Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater

by T. M. Frazier

  She opens the door and leaps down, darting out into the woods.

  I chuckle because Lenny is a lot of things. Quirky. Talkative. Naive. Sexy as fuck.

  The one thing she’s not, is stupid.

  LENNY

  I don’t get far. My feet tangle in the underbrush, and I fall face first less than twenty feet from the truck.

  He’s going to kill me. The man who saved my life twice is going to kill me.

  In the face of death, I can’t help but feel embarrassed for trusting the wrong man once again.

  I hear a chuckle and look up to see Nine standing over me with an amused look on his face. He crouches down over me. “You taking a break already?”

  “Don’t! Please!” I beg as I try to disentangle my legs but only manage to make it worse. Thorns scratch my thighs and arms. My nails are caked in dirt as I try to crawl away, but I’m stuck.

  Nine reaches down and pulls up the leg of his jeans. He removes a long, gleaming blade from the sheath tied around his ankle.

  “No!” I scream and shut my eyes as his hand descends.

  I wait for the pain, but it never comes.

  I try to kick him off, but my foot only hits air.

  Wait, my foot hits air. It’s free.

  I open my eyes. Nine is standing with no knife in hand, his arms crossed over his wide chest, and an impatient look on his face.

  “You done now?” he asks.

  “That depends on what your plans are for my untimely demise.”

  “If I was going to kill you, I would have done it long ago. Right now, I’m not going to do that unless you give me a reason.”

  I meet his gaze and sit up. “Comforting,” I reply with the maximum amount of sarcasm I can put onto a single word.

  “Come on,” he says lifting me off the ground and into his arms. He slings me over his shoulder. While upside down, I realize that one of Ray’s flip flops is gone.

  “Shit, my shoe!” I cry.

  “That shoe is now property of the mud. It’s a goner.” Nine opens the door and plops me into the seat.

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” I mutter.

  Nine gets in and starts the truck.

  “Why did you kiss me or sort of kiss me back in the RV? Was that just part of your plan?” I ask, without properly thinking it through first.

  He backs the truck out from the clearing onto the road. I don’t think he’s going to answer me because several minutes pass and I forget to even ask where he’s taking me. He keeps his eyes focused on the road. His hands grip the wheel hard. He finally answers.

  “Kissing you was the exact fuckin’ opposite of the plan. And that wasn’t a kiss. You won’t use the words ‘sort-of’ when I kiss you.”

  When I kiss you. Not if.

  “Cocky asshole.”

  Headlights approach from behind. It’s the Hummer.

  “It’s back!” I shout.

  “Yeah, I fucking see ‘em,” Nine mutters. He turns into another field in an attempt to lose them. Tall corn stalks swipe over the truck like some sort of weird organic car wash. The sound almost the same as that of a heavy rain. Nine turns left and right then left again expertly like he knows his way around the field. We come out on another road. Nine turns so sharply that I think we might flip over. My guts are in my heart, and my back is plastered to the passenger seat. When we’ve straightened out, the Hummer appears from behind us once more.

  The sound of metal colliding with metal makes my entire body jump as bullets bounce off the truck.

  “Motherfuckers,” Nine spits. He reaches into his waistband and pulls out a gun.

  “Drive!” Nine orders, without waiting for me to answer. He climbs out of the driver's window until all that remains of him inside are his long legs.

  I have no choice but to lean over and grab the wheel, shifting my ass over to the part of the driver’s seat not taken up by the half of Nine’s body still in the car. I keep my head down as low as possible while Nine returns fire.

  “Get back in here. You’re going to get shot!” I shout, pulling on his belt with one hand.

  Nine ducks back in, and I think for a second that he’s listening to my warning, but when he reaches over me into the center console and grabs a black sleeve, exchanging it with the one already in his gun, I realize it’s only so he can reload.

  The side view mirror shatters. My shoulders jump, and my heart stops for a few beats.

  “Breathe, Lenny,” Nine orders. “Just keep driving, and breathe.” He climbs back out the window and fires off several more shots.

