“Sure.” He walked over to the cherry cabinet and started rummaging through the DVD’s. “I haven’t seen the original Star Wars movies.”
“I’m talking old movies, Maggie, the classics, like Singin’ in the Rain, The Philadelphia Story, or how about Oklahoma?”
I’d never heard of any of them. “You pick one, I trust your judgment.”
I pulled the blanket from off the back of the couch and wrapped it around me while he put the DVD’s in the player. He rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Star Wars,” under his breath before pulling my feet onto his lap and massaging them. I could definitely get used to this.
I fell asleep somewhere during Singing in the Rain, and didn’t wake up until I heard a man singing about A Surrey with the Fringe on Top, whatever that was. My head was lying on a pillow next to him, his head was leaning back against the couch, and he was snoring softly. I sat up and his eyes sprung open.
“Hey.” He looked at me and smiled. “I guess we fell asleep.”
“Guess so.” I laughed, adjusting the oversized sweatshirt. “What time is it?”
“3:30.”
“In the morning?”
He nodded. “Do you want me to take you home? Will your mom be worried?” He ran his hand through my hair.
“I doubt it. She probably locked me out, and I didn’t bring my key, either.” If she had passed out, she’d never hear me knocking on the door.
“You’re welcome to stay here. I’ll sleep in one of the spare bedrooms, it’s almost morning anyway,” he said. I stiffened slightly. “I’ll even put a dead bolt on the bedroom door if you’d like so you won’t have to worry about me sneaking in during the night to steal kisses.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I leaned up to kiss him and yawned instead.
“Are you bored with me already?”
“Sorry.” He picked me up and carried me up the stairs.
“I’m capable of walking, Seth, I’m not that tired.”
“I know. It’s just easier to kiss you if I’m carrying you.” He gave my nose a quick peck.
“I can’t believe you can carry me up a full flight of stairs and not get winded.” I gave his arm a squeeze; the muscles bulged under my grip.
“And yet a few kisses from you can knock the breath right out of me. Go figure.”
“We had better not kiss anymore. I wouldn’t want to wind you.” Thankfully, he didn’t listen. He set me down next to his bed and dipped his mouth to mine, kissing me softly.
“Good night,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I snuggled down into the comfortable mattress and shut my eyes, a smile planted firmly on my face. Someone loved me. Me, the unlovable nothing was lovable after all.
18
BILL and ALAN
“What’s the address again?” Alan asked. His nerves were raw since receiving the phone call from their father earlier. It had taken several long agonizing months to find out who had killed their brother Jeffery, but now they knew! Finally, justice would be served.
Because the murder was part of some ongoing investigation by undercover MET trash, the killer’s identities were kept secret from the public. Even so, Harry Dreser had a way of making things happen, money talks after all. Alan wondered how loud it had to talk this time and hoped it wasn’t financed by his trust fund, if there was any of it left.
The report their father had emailed them stated three bullets had entered Jeffery’s body. One had entered his right calf causing little damage, the cop who fired that shot would live, for now. The other two hit his heart simultaneously, causing it to explode. The guilty swine, Captain Booker Gatto and Detective Seth Prescott were going to pay. Dearly. Painfully.
Currently, Harry had very little info on Prescott, but rest assured, he’d find out all he could. In the meantime, Gatto would be the first to atone, and Alan had formulated their retribution perfectly. Desiring to maximize the pain and grief for as long as possible, he and his brother had decided to kill the cops loved ones first, one by one.
Alan not only wanted to cause pain for the cops, but also fear, along with a healthy dose of paranoia. Soon everywhere they went, Gatto and Prescott would be looking over their shoulders wondering when it would be their turn. The brothers didn’t intend to let them have a moment’s peace until justice was administered slowly and painfully. Heroin sales could wait. Nothing was going to get in the way of the Dreser family’s revenge.
“This is it. 96 Country Cottage Lane.” Alan pointed to a small ranch style home with a white picket fence running around it. “Cut the engine. I don’t want him to hear us coming. Like I always say, we gotta blend in.”
