs of healing. Claw mark. His right eye is also sporting one hell of a shiner. Raised, plump and purplish red. Looks like he fought a bear while I was having my little nappy-nap time. Gordo must not have gone quietly into that good bathtub.

  He must see it on my face, the fact I’m looking over his face.

  He shrugs. I smile. My brother.

  “The club is pretty good,” he says.

  “Make it two then.”

  “Fries or chips?”

  “One of each? While we’re at it, why don’t you throw in two Bloody Marys, some pie and another pitcher of that six-dollar water.”

  He smiles big. “We should probably eat and get going. Ya know, before Gordo wakes up and starts up with his shit again,” he says, thumbing toward his face. As he picks up the phone he mutters, “Feisty fucker.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Where what?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Hoping you knew.”

  I don’t.

  I have no idea.

  Chapter 37

  We are literally running for our lives and I have no idea where we should run to.

  I should cut myself some slack here.

  I’ve been through a lot, and haven’t really taken a moment for myself to think. He’s right, though. We need to bounce the hell out of here. We’ve got Gordo and there’s no telling if he told anybody where he was going. Considering he thought he was coming here to nail Sandy, there’s a chance he didn’t tell anyone. Still, can’t be sure of anything anymore. Only thing we do know for damn certain is Mama McCluskey and company have proven to be fairly resourceful in finding us.

  Pretty sure she hasn’t given up.

  Skinny Drake holds up a finger, politely telling me to shut the hell up as he says into the phone, “Yes, we need to order a couple of things.”

  It’s cute how he lowered his voice and tried to sound like a grown-up while ordering. He gives me a thumbs-up. Not sure, but this might be his first time with room service.

  He hangs up. “Should be about thirty minutes.” He goes back to his perch at the foot of the bed and continues his Full House marathon. I notice he’s said nothing about what we found out from Gordo. Is he in complete denial about what is happening? Is he blocking out the information Gordo gave us? I realize Skinny Drake is not a man of deep thought, nor does he have a tight rein on his emotions, but is it possible that he’s simply okay with all of this?

  “You want to talk about it?” I ask.

  “About what?” He’s picking at what’s left on the room service cart with his back to me again.

  “About? Well, maybe everything Gordo told us. It was a lot to absorb.”

  “Oh. Not really. Think he pretty much covered all that, right?”

  “Really? You think we can just check the box on everything he dumped on us?”

  “Teddy, I’ve had some time to sit here and think about it. I’ve given it a pretty good think while you had your spell. You just woke up. Let your head catch up.”

  I lean back. “Okay, okay. True enough. You like to share some of the thoughts you’ve had over the last day or so?”

  “No, not really.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Well, it’s different. For me.”

  “Come on, Drake. Don’t make me work this hard. Please talk to me.”

  He turns to me. I
t’s all over his busted-up face. There’s acceptance in his eyes. He knows there’s no way of getting the hell out of this conversation. He presses mute on the TV. I can still see the Tanner family absorbing life lessons on the screen, just without the laugh track.

  Letting out a large sigh, he picks a spot on the hotel comforter to stare at while he’s talking to me. “It’s like this. I never really knew my dad to begin with. Come to think of it, don’t really know Mom all that well either. I’ve walked around my whole life not knowing where I came from or if anybody gave a shit. Just always had to wonder. Now, for better or worse, I don’t have to wonder anymore. So, yeah, to me it is kinda like a checking a box.” He nods then turns back around with his back to me.

  I stare at his back, watching him, letting the silence fill the room. Letting what he just said to me sink in. He takes a moment to eat some more.

  He’s right. It is different for him. To him it’s probably more of a relief, rather than a shock. Not sure if I’m in shock or not. It’s more than possible. If that is what I’m working with on my side, shock I mean, I haven’t defined any of this for myself yet. He’s right about something else—he’s had time to digest it all. I’ve been checked out and haven’t processed any of it.

  Quietly, almost to himself, Skinny Drake says, “It is different for me.”

  He turns the sound to Full House back on.

  Laugh track is back.

  I lean back into the pillows, letting my head put the pieces together with what Gordo said. Working the math. Piecing together what I know and don’t. McCluskey is my dad, our dad. That makes Gordo my uncle. Makes Skinny Drake my brother and those other asshole McCluskeys my family as well. Mama McCluskey is my stepmother.

  Holy shit. I officially have a wicked stepmother.

  I snort.

  Couldn’t help it. Can’t help but snicker at that one.

  Actually, I’m starting to laugh way too hard at that one. It started silently. A belly chuckle rumbles and shakes, slowly rolling up into a full-on fit of laughter. So much so, Skinny Drake, my brother, stops eating and turns back to me. I must be loud. One thing puts an end to giggle time. Plants a fork in my brain. Something Gordo said. Something Gordo said stops me cold as I sit in this bed.