  “Where am I supposed to be going?” I ask.

  “Nowhere. Just drive. We’re waiting for reinforcements.”

  “Reinforcements?” I ask. “Who?”

  Nine continues to shoot round after round, sometimes ducking in to reload or to dodge a bullet. His arm is bleeding, and he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

  Suddenly, he leaps across my lap into the passenger seat and yells, “Hold the fuck on!” He grabs the oh shit handle over his head just as the Hummer careens into the back of the truck, jolting us forward. My head hits the steering wheel, and my vision blurs. I don’t realize I’m pulling the wheel to the side until Nine reaches over and straightens us out before we dive headlong into a ditch. The thought sobers me, clearing my thoughts, but my head is pounding.

  “You alright?” Nine shouts, looking frantic yet calm at the same time, and I realize he’s not upset for himself but for me.

  I can only nod as I try to keep us on the road.

  “Here they come!” Nine warns, and I brace myself for yet another impact when an older, black Cadillac spins out onto the road from within the tall grass of the neighboring cornfield, speeding in the opposite direction. It slams on the brakes and spins into a full turn until it’s beside the Hummer.

  A bullet cracks the back windshield, and I duck, pressing the gas so hard I won’t be surprised if my foot breaks through the floorboard.

  I look into my rearview and watch as a hand appears from the passenger side of the Cadillac…holding some sort of green fruit?

  “What the fuck?” I mutter. “Who is that?” I ask.

  Over the sound of bullets and speeding tires I hear someone laughing. No, they aren’t laughing. They’re…singing?

  “That, would be our reinforcements.”

  “Why are our reinforcements singing “Boom Boom Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas?” I shout.

  “You’ll find out. Just whatever you do, don’t stop. No matter what.”

  “Why the hell would I stop?” I ask, frantically, shouting, “We’re being chased! And what the fuck does no matter what mean?”

  My answer comes in the form of the ground beneath us rumbling until it feels as if the earth opened up and is about to swallow us whole. I look in the rearview and spot yellow and red flames along with a plume of black where the Hummer had just been. The explosion is so forceful, the truck accelerates forward as if I stepped on the gas when my foot’s already to the floor. The back tires lift from the pavement, and my arms feel like they’re breaking as I try to hold the wheel straight. I’m sure we’re about to flip over when the tires settle back down, and I’m flooded with a surge of relief so strong I’m dizzy from it.

  I look over at Nine, and he’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t hear him because of the ringing in my ears. I realize he’s mouthing the word stop.

  It takes me a solid few seconds to process what he’s saying. When it sinks in, I do as instructed and slowly bring us to a stop on the side of the road.

  Nine and I are both breathing heavily, trying to catch our breaths.

  The first thing I hear after the high-pitched ringing in my ears begins to die down is laughter followed by a voice. “How did you like that apple, motherfuckers?”

  “Is that our reinforcements?” I ask.

  Nine nods, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

  Our eyes lock. There’s something in the air between us.
It’s charged. Electric. I can feel the heat of his body all the way across the cab. My lips tingle. My senses abandon me. I’m just about to open the door for some fresh air to regain my senses when Nine scrambles across the cab, lifts me from my seat, and places me on his lap. He pulls my head down and crushes his lips to mine, and it’s nothing like any kiss I’ve ever experienced before. I didn’t even know people kissed like this. Maybe, I’m dead, because the way his tongue licks across the seam of my lips feels like heaven, but the way my body reacts, nipples tightening, thighs rubbing on his, the need and pressure building as he passionately destroys what I thought kissing was supposed to be, feels more sinful than heavenly.

  I might be in Hell, but I don’t even fucking care.

  The feeling doesn’t last long. Nine’s lips leave mine, and I’m deposited back into the driver’s seat just as the door suddenly flies open. A man wearing a dress shirt with a set of matching suspenders and a bow tie appears.