Blend in? Bill had to laugh as the rusted-out Gremlin sputtered twice before rumbling to a stop. The car stuck out like two Mormon missionaries at a rap concert as did the stupid clothes Alan had forced them to wear. Black polyester, blending in? Right! And I suppose the stupid purple disk in your earlobe blends in too, Dimwit? No one was ever going to accuse Alan of being the sharpest knife in the drawer.
“There’s a light on inside. Let’s go see if we can—” Bill and Alan slunk back against the house as the backdoor swung open. An old man stood in the threshold slipping on a tan coat. “Garbage man comes tomorrow, I’ll be right back,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“Take your cane!” replied an elderly woman’s voice from inside the house.
“And tell me, Martha, how do you suppose I use my cane and carry a garbage bin?” The man mumbled while buttoning his coat.
“I heard that, you stubborn old man. Take your cane!”
“Go back to your crossword puzzle, woman.” The elderly man made sure to lower his voice this time. He snatched up the near-full bin, leaving the cane hanging on a hook by the back door.
Alan leaned over to his brother. “You got to love a man that doesn’t let a stupid broad tell him what to do. Too bad we have to kill him.”
“I thought Pop said the old guy was a widower.” Bill stretched around, trying to see inside the house.
“It looks like gramps got himself a little sugar. Just one more person to add to the list, I guess.” He smiled at his brother who nodded in agreement.
The night sky was crystal clear, allowing the full moon to flood the narrow pathway from the house to the street with light, something neither Bill nor Alan was too happy about. They weaseled around to the side of the house, staying out of sight.
The old man situated the trash bin on the curbside and speedily turned back toward the house, waddling as quickly as his two feet could carry him.
“Hello, Samuel.” Alan said, with an oily voice. He stepped out from the shadows of the house, and the old man jumped back.
“My name’s George, not Samuel.” He cringed slightly, eyeballing the matching shirts the men wore. “You two in some kind of bowling league?”
Bill laughed. “I told you these were stupid clothes.” Their father was the expert at disguises, so much so that he’d been able to avoid being arrested on numerous occasions while incognito. It was a talent he tried, and failed to pass on to his sons.
“Shut up,” was the only defense Alan offered.
Brilliant comeback, Bro, Bill thought. However, now wasn’t the time for an argument, now was the time for a little revenge.
“Who are you?” asked George, squinting at Alan. “Is that a bingo chip stuck to your earlobe?” He shook his head and muttered, “The full moon does bring out the weirdos.” George had had enough and turned back toward his house. Alan stepped in his pathway.
“I’m Alan Dreser, and this is my brother Bill.” George stared blankly at the two. “Surely your grandson’s been gloating over how he murdered our brother, Jeffery,” Alan sneered.
“My grandson? I don’t have a grandson. I have four granddaughters, and six great-granddaughters!” He shook his head, remembering how little bathroom time he’d had the last time the girls came to visit. How much make-up did nine and ten year-old girls need to wear anyway? “Okay, boys, enough is enough.
What do you want? You guys on drugs? I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after.”
Bill had to admire the old man’s feistiness, it was almost a pity to have to kill him. “Funny you should mention drugs. We were here building up the family business when we got a phone call this morning from dear old dad,” Bill said. “He’s been trying to figure out who exactly killed our brother, and it turns out that slime ball grandson of yours and his buddy are the guilty party. We’re here to get a little revenge.”
“You guys are nuts. Get off my property before I call the cops!”
Bill’s anger boiled over, and he gave George a shove. The old man stumbled back and fell against the house, wishing now he had brought his cane.
For once it was Alan who remained calm. He patted his brother on the shoulder and pulled him back. “Police? Tsk, tsk, Samuel. Don’t you mean you’ll call your grandson?” He raised his brow quizzically.
Police? Grandson? It was then George remembered that his old friend Sam Gatto lived at 69 Country Cottage Lane, and his grandson was indeed some kind of undercover cop. These two bozos must have mixed up the addresses. It wouldn’t be the first time, he was constantly getting mail for Sam. If the US Postal Service couldn’t get it right, these to lackeys didn’t stand a chance.
