The F*cked Series (Book 3): Mean

by Gleason, R. K.

  Ben considered his brother’s question for a moment before replying. “Nothing. Fuck it, I guess,” he said, opening the rear door of the Mercedes. “If they wanted to shoot us, we gave them plenty of time to do it.”

  Dave took a second to replay what Ben had said. He tried to decide if his son was agreeing with him or if he’d intended his choice of words as a jab at Dave’s leadership by default. As Ben closed his door, Dave decided to let it go for the time being and not press the issue. There’d be time later to see if Ben had some kind of bug up his ass, or if he had something he wanted to say. For now, like it or not, Dave was the one making the decisions for their family. If someone else wanted to take the burden from him, they were welcome to it. Until then, or until something happened to him, a thought Dave immediately chased from his thoughts, he was it.

  They all got into their respective vehicles and started the engines. It took Dave three tries to get the Rogue to chug to life and Dave reasoned their encounter with the road pirates and the bumper car driving he’d put it through had taken its toll. It wouldn’t be long before the car refused to start at all. Better to replace it with one that started on command. The three vehicles sat idling on the shoulder. By then, Carl had reached the rental lot. He’d parked the Jeep, gotten out and had taken a moment to look their direction before shaking his head and going inside.

  “What are we waiting for?” Dave asked over the walkie-talkie.

  “I guess we’re waiting for you,” Zack replied.

  “But you’re in front,” Dave said.

  “And…” Zack answered.

  “So just go!” Dave nearly shouted.

  “Age before beauty,” Zack replied.

  “Don’t drag us into this,” Mike interjected. “We’ll follow you two.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dave grumbled. Jerking the gearshift into reverse, he backed up to give himself room to skirt around the tail end of the Mercedes. He made a mental note to mention to the others the next time they parked someplace to avoid bunching up like this cluster they were currently in. Dropping the car into drive, Dave swung around Mike’s car and slowed as he passed Zack sitting behind the wheel of his. He made sure to make eye contact with his son, so he could see him shake his head in disbelief before moving on. Zack replied with a shrug, shifted into first gear and rolled out behind his father with Mike following behind.

  “Make sure you’re carrying,” Dave told Joe.

  “You don’t trust them?” Pam asked.

  “We just met them. Or at least one of them,” Dave answered. I agree with Ben that they had plenty of time to off us on the shoulder if they’d wanted to.”

  “It sounds like there’s a but coming,” Pam said.

  The expression on Dave’s face soured when he said, “But… we don’t know anything about them. What they’re doing out here, lit up like they’re open for business. Maybe they’re up to something and their plans are better served by drawing us inside,” he said, turning left onto the road while ignoring the stop sign completely.

  “Then why not just wait for us to come to them?” she asked, looking in the mirror to see the rest of their family following right behind them.

  “Because they could have figured we wouldn’t all come to investigate at the same time. It might foul up their plans,” Dave explained. “This way, we all come rolling in together like happy lambs to the slaughter.”

  “Then why don’t we just keep driving?” Joe asked.

  “Because we’re already here,” Dave replied, rolling into the parking lot with gravel crunching under their tires as they came to a stop near the glass-fronted double doors. They didn’t need to check to see if the others were following because they could hear their tires making the same, amplified Rice-Krispies sound through the missing windows of their car. “But I’m telling you, Joe, and I want you to tell your brothers. If someone jumps from behind a hidden door or starts swinging around a chainsaw, or they’re wearing masks made from someone else’s face, don’t ask questions or try to figure shit out,” he continued, shifting into park and keying the engine off. “Just kill everyone who isn’t family.”

  “Got it,” Joe said nervously. He released the magazine from the butt of his pistol, checked to make sure it was fully loaded and pushed it back into place with a metallic click. After checking the safety again, he tucked the gun into his waistband and opened his door.

  “And if Leather Face isn’t lurking somewhere inside?” Pam asks, cracking open her door.

  “Then we get what we need and be on our way,” Dave answered. He was happy she hadn’t asked what they’d do if Carl and his sons didn’t feel like sharing.

