by Aven Jayce
“Where do these random questions come from?” I ask, getting no response.
I think for a moment, knowing one dream that has always haunted me, but unsure if she can handle something dark after the other crap. I probe for something else but nothing comes to mind.
“Anything?” she asks. “Anything at all?”
“A nightmare I had when I was seven or eight has always stuck with me, but I don’t want you to get all freaked out if I tell you.”
“Why, is it about me?” She peers out from her arm.
“No, I said I was a kid.” I shake my head. “It was disturbing and since you’re high...”
“Go ahead. I can handle disturbing.”
“Remember, you asked.” I place my hands on the arms of the chair and lean back. “In this dream, I entered the kitchen of my childhood home and my mother was taking a pie out of the oven. She asked me if I wanted a piece and when I looked to see what kind it was, I saw my sister’s head baked inside. My mother began slicing it and I was fixed in terror, unable to run away, you know like those cartoons where the feet move but the character doesn’t get anywhere? That was me. I woke up in a sweat and crept to the kitchen to see if it had really happened. The dream was so vivid; the smells, colors, voices, temperature of the oven, it was like I had actually witnessed it. I couldn’t separate my dream from reality and became paranoid. I felt helpless and panicky for days.”
“Jesus Christ, Mark. You are fucking with me, aren’t you? You said that thing about reality and dreams because I’m stoned and now I can’t figure out what is reality, here and now. You did that on purpose.” She kicks my leg and stands. “You have any snacks?”
“Help yourself, but come right back. Bring whatever you find upstairs with you,” I say on her way out. “And remind me not only to never make love to you again, but never to give you any of my weed either.”
“Ha-ha, smart ass,” she says from the stairs. “I swear half the shit that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”
“It’s all real, Jules. I’m not fucking with you!” I call downstairs. “What else do you want to know?”
“Mark, you don’t have any food!” she yells.
“Check the pantry!”
She reappears a few minutes later and flops on the bed, holding a box of Saltines. “I can’t believe this is all you have.”
“I eat at the restaurant every day or have room service deliver food. You want me to call them?”
“No, this is fine. It’s just odd that you have such an elegant kitchen and it’s empty. And you really like storm cloud colors, don’t you? Every wall in your place is dark grey, your furniture is all dark brown or black; even your kitchen cabinets are a blue-grey.”
“Don’t get crumbs on my black comforter.”
She salutes me as a soldier would a senior officer and tastes the cracker. Next, I just know she’ll need something to drink.
“Don’t give me any more pot. I feel like an idiot and must sound like one too. Plus, my head’s sizzling,” she says. “How often do you smoke?”
“Not often.” I continue rifling through the video. It’s odd that she’s not asking about Dayne. Maybe she got the drift last night when I refused to talk about him, but then again, that’s never stopped her before.
I glance at her adoring face as she nibbles and swallows dryly, then nibbles again like a tiny bird. Her hands and feet are small and delicate. Her eyes gleam tenderly when she looks at me. I trust her.
I’ve checked all of her social media sites and didn’t run across anything unusual. She’s lived here her entire life and as far as I can tell, she has no connection to Vegas or Dayne.
“What?” she whispers.
“There’s a glass in the bathroom if you need some water.”
“You read my mind.” She’s slow to rise and starting to reach a more tranquil state for the night, kissing me on the top of the head as she walks by.
Now, if I could only... well, I’ll be sucked, fucked, and tattooed. Jackpot. There’s a brief shot of Dayne from yesterday, getting into the passenger seat of an old orange Datsun pick-up truck, but the person behind the wheel is unrecognizable. I zoom in and still no luck. The truck is too far from the camera, the visor is down, and the face is blurred as they drive off in a rush.
At least my suspicions were right. Someone got that prick a gun and drove him here.
I fiddle with my watch and wonder if I should make a quick run through town to see if I can spot the truck, or if I should just wait ‘til morning. He can’t still be hiding out in the woods. Once he took the shot the bastard would’ve booked knowing I’m on full alert. And as long as everyone stays inside, it’s safe for Jules and the other suite to be alone, but once outdoors everyone’s an open target.
Real men don’t drag shit out for days like pussies.
Yeah, Dad, I know.
“Jules, I need to check on the hotel and staff before I call it a night. Promise me you’ll stay in this room.”
“Will you be disappointed if I fall asleep?”
“I’d prefer it.”
She undresses and burrows under the comforter, resting her head peacefully on the pillow. “I promise.”
“I’ll be gone for about an hour. Stay naked so we can fuck when I get back.”
I pat my holster, making sure I have my gun, strap a second one above my ankle, and pull a new switchblade from my dresser.
Julia’s eyes are already closed when I turn off the light next to the bed and whisper in her ear, “Or, if you’d like, we can make love.”
I sense her smile in the darkness as I walk out of the room.
Evil woman.
INTO THE DARKNESS
THE ORANGE DATSUN is in plain sight; parked three short miles from my hotel at the ramshackle Pine Mountain Motor Lodge. It’s a one-story shithole, painted dark green with black trim. The type of place that has weekly room rates for deadbeats like Dayne, or hourly rates for high school kids needing a place to lose their virginity.