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Gatto and Prescott have to pay for what they did, and everyone they love is going to pay too. We’re not stopping until you’re all dead.” A hint of bitterness crept into Alan’s voice now.
“I’m telling you, boys, you’ve made a mistake.” George carefully righted himself, weary of where the conversation was going.
“Nice try, old man, but you have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool a Dreser,” Bill said. “Our family has been successfully trafficking heroin for almost 30 years, and not a one of us has served jail time for it.” Bill puffed his chest out as he spoke.
Heroin? George swallowed hard. “Listen fellows, my name is George, it has been since the day of my birth. Would you like to see my driver’s license?” He took another step toward the house. Alan didn’t budge.
“I’ve had enough of the lies, Samuel. I’m afraid it’s time for you to die.” Alan whipped out his pearl-handled knife and seized the old man by the coat collar, heartlessly tossing him to the ground. George howled out in pain, cradling his already tender hip.
“Hurry, Alan, before someone hears the old fool!”
“My dear brother, you know I never hurry my work. It gives me indigestion.” Alan laughed wickedly. Bill shook his head.
“Oh, alright, keep your shorts on, but next time we’re not going to rush” Alan said, squatting down and running the silver blade slowly across the old man’s neck. George twisted violently and screamed out in agony. Bill crouched down and slapped a hand across the man’s mouth, cutting of the sound.
“Let him scream, it makes it all the more enjoyable.” Alan grinned and thrust the knife into George’s soft stomach, basking in the cries now pouring out of George.
“This is better than any drug. You gotta try it.” He gave the knife one more gratifying twist before wiping the saturated blade off onto his black pants and handing it over to his brother.
Bill didn’t care for knifes, preferring to do his work with his fists and a 2x4. Tonight, however, the need to avenge his brother’s death coursed strong through his veins. Bill took the knife and shoved it roughly into George’s side. “Nobody kills a Dreser and gets away with it,” Bill said, lunging deeper.
“I’m not Samuel,” he whispered, already weakened by the blood loss.
“George. George where are you?” A gray-haired woman in a fuzzy yellow bathrobe and matching slippers came waddling around the corner of the house. She was accompanied by two rotund, brown and white bulldogs, their bellies dusting the ground as they padded along on their leashes. “George!” she screamed, spying the two men surrounding her fallen husband. The dogs began howling savagely and pulling free of the woman’s grip, bolted toward their downed master.
“Oops, it seems we do have the wrong man.” Alan laughed cruelly.
Bill drew the knife from the quivering body and handed it to his brother. “No hard feelings, ah, George?”
They left him there, wailing in agony, running far too speedily for a pair of fleshed-out bulldogs to catch them.
19
Maggie
It was hard to believe how much my life had changed for the better since falling in love, most notably, I was eating like a king. Every morning Seth greeted me with a kiss and a bag from Bagel Heaven, in that order. He also made us delicious homemade lunches, flat out refusing to buy ’cafeteria fodder’, as he called it.
Regrettably, my afternoons were still dull. I spent them cleaning the house and looking after my mother while he took care of Lunch Swap business. Then around seven, he’d show up with dinner in hand for everyone, though my mother seldom ate with us.
After dinner, we’d sit and do homework until her reproofing became unbearable, then we’d head out to his car and talk. Well, mostly talk. We still hadn’t discussed personal boundaries, there hadn't been a need to, all he ever did was hold and kiss me. Though I was relieved, I was sure when the time came he wasn’t going to take it well. I was dreading that discussion.
Whenever I was with Seth, I left my cell phone with my mom in case she needed me. But she never called. Her drinking had increased significantly since being released from the hospital almost four weeks ago. So had her visits from Hoffman, much to my dismay. I wondered if there was something romantic between them, but the thought was so repulsive I wouldn’t let my mind go there. She was growing thinner at an alarming rate and it scared me. She was also sleeping more and more every day. When I suggested she go to the doctor, she went off on an hour-long tirade, reminding me once again that she was the mother, then she grounded from seeing Seth for two days. I didn’t bring it up again.
