Chapter 9
Cort
Cort Bishop’s Residence, Lubbock TX.
April 9, 1995 3:56am
“TOMMY!” Cort yelled out, palming the revolver tucked carefully under his pillow. He cocked the hammer back with his sweaty thumb and frantically scanned over the darkened room. His sweat soaked undershirt and boxers stuck to him, as did his long gray hair. With his left hand, he reached up brushing it out of his eyes. Just barely over the pounding of his heart, he heard the phone threatening to ring off the nightstand. Only that had saved him from the nightmare he’d been having.
Relief flooded through him as he scanned over the room one last time again finding nothing. Un-cocking the hammer, he dropped the revolver to his navy blue sheets letting out a long sigh of relief. “Son of a bitch.” He cursed running his fingers through his damp hair. “Tommy . . .”
Tom Turner, Cort’s first hunting partner, had been dead for over thirty years, but Cort still dreamed about his demise on almost a nightly basis. Some memories were just too horrific to fade.
The alarm clock on the dresser across the room flashed a red 3:57am. The phone continued to ring. “Alright, alright I’m coming.” He grabbed for the phone knocking over a glass of water in the process. It spilled, drenching a Louis L’Amour paperback he had been reading earlier that night. “Damn it!” he cursed, reaching for the switch to turn on the lamp.
With a click, the room filled with a soft glow. Cort grabbed the phone up with his left hand, “Hello, hello!” he held it to his ear with his shoulder and tried to shake dry his soaking wet book with his right.
“Hey, Pop,” John’s exhausted voice said from the other end.
“Johnny?” Cort asked, his mind coming fully awake. He dropped the book to the floor. “Damn it, John where are you? I haven’t heard a peep from you in months. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” he said, in a very tired voice. “I’m in Tucson following a lead.”
“A lead? In Arizona?”
“We torched a maker a few days back outside Santa Fe. Before he died we, uh . . . we managed to get some information out of him.”
“How exactly did you mange to do that?” Cort asked rigorously scratching his head. “Makers don’t just spill their guts if asked nicely.”
"It’s not important, Pop. Look, I’m sorry to call so late but is everything okay? How’s Jake doing?”
Cort leaned over resting his elbows on his knees. “To be completely honest, not too good. I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about that. He’s getting into a lot of trouble in school.”
“That’s not like him at all. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the . . . what’s the problem?!” Cort said, almost laughing aloud at such a ridiculous question. “Boy, what the hell do you think is the problem? It’s bad enough he lost his mother! You being away has just made a hundred times worse! The boy needs his father. My God John you missed his birthday! Not even a phone call or a card! I may not have been the best father in the world, but I raised you better than that.”
John sighed. “Well he’s got you Pop.”
“Son, are you listening to me?” Cort’s face grew red with anger. “I said he needs his father! Not some broken down old man!”
“I really don’t want to get into this, Pop.” John shuffled around on the other end of the phone. “Did you get the money I sent?”
Cort put down the phone for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah I got it, but John I don’t seem to be getting my point across. When are you coming home?”
“When it’s done. Look, I’ve gotta go. Give Jake a hug for me okay? Tell him I love him.”
Cort let out a deep sigh. You’ll never be done! He wanted to scream. Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Once again, his son was all but lost to him. After all these years, he had thought he had finally gotten him back. But John was blinded by his anger, his hatred, and his loss. He knew nothing he could say would make a difference. All he could do was pray his son would come to his senses. “Why don’t you call tomorrow and tell him yourself?”
“I don’t think I’ll have time, Pop. We’ve got a job in just a few hours. I’m close to finding her. I can . . . I swear I can almost feel it! She’s close by, I just know it!”
How could he tell his only son that his wife was dead? Or worse? There really was no hope for her safe return after such a long period of time. However, Cort knew deep down his son knew that. He had been in the business long enough to see more than one family ripped apart. Now wasn’t the time to confront him with it, not with him going into a hunt. “Alright son, you be careful, you hear? Get some rest, and watch your back.”
“Will do Pop, I’ll talk to you again when I can. Until then I’ll keep the money coming in.” John said, and then hung up the phone.