  “Howdy, kids. Did you enjoy the show? Anyone hurt? Dead? Dying? On fire? Headaches? Nausea? Unexplainable discharge? Rash that won’t go away? A sudden need to stop, drop, and motherfucking roll?” He runs a hand over his long hair, slicking it back and exposing the shorter hair beneath and tattoos inked into the sides of his scalp. “No? Just some post-adrenaline heavy petting? I get it. Been there. Done that. Bought the motherfucking t-shirt.”

  “Took you long enough,” Nine groans.

  I adjust my dress and smooth down my hair, still breathing heavily while Nine looks unaffected by what just took place.

  “Why, you’re welcome for saving your life, brother. I’m happy to have been of service,” the man says, tipping an imaginary hat.

  Nine chuckles, then hisses and grabs his arm. “Lenny, meet our reinforcements, otherwise known as my asshole brother,” he groans out.

  Brother. It makes sense. I can see the similarities. They look to be about the same height, and they have almost the same hazel-colored eyes. The thing that’s the most strikingly similar between the two is their smiles. Both slightly crooked and like they’re hiding something wicked. Seeing Nine’s smile on another man is downright eerie.

  “That’s me! Howdy, lady I don’t know who’s sitting in my brother’s car.” The man extends a heavily tattooed hand. “The name is Samuel Clearwater, but my friends call me Preppy…as well as everyone else.”

  I skip the small talk when I notice that more and more blood is gushing from Nine’s arm. “Shit. You’re hit.”

  Preppy leans into the car over me, pressing me into the seat with my nose in his shirt. He presses his finger into Nine’s arm who in return pushes Preppy off of him with his good arm.

  “Fucker,” Nine swears.

  Preppy smooths down his dress shirt with his hands and straightens his bow-tie. “That wasn’t very neighborly, brother.”

  “We should get him to a hospital.”

  “No,” Nine says.

  “A hospital? For what?” Preppy asks, not looking nearly as concerned or panicked as I feel.

  “For that!” I say, pointing to all the blood. “Because he was shot.”

  “That?” He points at Nine’s wound. “My kid’s done worse when he fell roller skating. That’s just a fucking scratch. In my professional medical opinion, nothing some super glue, duct tape, and a Preppy super smoothie can’t cure.”

  “You’re a doctor?” I ask, skeptically.

  “No, but I play one on TV. BRB, kids!” Preppy runs back to his car and comes back seconds later with a huge Styrofoam cup.

  “Shit, yeah, give me that.” Nine grabs the cup with his good hand. Holding it between his knees, he forgoes the straw, popping off the plastic lid. Raising it to his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in quick succession as he swallows.

  “What exactly is a Preppy super smoothie?” I ask. Whatever it is, it has to be good because Nine doesn’t even pause his swallowing to breathe until the cup is completely empty.

  Preppy smiles proudly. It’s kind of like a regular smoothie, only better. Let’s see…” He ticks off ingredients on his fingers as he lists them off. “Locally sourced organic fruit and veggies You’ve got your blueberries, strawberries, bananas, spinach…oh, and of course, kale. You gotta have kale. It’s a superfood. Or so my wife tells me. Anywhoseit, that’s all blended together with a yogurt made from non-GMO grass-fed cows right here in Logan’s Beach. It’s so fresh it’s practically right from the teat.”

  Nine wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Much better.”

  “See?” Preppy says triumphantly. “Preppy’s super smoothie works yet again.”

  Nine sits up, suddenly seeming more alert and in a lot less pain. However, he’s still bleeding. He rips his shirt at the bottom and starts to tie it around his wound, but he can’t do it with one hand. “Here, let me,” I say, taking the fabric and tightening it around his wound. “There. Hopefully, this will stop the bleeding for a while.”

  When I look up, I realize how close my face is to Nine’s, and suddenly, I’m aware that my breasts are pressed to his side. He licks his lower lip while staring at mine. My entire body heats.

  I’m reminded we’re not alone when Preppy continues talking from outside the car. “I think I forgot an ingredient…”

  I crawl back over to the driver’s seat, but the lingering heat and the memory of his touch, the feel of him growing hard beneath me, lingers. I think it’s stayed with him too because his eyes rake over me slowly, from my neck to my breasts then back to my lips.