It was Sunday and Seth was late picking me up for our lunch deliveries. When we pulled up to Miss Ethel’s, she was standing on her porch wearing a bright green jumper with a fit to be tied expression plastered on her face. She glared directly at Seth, impatiently tapping her foot against the railing. Her shoes were hard to miss, they were bright orange.
“I apologize, Miss Ethel. We had to switch the delivery schedule arou—”
“Excuses are like armpits, mister. Everybody’s got’em, and they all stink.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. She had finished crocheting a few blankets for the thrift store and invited us in as she gathered them up. “Here ya go, done ahead of sched’ul.”
“They’re lovely, Miss Ethel.” I smiled, hoping to smooth things over as I took them from her.
“Speakin’ of lovely, you look good, Blue Eyes.” It was the name she often called me. “You gainin’ weight, ain’t ya? And yur face is all rosy too. I told ya, boy, give her some home cookin’ and she’d fattin’ up nicely. I’ll bet she’s more fun kissin’ now too,” she said with a wink.
“Much more fun, Miss Ethel. Thank you for the suggestion.”
She was right. I had gained weight, twelve pounds to be exact. My clothes, which usually hung on me, now fit better. I even had a few curves, though they were nothing compared to Hillary’s. Miss Ethel wasn’t the first person to mention the color in my face either, and I noticed how much healthier my hair looked. It was actually shiny! No doubt, some of the changes had to do with being loved, but it certainly didn’t hurt that I was eating three square meals a day.
Outside, Seth scooped me into his arms, leaving my feet to dangle several inches off the ground. “Come here my fattin’ up girlfriend and give me some kissin’.” After some yummy kissin,’ he set me back down.
“Do you think I’m getting fat? Look at how tight my jeans are.” I pulled at the waistband, there was less than an inch give.
“I’m not answering that silly question,” he scowled as we got into the car.
“It’s just that my jeans have never been t
his tight before, it feels weird.” He continued to ignore me. “Would you still love me if I weighed 300 pounds?” I pulled down the sun visor and looked at my face in the mirror. Puffing out my cheeks, I tried to imagine myself chubby. He reached over and caught my puffed up face, turning it toward his.
“I’m in love with you, not this fleshy exterior. Granted, it’s a lovely exterior, even though it could use another 20 pounds or more, it’s simply a shell of who you are. I love your soul, that’s who you really are, and this lovely body is simply a beautiful bonus.”
As he kissed my forehead, his angelic-like expression turned impish. “You know, mathematically speaking,” ugh, him and math! “if we were to figure how many square inches of you there are, and then if I were to give you one kiss for every square inch, at your present weight I’d be done in about ten minutes. However,” he continued with his goofy delusion, “if you weighed 300 pounds, it would take about a month to get them all in. If you weighed 600 pounds, I’d probably be busy for a couple of years, but if you weighed 800 pounds, and frankly, the mind boggles at the thought, I’d probably have to kiss you your entire lifetime to get through. So no matter how big you become, clearly, I win.”
I let the subject drop.
“Do you have any homework?” he asked, rounding the corner near my home.
“No, I’m done. Do you?”
“Yes, Spanish, but only an hour’s worth. Do you want me to drop you off at your house until I’m done?”
“No, I have a book that Julie’s been bugging me to read. Let me grab it, and I’ll read while you’re studying.” It was a romance novel, not my usual genre, I was more of a historical fiction person, but the novel was quite popular at school, and I was curious about all the hoopla.
“Sounds good. What’s the name of it?”
I told him and he groaned. “Mags, vampires don’t sparkle,” he said dryly.
“Seth, vampires don’t really exist, and your only concern is that these ones sparkle?” He shook his head. “And I suppose you think people really walk down the street and break into song and dance spontaneously?” I teased, making fun of the musicals that were near and dear to his heart.
Unlovable Page 19
