And though she’d thought the bad guys’ gun shots were loud, coming from the end of the hallway, they were nothing compared to Archer firing his hand gun out her door. She gritted her teeth and clamped her hands over her ears, watching as he peeked around the door jam while he fired the weapon. The booming went on through ten shots, then just quiet clicking, over and over.
“Please tell me you hit them,” she groaned, daring to get up into a crouch.
“Clipped one in the leg, but nothing that would scare them off,” Archer said, crawling over to her closet.
“Shit. You have more bullets, right?”
“Nope. That was it. Do you have anything in here that would work as a weapon?”
“You only had ten bullets?” she asked.
“The gun only holds ten. C’mon, weapons, think. Anything,” he snapped, digging through the mess of clothing on the floor.
“Well, I keep my semi-automatics in my underwear drawer, and my -”
“Jojo. Not helping.”
“What do you think I have in here!?” she snapped, glancing back at the door. Their assailants were still taunting them from the kitchen, thankfully. “I have around sixty pairs of cheap underwear, a ton of shoes, some Bacardi from your birthday, and a shitty Beanie Babies collection. Not exactly an ammunitions depot!”
“I don’t know! Anything we can fashion into – wait, Bacardi? What kind?” he asked, turning on his haunches to face her.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Where is it?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake …”
Jo angrily crawled over to her night stand and yanked open the bottom drawer. A bottle full of amber liquid rolled around and she picked it up. She held it out to him, the label facing up.
“I never thought you being an alcoholic would save my life. I could kiss you,” he sighed, taking the bottle from her and quickly unscrewing the cap.
“Alcoholic!?”
“No worse than me, don’t worry. Now for the panties,” he said, turning away from her and going to her dresser. He pulled open the second drawer and started rifling through her underwear.
“What do you need my underwear for?” she asked, then realized something else. “And how did you know which drawer they were in?”
“You think I’ve never snooped around your bedroom? I’m a guy, Jo,” he snorted, pulling out a plain white cotton pair. A couple gun shots were fired and they both ducked again.
“That’s awful, and an invasion of privacy,” she informed him. “And … what the hell are you doing?”
She watched as he sprinkled some of the rum over her panties, then he bunched up the material and forced it into the neck of the bottle. It made a makeshift cork and he turned the bottle upside down, further soaking the cotton inside the glass.
“Collect anything you love, right now,” he told her, glancing around. Her laptop was on top of her dresser and he grabbed it, practically throwing it at her. She managed to catch it and put it on her bed, along with the documents she’d collected in her living room. She picked a ratty backpack up off the floor and started shoving things into it. The papers and computer, some pictures from her night stand, any clothing that was laying anywhere near her.
“Holy shit,” she gasped for air, trying not to hyperventilate as she filled the pack to almost overflowing. “Oh my god, that’s what I think it is, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he nodded, moving so he was against the wall right next to her door. “Anything above eighty proof burns really well. We’re lucky you like your drinks strong – nothing like good ol’ 151 to get the job done.”
“Mandy is going to be so pissed,” Jo groaned.
“Do you have renter’s insurance?”
“What do you think?”
“We don’t have a choice, Jo. They’re gonna start coming down the hall as soon as they catch onto the fact that I’m not firing back. Got a light?” he asked, shaking the bottle at her.
Jo clutched the backpack to her chest and stared at him. Archer Calhoun was holding a Molotov cocktail in her bedroom, and he was ready to toss it at some drug dealing henchmen in her kitchen. What had happened to the world?
“Yeah,” she sighed, going to her dresser and rooting around in the top drawer. It was mostly full of junk, and after a second of searching, she found her lucky Zippo. It had an American flag on one side, and the Anarchist symbol on the other. She held it out to him and he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing tight for a second.
“I’m sorry, Jo. I really am,” he told her, staring very directly into her eyes. She managed a watery smile, just barely holding back tears.
“It’s not your fault. I hated this place, anyway. Light it up.”
Archer did as told, holding the flame to the cotton. When it caught fire, he handed the Zippo back to her and then peeked out the doorway. Jo shoved the lighter into her pocket, then she hunched over and plugged her ears. She didn’t really want to hear if he hit his mark.
He may have had shit aim with his gun, but he didn’t miss with the bottle. He dashed across the open door, throwing the incendiary device as he moved. It exploded somewhere down the hall and despite her makeshift ear muffs, she could still hear the bad guys screaming.
“Shit,” Archer hissed, now on the other side of the door from her and looking through the crack on that side. She let her hands fall away from her ears.
“What?” she asked.
“I was hoping it would hit in the kitchen, on the tile. Maybe buy us some time. Landed at the end of the hall, the walls are already on fire,” he told her. There was more screaming and the sound of stomping. Someone falling to the ground. She hoped they’d been taught to stop, drop, and roll.
“Shit. What are we going to do? I don’t want to burn to death, Archer!” she whimpered.
“That’s not going to happen,” he assured her, and he rushed over to her window. It was open and he leaned outside as she hurried up behind him.