  I shiver.

  The cocky asshole smirks when he notices the hair on my arms standing on end.

  Preppy finishes off whatever tiny amount of smoothie might be left in the cup with a loud slurp then presses his fingers together and closes his eyes, silently mouthing the ingredients yet again. Suddenly, his eyes spring open and he snaps his fingers, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot!” He holds his thumb and index fingers an inch apart. “There also may or may not be a wee smidgeon of cocaine in it.” He leans into the car “Just kidding!” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “There’s a shit-ton of cocaine in it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  LENNY

  The tension in the truck is thick and choking me. We narrowly escaped a high-speed car chase where we were being shot at.

  And that kiss.

  It was as explosive as the grenade.

  I am way too sober for this.

  “Tell me something. How does cocaine help your pain? Wouldn’t say…a painkiller be better?” I ask.

  “Fuck that. Painkillers don’t actually kill pain. They make your mind slow. I don’t mess with that shit. Seen too many people lose everything because of it. Statistically speaking, it’s also the number one cause of death in the US in healthy men and women ages 18-50 and painkillers are highly addictive. You either quit or die; there’s no in between. Seen it happen. Ain’t going down that fucking route. That’s a slow boat to Hell I don’t wanna take.”

  “So, you don’t think you’re going to Hell?” I ask.

  “Nah, I’m going, I just think that there are better ways to get there.”

  “You are annoyingly smart,” I tell him.

  “You are annoyingly annoying,” he replies. “And I agree. I’m kind of a genius.”

  “I said smart, not genius.”

  “It was implied.”

  “I don’t know what kind of genius does cocaine to rid pain,” I point out.

  “Oh, with blow, you still feel the pain.” He smiles. “But you’re so on top of the world, you just don’t give a fuck.”

  I laugh until I remember who isn’t on top of the world right now. The dead men in that Hummer. “Shit, what about the fiery wreckage we left on the road? Aren’t the cops going to be wondering who launched a grenade and blew up that Hummer?”

  “It’s being taken care of as we speak,” Nine says, checking his phone, while driving with his knee.

  “What do you mean it’s being taken care of?” I press.

>   “I mean that I have people who are taking care of it. The cops won’t be asking any questions.”

  I reach over and help steer the wheel because my anxiety won’t let me NOT grab it.

  He gives me a questioning glance, then rolls his eyes and takes the wheel again.

  I let go. “Who are these people you keep speaking of? The ones taking care of things?”

  “Just people who do that kind of thing.”

  “You have people who take care of burnt bodies and the wreckage from explosions?” I twist my lips. “You do know that’s not normal, right?”

  “Maybe not to you, but it is for me and most of the people I know. What is normal anyway?”

  “Lately?” I rub my temples. “I have no clue.”

  I spot a picture on Nine’s dash of three young smiling children. A boy and what appear to be twin girls.

  “Who’re they?” I ask, curiously.

  Nine smiles, and I hate that it makes my stomach flip. “If you’re thinking that I hang out with the wrong crowd, then you’re right. Because I’m always getting into some kind of trouble with those three.”

  “Are those your kids?”

  “No, my nephew and nieces. Bo, Miley and Taylor.”

  I raise my eyebrows at the girls’ pop star names. “Miley and Taylor?”

  He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “My brother has a thing for teen pop music, amongst other things.”

  “Are you and your brother close?” I ask, feeling the urge to know more.

  He cocks his head. “He just tossed a grenade at someone for me. What do you think?”

  Our eyes lock, and the heat from earlier rises up between us. I look away, out the passenger window, only to notice that we’ve turned onto a very familiar road. My road.

  “You’re taking me home?” I ask, sounding as surprised as I feel.

  Nine doesn’t look at me when he answers. “No. We’re just making a stop, so you can get some of your shit. You’re coming with me until we can get this figured out. You’re not safe while Ricci’s men are still looking for you.”