Oh please Dad, don’t be getting into the booze I hated thinking that my dad would have destroyed the trust we placed in him by drinking the first time we left JJ with him, and I hated that was the first thought that popped into my head.
But wait a minute—Dad wouldn’t need to turn all the lights on to get to the booze. Maybe one, but then he would just take the bottle back upstairs like he always did, so maybe it wasn’t what I was thinking at all. I really needed to calm the hell down and stop jumping the gun.
“Do you know whose car that is?” Harlow pointed to a busted ass banana yellow Cutlass Supreme with more rust than paint that was parked haphazardly on the curb a little ways past the bar. Not right in front of it, but close enough that it didn’t look like it was parked by the tattoo shop—which was also closed and had no lights coming from any of the windows.
“I don’t,” I couldn’t imagine that car being able to run at all, much less know anyone that might have been driving it. “And Dad doesn’t have visitors at the bar. If he hangs out with anyone, he goes out. I can’t imagine him having anyone over when he was watching JJ anyway.”
“Something’s not right,” Harlow said again, except this time it was more like a whisper and more like she was talking to herself. She pulled her hand out of mine and started jogging towards the bar. I wasn’t going to argue with her, especially if she was feeling what I was feeling. That strange sense of uneasiness swimming around in my stomach.
Nothing about what I had been imagining prepared me for what we found when we opened the front door.
I didn’t need to use the key because the door was unlocked, which was bizarre because even if I myself was in the bar if it was closed to the public, the front door was always locked. What in the hell was Dad doing?
I walked in first and saw JJ sitting on the wide wood floor in front of the barstools, surrounded by a circle of cars. My dad was on the floor beside him, ruffling his hand through JJ’s hair and whispering something too low for me to hear. There were metal napkin holders on their sides in front of him, and paper towel tubes running from one end to the other, and I knew exactly what they were doing downstairs with all the lights on. Dad had been hoarding those damn paper towel rolls for like two weeks, and now I finally figured out why. He’d built JJ ramps to play cars on and they did it downstairs because the wood floor was great for rolling.
Laughing, I let Harlow come inside before I shut the door behind her. “Kind of late to be up and playing cars don’t you think, Dad?” Then he looked up at me and Harlow shrieked.
“Dad, what happened to your face?” It looked like he’d smashed into a wall, taken a fall or a fist or something. There was a cut on the side of his left eye that was crusty and bleeding. Still oozing blood down the side of his face actually. His mouth was puffy and swollen like he’d hit his entire face and never bothered to clean up the wound.
“I’m sorry, Jesse. Harlow. This is my fault. I let him in here.” Confused, I just stared at my dad, who upon closer inspection was holding his left arm close to his side as if it hurt to move. Jesse didn’t look quite right either. His tiny little face was pinched and miserable, and he looked like he’d been crying.
“What are you talking about, Dad? What happened—are you guys okay?” JJ’s little shoulders started shaking and I started to walk towards them, Harlow by my side.
“That’s probably far enough, I think.” The male voice sounded from beside the bar, partially obscured by the shadows of the stairwell he was standing in. He was tall and gaunt, almost painfully thin actually, and wore a pair of filthy jeans and what looked to be an equally unwashed jacket. I couldn’t tell what color his hair was, because his head was freshly shaven, and there were angry looking red scab marks on his face and the back of his hands. One of which held a gun.
What the fuck, was this a holdup?
“We don’t keep money in the bar after closing, guy,” I said slowly, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. “We don’t even have a safe on the property, everything is deposited in the night deposit every shift. But if you’re determined to take from us today, you can have the two hundred dollars in starter cash that’s in the register, and whatever I have in my wallet. I’d just be real grateful if you put the gun down.” I’d give him whatever he wanted if he would get the hell out of here. I had no idea how he’d gotten into the bar in the first place, but from JJ’s tears and the damage on my dad’s face, they’d already probably tried to get him to leave.