Cort sat holding the phone in his hands for several long minutes until it beeped loudly breaking his train of thought. Very slowly, he hung it up. He didn’t like the sound of John’s voice one bit. It wasn’t only the fact that he sounded exhausted. There was something else beneath the surface. Something had changed.
Grabbing his paperback off the floor Cort stumbled into the bathroom and tossed it into the sink to dry, then grabbed a towel hanging on the wall and stepping back into his room wiped up the pool of water on his nightstand. His mind wandered over John’s words. Something was definitely off. He would call Ben in the morning and find out what was going on.
Cort lay back down and flipped off the lamp. He tossed and turned for nearly three hours. Sleep just wouldn’t come. He lay there wide-awake as the sun began to shine through his barred windows a little after 6:30am. Giving up, he tossed the sheets off and decided to start his day. Jake would be up in about an hour anyway to get ready for school so he figured he might as well make sure the boy got a good breakfast.
After taking a short shower, Cort stepped in front of the fogged up mirror and wiped it clean with his hand. Lathering his wrinkled face with shaving cream, he stared at his features in the mirror. Who’s that old codger staring back at me? He thought to himself with a chuckle.
He lost a lot of good friends over the years, in situations just like John’s. They had grown so obsessed with the hunt they’d gotten themselves, and often those they loved killed. He hated to see that happen to John, or Jake for that matter. This life was the last thing he ever would have wanted for his grandson. But once you were in you could never get out. Cort found that out the hard way.
Turning on the faucet to rinse the stubble from his razor, he completely drenched the paperback lying in the bottom of the sink. He had been so distracted he completely forgotten about it. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed it and chunked it into the trash. Ten minutes later he was fully dressed, complete with his .357 revolver tucked into his back waistband.
Making his bed, he tucked the .45 Colt revolver back in its place in his nightstand and headed down the hall past Jake’s room, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Taking his time, he fixed a large plate of bacon and eggs with a large cup of black coffee. He had just sat down to read his morning paper when Jake came in rubbing his eyes. “Morning.” Cort said, with a nod. “Have a seat, eat some breakfast.”
“Morning,” Jake said, stifling a yawn.
“You’re up early this morning.” Cort pushed the plate of food to Jake’s side of the table.
“Bad dreams.” Jake said, sitting down.
“Yeah I know all about that.” Cort nodded thoughtfully. “Same ones about the . . .”
“About the grunt. Yeah.” Jake dug his fork into some eggs with one hand and shoved two pieces of bacon into his mouth with the other.
Cort contemplated telling him about his conversation with John, but quickly dismissed the idea. He would wait until he had a few words with Ben and found out what was really going on before breaking the news that
John still wasn’t coming home. “So you ready for another exciting day of school?” He asked sipping his piping hot coffee.
“Can’t wait.” Jake said, through a mouthful of food.
School didn’t seem to be going very well for Jake. Cort just wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. He had no idea what the boy was going through and knew even less about how to deal with it if he did know. From what he could tell, he wasn’t making many friends. He would come back from school more than once with black eyes, busted lips, and bumps and bruises. Worst of all he seemed to be keeping it all built up inside. He never talked about what he had seen, what he’d felt that night in Midland. Not since the first morning he had come to live with him.
Cort did his best to try to prepare him for the world he now lived in. Day after day, he taught him what he could about being prepared at all times. He’d even taken him to the gun range a couple of times, but none of it seemed to be sinking in. The poor kid just seemed lost within himself.
Finishing his coffee, Cort took out a large pinch of chewing tobacco and shoved it into his cheek. He was about to say something to Jake about making sure his homework was done, when a loud knock came at the front door.
“Who the hell is that at 7:45 in the morning?” Cort said, looking down at his watch. A small sense of dread settled into his stomach.
Jake jumped to his feet. “Maybe it’s Dad!” he ran excitedly to the door.
“Jake wait!” Cort called after him. But by the time he got there, Jake had already opened the front door to three men in business suits and an overweight police officer that badly needed a shave. Even from behind him, Cort could see the disappointment as the boy’s shoulders slumped. Stepping up beside him he gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Cort looked the four men over, instantly not liking the look of them. Smells like lawyers. He thought to himself. He was glad Jake hadn’t opened the gate. Maybe some of his lessons were finally sinking in after all. “Jake. Go finish your breakfast and get ready for school.” he said, wanting to get the boy out of earshot in case it involved his father.