  Standing from the car, Dave casually scanned the lot as he closed his door. He noticed two or three vehicles that would replace his beaten down car, but he was more curious to see what might be hidden from view on the other side of the building. That’s where the heavy equipment was parked. They might just have a luxury tank back there that ran on unleaded, had individual zone heating and cooling controls. Custom TV and entertainment systems with USB charging ports and programmable music channels in every armrest. And it had to have comfortable seating for at least ten and the power to drive over an average-sized bus or climb a fucking tree if the situation demanded it. That’s what he truly wanted to find mingled in the with business car rentals. But he didn’t see his dream behemoth idling in the lot. He also didn’t see any gas pumps for refueling and hoped they, and his new vehicle, were waiting for them out back.

  Zack and Brigette had woken the boys and the two brothers stood behind them, the way little kids do. They rubbed their eyes and let out tremendous yawns with exaggerated stretches, shuffling their feet and whining about being tired. A memory flashed into Dave’s thoughts that their behavior seemed uncannily like his own behavior from just a couple weeks in the past, and then the thought was gone. Carl was already at one of the doors, pushing it open to invite them inside. But they remained on the cement walkway, once again waiting for Dave to take the lead.

  “Where did you two come from?” Carl beamed at the young boys the moment he noticed them peeking at him from behind their parents’ legs. The smile on his face was as warm and genuine as if he were their grandfather, rather than Dave. They both shrugged, not knowing how to answer, or if they were even supposed to. “Well, let’s see if we can manage to whip up some hot cocoa for you gentlemen. How would that be?” he asked. Jaxon and Braxton both looked at their mom with hopeful expressions but didn’t say a word. Brigette gave them reluctant permission with a slight nod, which the boys amplified back to Carl with enthusiasm and were the first to accept Carl’s invitation. The three stepped off to the side and waited for the rest to follow.

  “I guess we go with them,” Dave said to the others as he went in behind the boys.

  They all filed into Haviland Hardware and Equipment/Car Rental, using one side of the double glass doors. Ben had insisted on holding the door open for everyone. When Mike tried to usher him in first, they had to exchange a couple, after yous and one, I insist before Mike conceded, and everyone finally made it in. Carl sidestepped to the door, reached up and twisted the switch on the door, setting the top lock. He set a similar lock at the bottom of the door and threw the one at the center.

  “What about your sons?” Dave asked. “Won’t they want in?”

  “They’ll come in through the back,” Carl replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, that parking lot’s lit up out there like it’s the middle of the day. The back door ain’t much dimmer neither, but there’re some shadows back there. Better chance of slipping back in unnoticed. You never know who might be watching. They’ll be back inside soon enough. Now, let’s go see about that cocoa,” he said, clapping his hands together as he turned to the boys. He headed down the aisle toward the back of the rental store and they all followed in the order they’d entered the building.

  “Why would somebody be watching this place,” Dave asks.

  “You tell me. W
hat were you folks doing when I drove up?” Carl asked without turning around.

  “But if someone is watching you, they definitely saw all of us come in,” Dave replied, avoiding the question.

  “Doubt you’ll be staying long,” Carl said, walking past the counter and opening a heavy, metal door. In the same lettering as the signs on the cars and the paint on the windows, it read, Employees Only.

  The first door they came to on their right had Break Room written in the same balloonish style. Dave wondered if the writing was Carl’s or one of his sons as they passed through it. Following Carl’s insistence, they all took a seat while he heated up some coffee and hot water to make the cocoa for the boys. Everyone carrying a gun sat it on the table they were sitting at, except for Brigette. She kept hers slung over her shoulder with the barrel pointed at the suspended-ceiling tiles. Everything looked as oddly normal as it could. They’d left the door to the break room standing wide open and no one seemed to notice she and Zack had positioned themselves with a clear line of fire to the door if needed. Dave didn’t have his hand resting on his shotgun like Zack had, but it was pointed in Carl’s general direction and his hand was only a few quick inches away. Carl hadn’t noticed this either or didn’t appear to mind. He filled two glass coffee pots with water and then poured them into the separate machines to get it heated.

