by Sean Platt
“Hunters!” Vic shouted as he came back into the kitchen, fist in the air like he was rooting for his favorite wrestler.
Boricio smiled. “What about the rest of you?”
Charlie and Callie were silent. Adam whispered, “Hunter,” avoiding eye contact with anyone.
Boricio looked at Charlie, eyes wide and smile manic. “Well, what say you, Charles in Charge? Hunter or hunted?”
“Hunter, but ... ”
“Nope, nope, nope. No buts! Predator or prey. No middle ground, no gray areas, no nothing. Kill or be killed.”
“I’m not down with killing people for no reason,” Charlie said. “When we passed those bikers on the road, there was no reason to do anything. Not at the time. Yeah, they gave us dirty looks, and there was a tense moment where it looked like they might make a move, but they didn’t do anything. They kept on going.”
“Yeah, but apparently, they circled back,” Boricio said. “Maybe they followed us back here and have been watching us since, waiting with fangs. Fuck, maybe they’re in the bushes ready to rattle right now. Maybe they’re the smart ones here, and Team Boricio is a drooling bunch of dumbasses riding the short bus to the graveyard.”
Vic looked like he’d been smacked in the face, then ran upstairs, back to his lookout post.
“Listen, Charlie, I appreciate you’ve got a nice pink pussy side. But that’s the same side that had your stepdaddy beatin’ the shit out of you, right? There’s no place in this world for nice; not no more. We’re an endangered species, and there ain’t no place for the weak. If you can’t pull the trigger, you’re already extinct.”
“We all know what I’m capable of,” Charlie said, glaring back at Boricio. “Just ask Bob if I can pull the trigger. Oh yeah, you can’t. Can you?”
Boricio smiled. “Fair enough, Chucky. Fair enough. But not everyone’s gonna give you an excuse like Bobby Big Boy. Sometimes, you’re gonna have to find a reason. And most times that reason boils down to whether your hard-on to live is fatter than the next fucker’s. So, are you two with me? You hunters? Are you gonna help me hunt these fuckers down, get our truck back, then shove a shit sandwich straight down One-Eyed Willy’s throat?”
Charlie swallowed, “Yes.”
“Definitely,” Callie said. Though she was tough, she wasn’t bloodthirsty. But seeing her friend Adam injured sparked her fiercely protective streak. “Let’s get these fuckers.”
Midnight
The house was silent. Callie had retired to the bedroom a half hour earlier. Boricio had been down for an hour or so while Vic was still upstairs in his spot, supposedly wide awake on red alert. Charlie found Adam alone, sitting in an overstuffed recliner in the living room, reading a book by lantern light.
“How’s it going?” Charlie asked. “Feeling any better?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, “Feeling stupid more than hurt.”
“Don’t let it get to you. I would’ve done the same thing,” Charlie said, sitting on the couch across from Adam. “No way you could’ve known they’d kill Jeremy.”
“Worst thing is, Jeremy actually told me I ought to run them down.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to tell Boricio or he’d blame me even more.”
“Yeah, he can overreact sometimes,” Charlie said with a grin.
Adam laughed, then coughed and winced.
“Jeremy was a good guy,” Adam said. “I mean, I know he was kinda an asshole sometimes, and Boricio didn’t care for him, but he was always nice to me.”
“I hear you,” Charlie said, though if he was being honest, he would have said good riddance. Jeremy was nice to Adam because Adam kissed his ass. Otherwise, the guy, a 38-year-old former stockbroker on vacation when shit hit the fan, was a raging douche bag who always had to have his way. The only good thing the guy had ever done, as far as Charlie was concerned, was find the three-story house they called, half-jokingly, their compound.
The home was huge, three stories, 12 bedrooms, five baths, and a separate five-car garage, but it wasn’t a true compound like The Prophet’s, where they’d been held as prisoners. The home had a wrought iron gate, a well, and a generator that they were able to use when they had fuel. Best of all, the home was located in the middle of nowhere, and they’d avoided detection by man or monster . . . until now, perhaps.
Charlie wondered if Boricio was right. Had the bikers followed them to the compound? Were there enemies hiding in the dark, waiting to strike? Charlie wondered how the hell Boricio could sleep with all the uncertainty in the air. He considered talking to Adam about the matter, figure out whether or not Adam thought anyone had followed him, but the kid was feeling shitty enough without adding the worry of an impending enemy strike to his plate.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Charlie suggested.
“I’ve got lookout in a few minutes.”
“I got it.”
“You sure?” Adam said, “Isn’t Callie waiting for you?”