The stranger laughed, high pitched and reedy. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, like he had found something funny. It was a compulsive laugh, like the noises just bubbled out of his throat and he had no control over the why and the when. It was the laugh of a lunatic.
“Oh I’ll take whatever I want for sure, but I didn’t come here for money.” The skin of his face was stretched so tight over his skull I thought for sure his bones were going to push right through and his eyes were sunken and dark. “Actually,” he continued, “I would have been in and out with what I wanted already, but the old man here wouldn’t let me get close to EJ and I had to rough him up a little. I don’t like doing that kind of thing, you see? And it made EJ cry so I had to let them sit together for a bit and calm him down.” This guy wasn’t making any sense. Who was EJ? If he didn’t want money what did he want, walking around with that gun in his hand?
I heard a low keening noise beside me and spared a brief glance at Harlow that turned into a long look of concern. The noise was coming from her, but I don’t think she even knew she was making it. Her eyes were wide with fear and the skin of her face was white as death. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides and her mouth wide open, like she was trying to take a breath, but no air was going in or out. A slight tremor ran through her body—I saw the shivering ripple under the skin of her arms but she didn’t pay attention to it. Her eyes were locked on the corner, on the man with the gun.
The man then walked along the front of the bar, between us and JJ, and gave my dad a kick in the side. He grunted in pain but didn’t move away from JJ. “Get up old man, I’m not gonna hurt him —he’s mine, you know? My boy. I wouldn’t hurt him. I just came to pick him up is all.” My dad groaned but couldn’t bring himself to get up any further than his knees. He tried though, and it made me wonder how hard my dad had fought to keep that man from using that gun.
Finally losing patience the man used his booted foot to knock my dad to the ground and grabbing JJ by the arm, he hauled him to his feet and marched him further away from where my dad lay on the ground. Further away from us too. I didn’t know what was going on, I was still in the dark, but there was no way I was going to let him go any further with the terrified little boy. I would rather take a bullet than let that happen.
“You let go of him right now!” Harlow had found her voice, and she screamed the command at the top of her lungs—her right hand twisting the face of her watch nervously. I’d seen her fiddle with it before, it seemed to be a nervous habit.
The skeleton man smiled wide at Harlow’s outburst, revealing a row of blackened teeth. The ones that were still in there anyway. “Oh, she finally speaks,” he cackled with glee. “I thought you’d lost your voice, Babe. It’s been almost five years, aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Let go of him, Elliot,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
“No way, he’s my boy, and he’s coming with me. It’s been a long time, Harlow, don’t say you didn’t miss me. It’s okay now, EJ,” he said to the clearly terrified JJ who was being held hostage by that bony hand wrapped around his arm. “Daddy’s home now.”
17
Harlow
My worst nightmare was standing in front of me with his hands on my son, but my brain couldn’t compute because Elliot Palmer was still supposed to be serving time in prison. He had an eight-year sentence. It had been less than five. And even if, for some reason he got out, wasn’t someone supposed to let me know? Wasn’t that what they had said? That they would
tell me?
“JJ,” I said, trying not to let tears and fear clog my throat. “Don’t be scared baby. Mama’s right here.”
“Yeah,” Elliot said, gesturing with the hand that held the weapon. “You’re way over there, and we are over here. I only stayed so you could see me taking back what you took from me. Your life. I’m his parent now, and you can’t keep him from me. I’m taking over and you’ll never see him again. Say goodbye to your mom, EJ.”
Every sweep of his hand sent icy spears of fear to my heart thinking the gun was going to go off. I’d seen him shoot a man on purpose before and it was a horror story. I didn’t want to imagine him shooting one of us by accident. It was a very real possibility too, because judging by his actions and appearance he was high on something, and not wholly in control.
“His name isn’t EJ,” I said. I don’t know why I said it. It was true, but it was sure to send him into a rage. I was less worried about him harming JJ because he was his son. I was worried about him shooting me or Jesse though.