  “You ever think about turning off some of those lights, Carl? Maybe even just the ones outside?” Dave finally asked.

  “They run on a generator,” Carl said in way of an answer and set about searching the limited cupboards and drawers for coffee and hot chocolate makings.

  “I sort of figured that. What about just turning off the generator?” Dave replied.

  “Can’t find the keys,” he answered.

  “Keys to the generator?” Dave asked. He considered if he’d ever heard of a generator having keys and decided it was possible.

  “Nope,” Carl said, tearing the top from two packets of cocoa. “Keys to the door.”

  “Wait. Your generator has a locked door?” Mike asked.

  “No. The keys are to the door to the room the generator’s in, smart fella,” Carl said. He momentarily stopped what he was doing to turn and look at Dave.

  “Understood,” Dave replied. On the outside, he was trying to appear calm, but in his head, he was racking his brain trying frantically to decide if Carl was insane. “Still, wouldn’t it just be easier to turn the lights off at the switch?”

  “Can’t,” Carl answered without offering anything further as he dumped the packets into two separate mugs.

  “Wait,” Pam says. “Same room, right?”

  “Bingo, young lady,” Carl said, touching the tip of his finger to his nose before turning back to continue preparing the hot drinks. “It looks like all we have is instant coffee, but I guess it’ll do in a pinch,” he added

  “Where do you think you lost them?” Dave asked, returning to the subject of the keys. He’d misplaced his own from time to time and had gotten pretty good at finding them. Usually they’d be in the pocket of a jacket he didn’t remember wearing or between the couch cushions. “Maybe we can help you find them. Get some of these lights shut off. Conserve some fuel for your generator.”

  “I didn’t say I lost the keys. I said we couldn’t find them,” Carl commented, sliding the last piece of the puzzle into place. From the corner of his eye, he saw Brigette tense up and Zack tighten his grip on his double-barreled shotgun.

  “Did you find the coffee?” a deep voice, full of excitement and hope, asked from behind Dave.

  He swept the shotgun up, his finger laid across the trigger-guard as he started to spin in his chair, bringing the barrel around. Zach had his gun to his waist, one hand over the top of the barrels to keep it from bucking when he pulled the twin triggers. Ben already had his revolver in his fist with the hammer pulled back when Dave completed his turn to face the door. Standing side by side in the doorway were two men, dressed in black Carhartt coats, dark jeans and wearing black ski masks with holes for the eyes and mouth pulled over their faces. They both had what looked like bolt-action hunting rifles slung to their backs and Dave caught a glimpse of the laser sites mounted on them. The ones that had been painting Ben and Bridgette a few minutes earlier. If they were aware of their imminent demise, they didn’t show it in the slightest. Their full attention was on Carl and the possibility he’d found the coffee.

  “Is there any sweetener? You know I can’t have sugar,” the one on the right said. From his voice, Dave could tell he was the coffee lover.

  “That’s a lie. I’ve watched you kill a dozen glazed doughnuts in one sitting. You want some help, Dad?” the one on the left said in the same voice as the other. Without a glance at the others in the break room, he headed to Carl to help with the drinks. Dave reasoned the two of them had slipped in the backdoor, just as Carl had said they would, and then silently snuck up on them. He was stunned by their utter lack of concern for their continued safety and the fact he was no longer certain who the coffee lover was. His head, with mouth hanging agape, followed the man over to where his father was bustling, but his hands kept the shotgun loosely pointed at the other man. “Whoa!” the one standing in the door said, finally noticing the guns being pointed at the three of them. “What gives?”

  Carl, and his son next to him, turned to see the same thing his son at the door had just discovered. The room was silent for a moment, other than the quiet purring of the generator which they could all hear clearly but sounded like it was miles away.

  “Hold on a second,” Carl said, trying to sound as calm and non-threatening as possible, holding disposable cups in each hand. “Nobody get excited. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. Boys. Where are your manners? Dave. This is my son, Jacob,” he said, gesturing to the man closest to him. “The one with the sugar intolerance at the door is my other son, CJ. Boys say hello to the… a…” Carl lets his words trail off, realizing he couldn’t recall Dave’s last name, and wasn’t certain if it’d ever been given.