“She’s passed out,” Charlie said, not bothering to clarify a misconception in the house that he and Callie were an item. Though they’d gotten close, and they slept in the same room, oftentimes in the same bed, Charlie was imprisoned behind the Friend Zone. And to be honest, he didn’t care. Having Callie in his life was enough. Or at least that’s the lie he kept telling himself. He maintained the lie partly to appear like less of a loser, but also as a way to protect Callie from the others. They hadn’t seen another woman in a long time. While Charlie trusted Boricio as much as a guy like Boricio could be trusted, and Adam seemed harmless enough, he didn’t trust Jeremy or Vic. Well, Vic, now that Jeremy was gone. None of the others needed to know the details of his relationship with Callie, so let them believe whatever they wanted if it kept them from sniffing around her like dogs in heat.
“You sure?” Adam asked.
“I’m up,” Charlie said. “No problem. You catch some Z’s and get better. God only knows when Boricio and Vic will want to hunt down the fuckers who did this to you.”
Four
Ryan Olson
Brentwood, Missouri
Oct. 14, 2011
6:27 p.m.
Ryan Olson knew shit would splatter fan blades the second he saw Pete’s car mulling about the Shop N’ Save parking lot.
What the hell is he doing here?
Ryan glanced back at the registers; five lanes open. While the lines were maybe a little longer than they were supposed to be, and two cashiers had called in sick, he didn’t need to take a register yet. Plus, Becky and Rosa were due back from break in 10 minutes. So, things should be cool, and he could slip outside without it turning into the end of the world. Of course, when it came to the grocery store, the end of the world happened at least twice a shift.
He grabbed the intercom microphone on the wall and called for the head stock boy, Bill, to come to the front end.
Bill appeared a few minutes later, mopping a hand across his sweaty brow. “What’s up, Ryan?”
“I’m taking my lunch break now, I need you to watch the front end, okay?”
“Sure,” Bill said, eagerly peeling off his blue apron, and tucking his white shirt over his big gut and into his pants. “Who’s on break?”
“Becky and Rosa; they should be back soon, then Dex will probably want his break. But if we’re in the weeds, he can wait.”
“K,” Bill said, taking over the captain’s spot on the front end, the one that allowed him to see the entire front of the store. Though Bill didn’t know it, he would never make management. Despite being a great worker and always on time, he was too sloppy and awkward with people, especially women. He was a 35-year-old who still lived at home with his mother and lacked the skills needed to be much more than a cog in the retail machine. To be management, you had to be great with people. Bill was scared of them. However, his eagerness to rise from the ranks of stock boy, where he’d been for 11 years, meant he would do whatever was asked, eager to prove himself to managem
ent, even the assistant manager, Ryan. Which was great when Ryan needed to break for longer than usual.
Ryan clocked out, but instead of heading straight out the front doors, he took the long way. Murphy’s Law: When employees saw you were about to go on break, they quickly developed last minute emergencies requiring urgent response.
Ryan, a customer said the strawberries taste off.
Ryan, the bathroom is flooded; we need to call a plumber.
Ryan, my baby’s got a sore throat; I need to take off, and no, it doesn’t have anything at all to do with that concert I have tickets for.
That was just the employees. Customers were worse. Ryan was amazed that most people managed to get through the day without his help.
Ryan slipped on his black jacket and made his way to the back of the store before sneaking out the front doors. He found that the fewer people who knew he was on his way to lunch, the quieter his break would be. And when it came to dealing with a problem like Pete, the less attention on Ryan, the better. Once he was certain the cashiers and stock boys were otherwise engaged, he made his way out the front doors and scanned the parking lot for Pete.
Pete was sitting in his black sedan about 10 rows back, listening to loud rap music, bouncing his head under a black skull cap and dark shades, looking as suspicious as, and not unlike, a drug dealer in a family park.
Ryan glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention to him, then approached Pete’s car and squatted on his knees beside the driver’s side.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ryan asked.
“Viktor wants to know your answer.”
“I said no, the answer’s not changing,” Ryan said, through clenched teeth.
“I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Pete said, taking a deep drag on his joint. “He’s not gonna be happy.”
“I don’t care if he’s unhappy. This isn’t an option. I’ll pay him back, but it’s gonna take time. Another week, at most. What’s seven days to Viktor?”
“I don’t get it, man,” Pete said, taking his shades off and meeting Ryan’s eyes. “The dude is giving you an out. An EASY fucking out. Most people would kill for this, and you’re saying no?”
Ryan shook his head, refusing to waver. “I’m not putting innocent people at risk. You tell him I said no. He will HAVE to wait.”
Pete shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Ryan. We’ll be in and out, nobody gets hurt, nobody knows you were involved. Easy. As. Shit.”
Ryan closed his eyes, stared at the pavement, littered with chunks and slivers of broken glass. Pete had a point. The problem of Viktor could turn to vapor if Ryan would just play ball. No more debt. No hovering threat of Viktor’s goons. It would all go away. But the risk was too great. He couldn’t live with himself if something went wrong. He couldn’t look Mary or Paola in the eyes if innocent people were hurt because of him.