Elliot shook his head sadly like I’d disappointed him. Then he scratched his temple with the barrel of his gun and smiled at me. “See, we talked about this, Harlow. You know, back before you got me put away for a long time, remember? His name was going to be Elliot Palmer Junior. EJ. I know you didn’t forget.”
I didn’t agree or disagree with him. I simply looked at my son and smiled at him. I spoke to let him know that I was here, and as long I was talking, we could figure something out. I would never let that man walk out of here with JJ. Jesse was with me. We would figure something out.
“His name is Jesse Jones, and no matter what you think of that it doesn’t make it any less true. Also, if you are so concerned with being a father right now you should know—you’re scaring him. He’s afraid of you.” Elliot looked surprised like the thought had never occurred to him before and he knelt on the ground to look at JJ, gun still hanging limply in his hand.
“You don’t have to be scared of me, Buddy. I’m your daddy.” JJ didn’t answer, just looked up at Elliot with terrified eyes, his little body shaking. Every part of my body was screaming to run and snatch him up. Elliot was nothing, I could definitely take him—but that gun. We all had to be wary of that gun. Bile rose in my throat, sharp and acidic, but my throat muscles weren’t working to swallow it down.
While JJ had Elliot’s attention, Jesse whispered to me. “Keep him talking, Harlow. I’m going to get JJ away from him. I’m going to be fast—so as soon as I move I need you to go for that gun, okay?
What? “No,” I hissed, as quietly as I could. “Are you crazy? He’ll shoot you. He could shoot JJ.”
“I’ll figure something out,” was all he said before Elliot swung his attention back to us, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“What are you two talking about? So this is what you’ve been doing while I was away? Thought you’d trade up, did you, Harlow?” I didn’t like the way he was looking at Jesse, so I started talking to pull his attention back to me.
“How long have you been out, Elliot?” I asked, just to keep him talking. “The courts were supposed to let me know when you were released. It was a condition of the sentencing, you know, after you put me in the hospital.”
“Oh you were fine, you big whiner,” Elliot said sarcastically. He still held JJ’s arm, but it was a little looser now. JJ wasn’t looking at Elliot anymore, he was looking at Jesse, but I needed to keep Elliot’s attention on me so I couldn’t tell what they were doing. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the United States justice system has some flaws. A lot of them to do with communication.” And he laughed, that nervous hyena laugh—a telltale sign that he’d been using.
“I’ve been out for almost a whole year, Harlow. I was a model inmate. Granted parole at my first hearing. Good behavior, you know.” he snickered. “And you never knew.”
“And how long did it take for you to start using again, Elliot?” I asked quietly. “You don’t look so good. How are you going to take care of JJ if you can’t take care of yourself?” It wasn’t a lie, Elliot looked like the walking dead. He was barely a shadow of the man I used to know.
“I can take care of EJ, just fine.” He emphasized the name to let me know what he thought of the name Jesse. “See, Harlow, I’ve been watching you all this time. I’ve been real close and you never even knew. You made it so easy too—you were still in the same trailer park we lived in together. It was like you were sitting there waiting for me. You didn’t even change your phone number. We could have been a family again, you know. I would have forgiven you for putting me away. But no,” Elliot snarled and swung the gun and an arc above his head. “You had to go and get above yourself. A new job, a new apartment and a new boyfriend? Don’t you think you’re just hot shit.”
My stomach plummeted when I thought of all the time he had spent out of prison, watching the two of us when we thought we were safe. All of those hang up phone calls, where I answered the phone but no one spoke. We thought we were protected. Elliot kept talking, proud of his accomplishments.
“I know everything about you now, Harlow. From what time you drop the boy off at daycare to what time you get home from work. I even knew about your date tonight since a certain old man got excited about babysitting and blabbed it all over to anyone at the diner who cared to hear. Thanks for that,” he said to Jesse’s dad, who had managed to drag himself a little way down the bar, away from the line of fire.