  “Richter,” Dave helped.

  “Right you are,” Carl agreed with relief. “Boys, say hello to the Richters.”

  “We’re Fosters over here,” Mike said, holding up a finger.

  “And Ben and I are Hamiltons,” Joe adds.

  “Okay,” Carl said, trying to figure out how this simple introduction became so difficult. “Boys. Say hello to the nice people. And take those damn things off your faces. They make the two of you look stupid.”

  “They keep our faces warm, Dad. It’s cold out there!” CJ replied.

  “But you’re not outside anymore. Are you?” Carl asked.

  “No sir,” his sons confess.

  They pulled the ski masks off from the top, like they were sliding socks from their feet. Dave took in a surprised breath, as did everyone else, other than Carl and his sons. CJ and Jacob were identical twins. Not only in the way they dressed and the rifles they carried, but down to every, last physical detail Dave could see. Same height. Roughly the same weight. They had identical sets of brown eyes and their short-cropped hair was the same sandy color. Even the cut was similar, but that wasn’t difficult to accomplish when you shave it all down to half an inch long. They had matching, boyish faces which surprised Dave a little, given what he believed to be Carl’s advancing years. He guessed their ages to be somewhere in their mid-twenties and he decided Carl and his wife must have had their sons later in life. Probably around the same ages he and Pam were.

  “Hey,” the two said, lifting their right hands quickly in a wave and showing broad, innocent smiles that exposed matching sets of dimples.

  “They’re twins,” Dave said to Carl, still studying the pair.

  “Three minutes and forty-seven seconds apart, to be exact,” Carl beamed at his sons.

  “Who’s the oldest?” Pam asked.

  “That would be me,” CJ answered, smiling proudly.

  “There were some complications with the pregnancy,
” Carl continued. “Doreen passed away during delivery. Jacob had to be taken via C-section,” he continued, the smile fading from his face and those of his sons’. Jacob gave CJ a reproachful look and the older brother, by three minutes and forty-seven seconds, lowered his eyes to the floor. Dave guessed the brothers had had more than one painful argument while growing up about which one of them was responsible for their mother’s death.

  “Like I’ve said, it wasn’t anybody’s fault,” Carl added quickly, seeing the change in their moods.

  He smiled for their benefit, but it wasn’t as genuine as it had been a moment before. Dave thought it looked more like a shield put up for his sons’ protection, but it carried the same amount of love he felt for them. He wondered how many times they’d seen that same smile while growing up and if their father had ever held them to blame. Carl slid open a drawer, reached inside and pulled out a handful of sweetener packets, showing them to CJ.

  “There’s plenty,” he said to him, setting the little pink envelopes on the counter.

  “Awesome!” CJ said, with no sign of the brief melancholy from a second before as he moved closer to his father and brother. With the tension in the room easing, he motioned for everyone to lower their guns.

  “Company first,” Carl reminded them as they started to make their own coffees.

  “We were gonna,” they replied, speaking in unison again as they grabbed more paper cups.

  “And I promised the young gentlemen over there some cocoa,” Carl said, pointing first to Jaxon and Braxton, and then to the cups that already contained the brown powder.

  “There’s cocoa?” Jacob asked, yanking open the cupboard and searching inside.

  “Company first,” Carl reminded him again.

  “We know,” they both replied.

  “And then the ladies,” Carl added.

  “We know, Dad!”

  “Just making sure,” Carl replied, turning away from the counter to let his sons finish the task he’d started.

  Dave watched them for a moment, nudging each other with their elbows or lightly throwing a hip. He recalled watching his own sons do the same things, vying for position in the kitchen when they were much, much younger. Dave thought there may have been more than just complications with the pregnancy, based on the men’s childlike behavior. He stored this observation away and thought he might bring it up with Pam, or possibly even Carl if the ideal opportunity presented itself. He put this aside for now, deciding to get a few more pressing details confirmed by Carl.