“Two stories isn’t so bad,” she said. “We could survive a two story jump, right?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I have a better idea – there’s a dumpster halfway under Mandy’s window. Move, go to her room.”
He didn’t wait for her to follow instructions, just started shoving her down the hallway. She hissed as a wall of heat slapped her across the face. Flames were licking their way down her walls, racing towards the bedrooms. She squealed and hurried into her roommate’s room, going straight for the window. She struggled to open it, then shrugged into her backpack while she looked outside.
“What is it with today and jumping out windows?” she asked, swinging a leg over the window sill and straddling it for a moment.
“You always wanted to bungee jump, remember? Think of it like that,” Archer suggested, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly as she moved her other leg so she was sitting on the ledge.
“This is not bungee jumping, Archer. It looks a lot farther than two stories. What if I miss the -”
She screamed when he shoved her from behind. She barely had time to throw her hands in front of her head before she landed face-first in a pile of trash. There was shouting from above her and she scrambled backwards, banging her head painfully on the partially closed lid. She scooted under, and a second later Archer landed in the same spot she’d just vacated.
“I’m beginning to think drug dealers aren’t the only ones who want me dead!” she hissed, kicking at him while she struggled to push the lid open.
“The door was on fire, I didn’t have time to baby talk you through it. You okay?” he asked, sitting upright and shoving the lid up.
“Peachy keen. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
They both fell out of the dumpster, picking trash and food off their clothing as they hurried across the car park. By the time they got to Jo’s car, the building’s fire alarm was going off and residents were starting to stream into the parking lot. She frowned as she turned on the vehicle.
“Everyone is gonna be oka
y, Jo,” Archer assured her. “The sprinklers in your kitchen had already gone off, the fire won’t go beyond your apartment.”
“But what if it does?” she asked, watching in her rear view mirror as Mrs. Copernicus hobbled her way out of the building, carrying four of her cats. Her grandson followed close behind, holding the rest of the scratch-happy kitties.
“It won’t. The doors are all steel, the hallways and apartments all have sprinklers. The building was made to be fireproof. Look at the window we just jumped out of, do you see any flames? It’s probably almost out, already. No one will get hurt. It’ll be okay,” he promised, rubbing her shoulder.
She knew it didn’t really matter if she was upset or not – they had to keep moving. So she nodded her head and pulled out onto the street. She turned a corner and felt a little relief when a fire engine went screaming past them.
“It’s just like Krakow’s apartment. How the fuck did they know we were home?” she asked after they’d gone a couple blocks. “We’d barely been there … what, ten minutes? Fifteen minutes? They couldn’t have followed us. Could they have?”
“I don’t think so …” Archer mumbled, but when she glanced at him, he was glaring out the windshield.
“We should just go to the police,” she finally said what she’d been thinking since morning. “This is too much for us. We just set a building on fire!”
“No,” he shook his head. “No police. It’s too late for that now. Did you hear Mrs. C? She called and no one came – they’re probably dirty cops, paid off to let these guys do what they want.”
“This isn’t a movie, Archer! A James Bond villain isn’t lurking somewhere, orchestrating all this,” she insisted.
“No, this is real life, Jo. Which means whoever is behind this probably makes a James Bond villain look like a pussy. Don’t be naive, I don’t have the energy for it today.”
“Fuck off. What do we do then? Go on the lam? Should I drive to the border?” she asked in a snide voice.
“No. We …”
She waited for a second, expecting him to finish the sentence. He didn’t.
“We … what? What do we do? Where do we go?” she demanded. He let out a long, pained sigh.
“We go to my dad’s house,” he breathed.
“Great idea! Yeah, we should just lead the bad guys to our childhood neighborhood! Maybe introduce them to our moms!” she laughed angrily. He didn’t smile. Just sunk lower in his seat and looked away from her.
“No. Not that house.”
“Then what house?”
“My real dad’s house.”
12:06 p.m.
Day Two
Jo had known Archer Calhoun since he was fifteen. She’d been to his family home, had met his mother and step-father. She’d also met his grandmother, his two aunts, his one uncle, and six of his cousins.
She knew that as a young child he’d struggled with a minor case of dyslexia. She knew about the night terrors he’d dealt with up until the age of eleven. She even new about how his step-dad used to slap him around, before Archer got bigger than the guy. She knew his favorite color, the way he liked his steak cooked, and all about his secret obsession with pop music.
So how IN THE FUCK did she not know about his real father!?
As far as Jo had known, Archer didn’t even know who is real father was – that’s what he’d always told her. All their lives. His mother and father had split up before he’d been born, and he’d always been told his dad didn’t care about him, didn’t want him, didn’t love him.
“How could you not tell me something this huge?” Jo asked again, staring at him from across the car. He shrugged and glanced to his left before making a turn.
“It’s … complicated. I’ll explain everything when we get there,” he replied.