“You know what the best part about this is, Harlow?” Elliot asked, his friendly tone a direct contrast to the gun he had stopped swinging and was now holding pointed right at me. “I was just going to take my boy home with me. That’s all I came for but seeing you now? I want you to suffer. Suffer like you made me suffer. But since I can’t make you go to jail…I think I’ll just shoot you, and watch you bleed out before I walk out that back door with my boy.” He smiled evenly at me, and my stomach dropped even further if that was even possible. I took a deep breath in through my nose and prayed. Prayed for something. An intervention. A miracle. An idea of what to do next to keep that man from walking out the door with my son. Anything, just please, God help me.
His gun hand wobbled then, and he looked at it and frowned. I don’t know why he was surprised, he’d had the shakes since we had walked in the door, likely coming down from whatever he’d been hopped up on to begin with. Letting go of JJ he wrapped his other hand around the barrel of the gun, steadying it.
He may have had a good shot, but he never got to take it.
My prayers were answered by the most unlikely source, Ed and JJ.
“I’ve already notified the authorities,” Ed said weakly from behind the bar. He had managed to drag himself behind it and was leaning heavily on the shiny black counter, the blood from his wound no longer dripping down.
“Bull shit old man, you can barely talk much less call the cops,” Elliot swung his attention over to the bar, and in the split second, I saw Jesse mouth to JJ, “Run to me. Now.”
But JJ had other ideas. He was four. He was scared of the bad man, sure, but that bad man had threatened his mommy and now had that gun pointed at his Papa Ed. I’ll never know the terror he felt in the time he’d been alone before we got back from Affini’s, but I sure as shit knew what he was thinking as he looked up at Elliot, who was not paying any attention to him at all anymore. Rage. His little face was screwed up and flushed with anger. And it was that feeling that propelled him forward as he balled up his fist, swung his arm back, and punched Elliot square in the balls. “You don’t hurt my Mama,” he screamed, his face a red mask of fury.
Two things happened then. Elliot went to his knees like a stone, his eyes rolling upward and a howl of agony ripping from his throat. Jesse was off like a pistol shot, no longer waiting for JJ to run to him, but snatching him away from the still struggling Elliot and rolling across the floor with him, as far away from Elliot as he could get.
Elliot recovered too quickly, and reached up with
the gun arm, out of his mind with pain and anger and no longer caring that he could shoot JJ. He aimed at Jesse’s back as he skidded across the bar floor.
Fuck no. I wouldn’t allow it.
Using every piece of information that I had gleaned from Jeanette about self-defense I launched myself at Elliot. Well, not at him exactly. At the elbow of his left arm. I slashed my right arm down at an angle and cracked him right at the joint. Another scream of agony and Elliot dropped the gun on the ground, where I immediately kicked it as hard as I could and listened as it went skittering across the floor and into the shadows on the other side of the bar. And then, just because I didn’t want to take the chance that he could move and get his hands on it again, I roundhouse kicked him in the face. It was clumsy, I wasn’t very good at it, but I still had enough force to spin him around and send him straight to the ground where he lay, unmoving. He wasn’t getting up again.
I ran, almost tripping over myself to get to the other end of the bar where Ed still leaned heavily on the counter and Jesse sat huddled on the floor, JJ wrapped around his neck like a tiny, shivering monkey. He was sobbing loudly into Jesse’s shirt, and I wanted to pluck him out of Jesse’s arms and into my own. I needed to feel him and know he was okay, but there were other things to take care of first.
“Ed, please tell me you weren’t kidding and you really did call the police,” my voice was shaky as hell now that the gun wasn’t an issue anymore. My knees were starting to feel that way as well.
“Panic button under the counter,” he wheezed, and it occurred to me that he probably needed some emergency medical attention. Ed was in pretty rough shape. “Harlow, he knocked on the door, said his car broke down. I’d never met him before but I’d seen him at Holly’s diner before so he looked familiar. I shouldn’t have let him in—Harlow I’m so sorry—”
Jesse (Glass City Hearts Book 3) Page 14