Jake looked from Cort to the men at the door and hesitantly did as he was told. Cort noticed the man in front give Jake a little wink with a smile before Jake turned and walked away. The kind that always creeped you out far more than it did to comfort you. Creep, was the first thought that came to mind.
Cort gave them all a long hard look before spitting into his spit cup. His eyes took in everything about them. What caught his attention the most was that the cop’s holstered .38 was unlatched and ready to be pulled. Also from the look of the bulge in the two rear men’s jackets, they were both packing shoulder holstered weapons. This wasn’t going to end well. So Cort figured he’d go with the polite approach, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”
“Mr. Bishop?” The thin man in front said. He looked to be in his late thirties with a receding already graying hairline. “My name is Mack Murphy. These are my associates Mr. James and Mr. Dolan, and this is Officer Brady.”
“Son, I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else. My name is Griffin.”
The lawyer smiled at him. “Mr. Bishop, we both know that’s not true.”
“Okay then." Cort leaned his left hand on the barred gate. "Get to the goddamn point.”
“Mr. Bishop, we have a court order to remove a young Mr. Jacob Bishop from your custody. Immediately.”
I was right. Goddamn lawyers. “The hell you do. This boy belongs with me. I have permission from his father to be his legal guardian until his return.”
“Uh huh.” Officer Brady nodded slowly. “And where might I ask is John Bishop? Or would you prefer I call him John Griffin?” he added with a sly grin.
Cort spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into his spit cup. “You can call him John the Baptist for all I care. You’re not taking the boy. And as far as John goes, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in over six months.”
Brady stepped forward leaning his hand against the gate, a little too close for Cort’s liking. “Mr. Bishop if you have any information about your son, you best tell us now. He’s wanted in connection with the disappearance of his wife Julia and a Mr. Martin White.”
Cort spit again this time missing the cup and hitting the cop’s hand. “Oops.” he said, as the cop yanked his hand back wiping it on his pants. “Sorry ‘bout that. But tell me something? What’s a Lubbock cop doing with three lawyers and asking questions about a case that’s out of his jurisdiction? It’s my understanding that the Texas Rangers cleared John of any involvement. So that leaves the question, what do you really want with him?”
“That’s none of your concern.” Murphy said, speaking up for him.
“Oh but it’s yours?” Cort said, sarcastically. “Listen here son. Take your lawman and get off my property before someone gets hurt.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that Mr. Bishop. You see we’re representatives of a Mr. Richard L. Riker.”
“Son of a bitch.” Cort said, shaking his head.
“I thought you might remember him.” Murphy said, with a wicked smile. “We’re not leaving until we remove Jacob and transport him to his rightful guardian in Santa Fe.”
“Son of a bitch!” Cort said, even louder. “Why can’t that miserable old bastard just die?”
“If you would just be so kind and read over this paper work.” Murphy shoved a document through a mail slot in the gate.
Cort snatched it out of his hand and glanced it over. “Son-of-a-bitch.” He said, slowly. “No good, crooked . . .”
“What’s going on?” Jake walked up tucking his shirt into his jeans.
“Well, Jake. These dirt bag lawyers have come to take you away.” Cort said, and then nodded toward Officer Brady. “And they’ve paid off just the right people to make it happen.”
Murphy ignored Cort and leaned down getting eye to eye with Jake. “Now Jake, I’ve got a very special man that would very much like to meet you. He’s your Grandfather. Would you like to meet your Grandfather? He’s a very rich man and he lives in a very big house.”
Both Cort and Jake rolled their eyes in unison. “Mister I’m not five, so don’t talk to me as if you can bribe me with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. I already have a Grandpa. I’m not going anywhere.” Jake crossed his arms defiantly.
The lawyer let out a deep breath. “Officer Brady?”
The overweight cop stepped back up to the gate and hit it repeatedly with his baton. His other hand gripped tightly on the butt of the .38. “I’m done being nice old man. Open the door. We’re taking the boy.”
Cort looked down at the papers still clutched in his hand and spat a mouthful of thick brown tobacco juice on them before shoving them back through the hole in the gate. “The hell you are fat boy.” He reached behind his back and in the blink of an eye yanked the .357 from his waistband. “You better be packing a hell of a lot more than that little .38, if you plan on coming in this house.”