I park less than a hundred feet away in a used car lot and walk behind the motel with my gun drawn, counting the small bathroom windows until I reach his room. I want to know who’s with him and if there’s a chance I know this other person. If I have to take both men down tonight, I will.
I’d expect the asshole to go after my sister and brother-in-law in St. Louis first. Dayne’s a creature of habit and despises them both. But it looks like he’s doing a one-eighty and starting with me. I guess if I’m out of the way then he’s free to take his time torturing the rest of my family, but I never expected him to attempt a kill before finding out the truth about his father.
I take a deep breath, look around, and peer into the bathroom window.
Well, I’ll be... tits. He’s got a woman with him? Maybe she’s a hooker, damn it, this could complicate things.
She’s toweling her legs with her ass in the air and tits hanging down that look ready for a good suck. And knowing Dayne, that ass and those tits are well used.
Her skin is white as snow and blemish free, but I can’t see her face when she stands and covers her head in the towel. She’s short, curvy, and... fuck, there’s a Jameson Industries tattoo on her shoulder, just like mine. She is flawed. The wench worked for my father.
Damn it.
I move away from the window, suddenly sick to my stomach, and oddly, I believe it’s not because of the tat. I admit it; now that I’m so enamored by Jules, I feel guilty that I gazed at this woman’s body.
“Stop being such a wussy boy,” I whisper, rubbing my gun under my chin while figuring out what to do next. I have another look inside and notice the bathroom door’s open, but I don’t see Dayne or any weapons in the room. And if he were around, he’d be groping that woman’s flesh. Since he’s not here, I’ll have to deal with the dick monkey later, alone, without getting the woman involved.
He probably took off to a bar. In which case he could be gone for hou
rs. I’m not spending my entire night waiting around when I’ve got warm flesh in my bed. Anyway, it’s fucking nasty behind this dump.
I walk cautiously to my truck, start the engine, and pull onto the highway.
“I hate it that you parked that Datsun in plain sight. You’re waving the orange carrot in front of the rabbit’s face. You gonna use the woman as a decoy? Fucker, you drew me in, now where’s the trap?”
Crap in hell. The hotel... the private suites... my possessions. I bet he’s there. I’m in a panic, feeling like an idiot, and unable to drive back quickly enough. He lured me away. But there’s no way he could’ve gotten inside either place. No way. Fuck, I should’ve told Jules not to answer the door.
I’ll contact her after this call to my second suite.
Come on, pick up. Pick up.
“Yeah?”
“Everything okay?” I ask. “The doors are closed and the lights are off?”
“Is he in the hotel?”
“Maybe. Just stay put.”
“Jesus, Mark.”
“I’m taking care of it.”
“No fuck this, I’m coming out and I’ll take care of him.”
“Don’t even think about moving your ass. Get real.”
There’s silence and a sigh.
“Stay put.” I hang up then call Jules in a rush. No answer. Shit, I doubt she was carrying her cell when I took her to my place.
“Almost there, almost there.” I tap the steering wheel.
The hotel’s glowing in the woods as I drive up the dark road, veering to the right toward my private underground garage. I look around before opening the door, then shut it once inside.
I exhale, draw my gun, and step out of my truck.
“If he laid a finger on her...”
Two steps toward my door and I hear swift movements from the truck bed. There’s the fucking trap. It’s him.
I’m charged and a speedy fist hits my jaw.
My gun flies from my hand.
I’m down.
He’s on my back and my head gets slammed into the concrete.
“You fuck!” he shouts.
Blood trickles down my forehead as I reach for the gun, but it’s too far away.
“Fucking Jameson piece of shit!” He pulls my arm back and spits on the side of my face. “I’m gonna have a blast killing you.”
My other hand reaches for my blade in my front pocket.
“No more using pussy ass guns, douchebag, that’s too quick and easy.”
I got the knife in my hand.
“I’m gonna take my time dismembering you, starting with your fingers, toes, and then your arms...”
The blade opens and in a rush I swing my free arm back, forcing it in his side.
“Oww!”
I pull out and thrust in again.
“Fuck!” He releases my arm and in a quick turn, I’m able to jab it in his gut.
His jaw drops as he clutches my wrist. I turn the blade, causing an agonizing sound to erupt as he falls forward.
“Dubious, Dayne, you motherfucker,” I seethe, pushing him to the ground.
Rolling on top, I put wounds in his thighs then stab each shoulder and force another deep cut into his stomach, trying not to hit a major artery. I want his blood to trickle out, not spurt. “Who’s the woman at the motel?” I ask, taking a gun from his jacket pocket. I close my blade and cock the gun, pointing it at his head. “Damn, it’s so easy to shoot a man, but the kill is too quick, isn’t it?” I pause and look at the suffering in his face. “Tell me about the whore.”
He stays quiet as blood tints his clothing.
“You don’t look so hot. You should’ve just shot me. Then you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” I stand and he covers his gut with shaky hands then rolls on his side.
“What now?” he wheezes.
“You have to ask?”
“You’re not your father, Mark.”
I laugh and continue. “My garage is equipped with plenty of rope...”