It was pretty much the only answer he’d give her. They’d stopped at a gas station to grab some water, and when she’d come back outside, he’d insisted on driving. Once in the car, he’d immediately gotten on the freeway and headed south. After about half an hour, though, he’d hooked west, passing Santa Monica and heading onto Highway 1 – the scenic coastal highway. For a while there was nothing but ocean on their left, and national park on their right. It took over twenty minutes before she’d realized where they were heading.
Malibu. Archer’s real dad lives in Malibu!?
“You’re kinda freaking me out. Where are we going?” she asked as they cruised through the posh community.
“I told you, I’ll -”
“Archer.”
He finally glanced at her.
“Jodi.”
“I have been thrown out two windows today,” she said in a slow voice. “Been shot at. Been chased. Been threatened. And it’s barely noon. Please, please, just tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay. Okay, we’re basically here,” he sighed, and she sat up straight, glancing around. They were on Malibu Canyon Road and he turned onto a smaller, more residential road. They wound their way past intimidating gates, which were all locked in front of large properties. In the distance, she could see palatial homes.
“Your real dad lives here?” she said, her voice full of awe as they rolled to a stop at a dead end. The only way to continue forward would be through a scary iron gate that had spikes at the top of it.
“Yeah.”
He climbed out of the car and she hurried to get out of her side. She hesitated at her door, though, unsure of whether to grab her backpack or not. At home, she never left anything in her vehicle that might tempt someone to break in. But she highly doubted there were car thieves creeping around in the bushes, so she shut her door and moved to stand with him at the front of the vehicle.
“This …” she tried to collect her thoughts. “Archer, this is not a normal home. What does your dad do for a living?”
“That’s the thing. Jo, I …” his voice trailed off, and somewhere in the distance she heard a buzzing noise. She peered through the gate, watching as something behind the hedges moved.
“Yeah?” she asked. He gently grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to face him.
“Before everything goes to shit,” he started talking fast. “I want you to know something.”
“Why? What’s happening?” she asked, getting nervous again. He glanced at the gate.
“Everything I did, was because of you. Everything. Even if it seems fucked up – and it will – it was because of you. Because I wanted to be close to you but I knew I wasn’t good enough for you, and I wanted to be better, but I just couldn’t, and I had to keep you safe. From me, from them, from everybody. Jo, I’ve always -”
She was a little blown away by his rambling speech, and she held her breath, waiting for those words she’d been dying to hear. Words she felt like she kind of wanted to say, herself. His fingers were digging into her skin and he was staring at her so hard, she couldn’t look anywhere else but into his gaze. His eyes were back to a mossy green and she felt herself getting lost in them. She swayed towards him, soaking in every sentence.
Before he could finish what he was saying, though, there was another buzzing sound. Much louder. She winced and turned her head, watching as the gate slowly creaked open. A vehicle drove towards them – it looked like a war-ready golf cart, decked out with big wheels and a roll bar and camouflage paint. It came to a stop maybe five feet away and the driver jumped out, a bounce in his step as he headed towards them. He wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt, the top couple buttons undone. An artfully messy red pocket square stood out against the dark material of his jacket, and when he finally reached them, he smiled a toothy grin that looked oddly familiar to Jo.
“Archer,” the man said, not bothering to remove his shiny sunglasses.
“Mal,” Archer nodded his head.
“Going to introduce me?” the guy called Mal asked, turning his smile to Jo.
“No.”
“Awww, you’re no fun!”
“It’s been a shitty weekend.”
“Really? That’s too bad, Archie.”
“It is. I need to speak to him.”
“He saw you on the cameras, he sent me down to get you.”
“We can drive up on our own.”
“Seriously, little bro, you have to lighten up,” Mal laughed.
“Little brother?” Jo asked.
Mal smirked and removed his glasses, and she gasped. He was tall, but smaller in size than Archer, not quite as broad. Leaner. He had much darker hair and much fairer skin. They really didn’t look alike at all – except for their identical hazel eyes.
Wow, it’s just like looking into Archer’s eyes.
“By five years,” Mal informed her. “And you must be the famous Jo. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she replied, glancing at Archer. He was busy glaring at his brother.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the tricked out golf cart.
Mal rambled on and on. He was pretentious and snide. Spoiled-rich-kid poured off him in waves. He seemed to love to hear himself talk, and was trying his hardest to embarrass Archer.
“On and on,” he was chuckling as they cruised up a long driveway. “Jo this, and Jo that. Jo, Jo, Jo!”
“Shut up,” Archer grumbled. Jo managed a small smile, staring at the backs of their heads.
“That’s kind of sweet,” she said, poking him in the shoulder.
“Oh yeah, the girls love it,” Mal sighed. She stopped smiling.
“Girls?”
“Shut up, Mal,” Archer growled.
“I have a question,” Jo ventured, and she noticed as he stiffened up. “What do you do, Mal?”
“What do you mean, Jo?” he asked, chuckling.
“Like for a living. I assume you don’t just live with your dad,” she laughed. She had no reason to dislike him, really, but it was clear he liked taking the piss out of Archer, and that got her hackles up. Only she was allowed to do that – no one else.
Just a Little Junk Page 15