He cocked the hammer back pointing it leisurely at all four of them. They scattered, running for cover. In his haste, the cop actually dropped his revolver and had to stop to pick it up. For a split second, Cort was tempted to shoot him in the ass just for fun. He let out a loud laugh at the idea, but his better judgment got the best of him and he slammed the heavy door shut locking all four deadbolts. “Well that could have gone better.” He said, with a chuckle.
“Grandpa what did you just do?” Jake asked his face going white. “You just pulled a gun on a cop! You can’t do that! I mean, seriously Grandpa, you can’t do that!”
Cort laughed. “Jake my boy, I’m not shooting a cop. Even if he is paid off by one of the most crooked sons of bitches, the world has ever known. I just did that to buy us some time and maybe get a few more cops here for backup. I don’t want that little bastard claiming I resisted arrest an
d shooting me in the back. He had a nasty look about him and I’d rather be locked up than dead.”
“You really think he would have shot you?” Jake asked his face filled with both excitement and fear.
“I wouldn’t put anything past Riker, and at least two of those so called ‘lawyers’ were packing. Knowing Riker, he’d do just about anything to have me out of the way, and he’s got the money to do it.”
“We’ve got to find dad!” Jake exclaimed. “He’s the only one that can help us.”
“Yeah well . . .” Cort said, walking over to the phone. Picking it up, he began dialing numbers. After a few rings, Ben Morris picked up.
“Yello!” Ben answered as he always did.
Sorry ‘bout this kid. Cort thought to himself. “Benny. It’s Cort. Listen, I’m in trouble and I’m going to need some help.”
“Ah hell Cort. What have you gotten yourself into now?”
Cort swallowed deep. He had to find just the right words to explain this. “Well, I uh, I pulled my .357 on a crooked cop and a bunch of high powered lawyers.” Oh, you’re on a roll today old man! He thought to himself.
“You did what?!” Ben yelled into the phone.
“I know, I know. But what else could I do? I had to buy some time. Riker’s trying to get hold of Jake. Claims he has full custody rights.” Cort began pacing around the room as he listened to Ben breathing heavily on the other end. He glanced out the window his eyes growing large as three more cruisers pulled up in front of the house. Four cops stepped out each with shotguns in their hands.
“You damn Bishops. I swear - every chance you get, one of you puts me in a bind!” Ben yelled into the phone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cort rolled his eyes. “Listen Benny, I’m running out of time here. You’ve got to get a hold of John and tell him what’s going on.”
Ben let out a deep breath. “Cort, I don’t know where John is. I haven’t seen him since Albuquerque, almost three weeks back.”
“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?” Cort asked his voice filled with shock. Things with John were a lot worse off than he had thought.
“John kinda split ways with Talon and me after that. He, uh . . . well . . . let’s just say he’s running with a different crowd nowadays.”
Cort talked very slowly so that Ben would know he was dead serious. “Ben. Listen to me very carefully. Who is watching my son’s back?”
“Wesley Turner.”
A loud pounding began on the gate outside, followed by a voice demanding Cort come out with his hands up. Cort barely heard it over his pounding heart. God anyone but that psychopath! “Turner? Bloody Wes Turner and his group of scumbags are the only ones watching John’s back? Ah, shit Ben! This is bad, really bad! Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t someone tell me?” The pounding on the door grew even louder.
“I’m sorry Cort. We should have, it’s just that . . . well I was hoping John would find his own way back home. Listen, it’s a long story, Cort. And from the sound of things, you don’t have time to hear it. Listen, I’ll do what I can from my end, I’ll contact Henry Anderson and see what he can do, but you make damn sure you don’t get yourself shot. Although it would make my life infinitely easier, we can’t afford to lose you.”
Cort nodded as if Ben could see him. “Alright Ben, but when I get out of this you and Talon have some explaining to do. I need to know exactly what is going on with my son. Do you understand?”
The gate banged even louder as something massive slammed into it.
“Yeah, Cort, I understand.” Ben said, quietly.
“Well, Ben, it looks like I’m all out of time. I guess I’ll call you from jail. I better go before a SWAT team rips my damn door down.” He hung up the phone and looked over at Jake. “I’m sorry son. There’s nothing I can do.”