“Your dad wasn’t a meek pussy.”
“And I’m decent at hog-tying...”
“He would’ve shot me dead a day ago.”
“We can go on a road trip together...”
“You’re nothing but a wannabe drowning in shoes too big to fill,” he gasps from the pain. “A former Paul Jameson... bootlicking-groupie-stooge...” he inhales and mumbles, “...imperious prick porn star.” His eyes shut then flutter back open. “You know he hated you... you’re nothing.”
My foot presses into his bleeding thigh and a groan hangs in the air. “No, Dayne. I’m exceptional.”
“You got lucky, nothing more. I’m old and slow, just shoot me,” he gurgles with a blood-covered stomach. “Kill the race horse with the broken leg and put it out of its misery.”
I pace, trying to figure out how long he’s got before he’s dead. This asshole needs to experience something while he’s still alive and I want him to tell me about the woman. I bet I have an hour or two before he fades away. That should be enough time.
He tries a final grab toward my neck when I tie his feet, but falls short. I flip him over and tie his hands and elbows behind his back, then connect all three areas with a firm knot.
“Tell me why you killed my father,” he says.
“Oh yeah, I forgot that’s why you’re here.”
“You little dickhead. Why?”
“Now, now, Dayney boy,” I pat his greasy hair, “you know full well your father was a rapist and not fit for this earth. All rapists should die. But, that doesn’t mean I killed him. He made the right choice that day by committing suicide.”
“You sick fuck. Your father was the rapist.”
“Well, then. I guess it’s a good thing they’re both dead, right?” I pick my gun up off the floor and give him a hard kick to the abdomen, before unlocking the door to my stairwell. “Don’t go anywhere,” I laugh, “I’ll be back with a friend.”
My suite is two flights up and pleasantly serene when I enter. Jules is sound asleep.
Hoping she doesn’t stir, I close the bathroom door and wash the blood off my face and the blade, then change quietly into a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers before giving her a light kiss on her soft cheek.
“My sleeping beauty,” I whisper.
The blade is in the pocket of my hoodie and one gun is in my ankle holster. I keep Dayne’s gun in the back waist of my pants and leave the other behind. I’m overcompensating with all these weapons for an incapacitated man who’s nearly dead on my garage floor, but at the same time, I don’t know anything about his woman.
I close the bedroom door and step silently downstairs to the corridor outside my suite. There’s a late arrival in the hallway and I wait for the couple to enter their room before walking past. Blood drips down my forehead and gets wiped on my sleeve. My vision’s blurry. Plus, my head’s pounding. The fucker could’ve given me a concussion.
I put my head down and hood up then walk to the opposite end of the hotel. What I have to do next, asking for help, is going to sting more than a little.
“Let’s get the show on the road,” I whisper and knock three times on the door.
It’s silent and I knock again.
“You’re bleeding,” a voice responds. “A lot.”
“No shit,” I say. “Open the door.”
“Is it safe?”
“It’s safer.”
“What happened?”
“Open the fucking door.” I lose my cool then regret the tone, not wanting to wake the guests. “Listen to me,” I whisper with my fingers on the steel, “I need a second set of hands to put the fat shit in my truck.”
“When?”
“Now. He’s like a beached whale. Hurry up.”
There’s mumbling behind the door then silence.
“I’m not going to stand here and discuss this for twenty minutes. Get your ass out here.”
&
nbsp; “Give me a minute.”
There’s more mumbling then a lock clicks, the door opens, and my brother-in-law, Cove, steps out.
I shake my head at my sister before she quickly shuts the door in my face.
“Fuck, what’s up her ass?” I ask. “And look at you, hot shot with the mountain man facial hair. Is that a new look or just a horrible disguise?” I place my hand on his back as we walk to my suite.
“Don’t start, Mark. I’m not in the mood for your shit.”
“And you’re bathing in a new cologne.” I inhale deeply. “Vodka in the Woods, perhaps? I hope you’re sober enough to do this.”
“I’m not drunk, but maybe I should be. What are we doing anyway?”
“What are we doing? We’re living, Cove. Living the good life.”
He pushes my hand away and strides forward.
It’s too bad I needed to ask for his help, but I’m glad he’s here with my sister and the kids. I know he’d never admit it, but my extra suite is the safest place for them. They were sitting ducks in St. Louis.
And it didn’t take much persuading to get my sister on board with the idea. All I had to do was send her an image of Dayne’s face and she was eager to be in my protective custody.
Sophia and I despised one another growing up, which isn’t surprising. Our home life sucked. We even went a few years without speaking to one another when we were in our twenties. She finally came around to my dark humor and menacing personality a few years ago. We still bicker incessantly and have a love-hate relationship, but in her heart she knows I’m more of a guardian than her husband. I’ll get the job done and I’ve always got her back. No one’s going to hurt my little sister.
She also says I’m a control freak. And so what? I can admit to that.
“How the fuck did he manage to sneak his ass into your place?”
“Let’s not discuss this in the corridor,” I whisper, keeping Dayne’s covert hideout in my truck bed a secret. “How you been?”
“Is that supposed to be a joke? You know I can’t stand being locked inside a room.”