“What about Dad? What did you find out?” Jake asked, completely ignoring the now enraged pounding on the gate.
“Later. Later.” Cort said, dismissing him and peeking out the window again.
“Grandpa I know you know something. What is going on with, Dad? Who’s Bloody Wes Turner? Is Dad in trouble?” Jake said, raising his voice.
Cort would rather not do it this way, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. “I don’t know kid. I’m not going to lie to you. All I can tell you is that I talked to him last night and he didn’t sound too good. Sounded very tired. But other than that, as far as I know he’s fine.”
“So he’s okay?” Jake asked. “They haven’t killed him or turned him?”
Cort gently grabbed his grandson by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “No son, he’s just fine. I would tell you if something like that happened. I promise.”
Jake nodded solemnly and looked away. “At least he’s okay.”
A pounding at the backdoor started as well. “There’s not a vampire on earth that could kill your dad kid.” Cort walked over and peeped out the blinds. There were now at least a dozen cops outside. Most were wearing body armor.
“Grandpa, are you going to go to jail?” Jake asked.
“Hmm?” Cort said absentmindedly pulling away from the window he had been looking out.
“Jail, Grandpa, jail!” Jake yelled at him.
Sometimes Cort forgot that his grandson was still so young and needed things clarified. “Oh that? Yeah. You can’t pull a gun on a cop and not go to jail. Even in Texas. But don’t sweat it son. I’ve been locked up a time or two in my life. Ben will figure something out and get me out in no time. But until we can figure out just what the hell we’re going to do, you’re going to have to go stay with your other Grandpa for a bit.”
“But I don’t even know him! I don’t want to stay with him! Dad always said he was a miserable, mean old son of a bitch!”
“Watch your cussing.” Cort said, walking down the hall to the gun vault. He pulled his keys out and shoved each one into its lock then with a grunt pulled it open. He pulled out the .357 he had shoved back into his waistband and set it inside then pulled another gun from an ankle holster and set it next to it. When he was done he slammed shut the heavy door, turned the locks, and handed the keys to Jake.
“You take good care of that son. I don’t want these cops getting into that vault and robbing me blind.” Jake shoved the key ring into his pocket. “Now listen to me very carefully. Your grandpa is a very evil man.”
Jake started to say something but Cort held up his hand silencing him. “I’m not kidding Jake. Don’t you trust him for one minute. He’s out for one person and one person only. Himself. Blood or no blood it doesn’t matter. Do you understand?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so . . .”
He’ll learn soon enough. Cort thought. “Best go pack some clothes before they get inside. Once they do, you won’t have much time before the lawyers haul you away.”
Jake ran into his room and began packing. Two of the windows in the kitchen shattered and a police officer’s voice carried in over a megaphone demanding he open the door.
“You ready kid!” Cort yelled through the house. “These guys aren’t going to wait all day!”
Jake rushed into the living room his bag slung over his shoulder. Cort gave him a firm grab on his shoulder and smiled at him. “It’s all going to be okay, kid. We’ll get all this figured out and I’ll see you in just a few days. Now I want you to go in the living room and keep your hands above your head.”
Jake nodded nervously.
Cort took several deep breaths, walked over to the front door, and turned all the locks. He opened it slowly and then turned the locks on the gate pushing it open with his foot while keeping his hands high in the air. There were at least fifteen cops outside, all with their guns pointed in his direction. “I ain’t armed!” He screamed at them. “Don’t shoot!”
“Get down on the ground!” The cop with the megaphone yelled.
>
Cort grunted as he landed on his knees. They popped and groaned, but somehow he managed to keep his hands high in the air. He prayed deep down that none of these men had itchy trigger fingers.
Minutes later Cort was handcuffed and in the back of a squad car. He watched helplessly as the lawyers escorted Jake to the back of a brand new Lincoln Town Car. The one named Murphy took Jake’s bag from him and tossed it to the front yard. He gave Cort a one handed salute and a smile as he shut Jake’s door.
“Yeah smile you little son of a bitch.” Cort said, aloud. “You’ll get yours. You can’t work for the devil and not get burned.”
Chapter 10
Jake
Chronicles of the Vampire Hunters: Creation Page 18