“I can’t.” Ryan said. “Tell him no.”
Pete let out a deep sigh. “Shit, dude, you are either the dumbest fucker ever, or the ballsiest. You sure you want me to make this call?”
Ryan nodded yes and watched as Pete dialed Viktor on his burner cell.
“Hey, it’s me . . . No, he’s saying no deal. He wants another week.”
Ryan couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, and Pete’s face was blank, save for his usual stoner expression.
Then, something Viktor said dilated Pete’s eyes.
He handed Ryan the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
Ryan felt the acid in his chest rise as his pulse quickened. He reached for the phone, then stole another glance around the parking lot to make sure nobody was watching.
“Yes?”
“Am I to understand you’re saying no?” Viktor’s voice said, smooth and reptilian.
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “It’s too risky. We don’t need to do it like this. I just need one more week.”
“No, you’ve had enough time.” Viktor said. “It’s time to pay. You either pay now, or we’ll have to settle. How we settle is up to you, but I’d take the easy way if I was you.”
“It won’t work,” Ryan said. “Someone could get hurt. Someone will find out I was involved. Too much risk. If you can’t wait a week, just come and get me. I’m tired of living under the threat that you’re gonna send someone after me. You’re a businessman; you realize if your guys come after me, you’ll never get your money. So why not just wait another week?”
Viktor settled into a quiet that lingered too long; every silent second twisted the anxiety rising in Ryan’s gut.
Finally, Viktor spoke. “You’re right; if I hurt you, I won’t get my money. But I have a feeling that if I send some of my men to Warson Woods, pay a visit to your family, maybe that might change your mind?”
Ryan froze, rage threatening to boil over.
“You stay away from my family,” he said, doing his best to keep his anger contained.
“Then you pay me tonight. Your choice. Put Pete back on.”
Ryan handed the phone to Pete, hand shaking. Pete listened for 10 seconds or so, then said, “OK, boss” and hung up.
“So, what’s it gonna be? You in?”
Ryan stared, paralyzed by fear. He knew Viktor was dangerous. Knew he’d gone in too deep with his gambling. Knew that someday his luck might run out, and maybe he’d get a beat-down. But never did he consider that Viktor would go after his family. Hell, he didn’t even think Viktor knew about Mary or Paola.
This was it.
Ryan was finally out of options.
He’d gone too far this time, and now there was enough shit to make sure the fan stopped spinning forever.
He nodded to Pete, “I’m in.”
Five
Luca Harding
Luca moved his bishop in a diagonal line across the board, removed a black knight from the other side, and settled his bishop in its place. There was silence in his head. The Black Pieces weren’t talking. They were probably mad because Luca had just taken the knight.
The Black Pieces were like that sometimes, even when they weren’t playing chess with Luca. Sometimes they would start talking from nowhere, capturing his attention and demanding that he keep it. There were four of them, so far as he could tell. They all sounded similar, weird and kind of high-pitched in voice, almost like he imagined elves would sound. They said they didn’t have individual names, and instead called themselves Black Pieces because that was how he’d first noticed and thought of them during a game of chess. Luca thought it weird that they didn’t have names before now. But that was the least of all the weirdness in his life these days, so he didn’t fight the idea.
Most of the time the Black Pieces said the same sorts of things; things he mostly understood, though every once and a while they said something that sent a cold chill through Luca’s body.
The Black Pieces came back and told Luca to move one of their pawns two spaces to make room for a rook. Luca moved the pawn, then returned to his thoughts while pondering his own next move.
The Black Pieces were nicer than most of the voices. Always calm and reasonable. And they always answered back. The other voices ignored his responses and questions. They were like TV or the radio since he could only hear the voices, and they only went one way. Luca could sometimes see them, too, but only when he slept.
The Black Pieces were always around. That’s why they could play chess together.
Luca moved one of his pawns forward, then waited for the Black Pieces.
Luca caught his reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room, then quickly looked away. He hated his reflection. It was worse than the worst scary movie he ever saw, which was probably this movie called The Lovely Bones he saw last summer. Mom said he shouldn’t see it, but Dad insisted he was old enough. Mom was right because The Lovely Bones had given him nightmares for a month.
Luca hated how old he looked. It was weird. Paola had been looking at him like he was from another planet since they met
. Now that he looked like the college kids who hung out at the Town Center in Las Orillas, she probably wouldn’t want to be around him at all. Paola laughed at his jokes and seemed to enjoy being around him, but Luca was sure that if the world was filled with more people, she wouldn’t care about him at all. They were probably just friends because Paola didn’t have a choice.
He caught his reflection again, but this time he held it. Not because he was comfortable -- the mirror still made him feel yucky -- but because looking into the mirror gave him a view of a younger but still breathing version of his father, and he suddenly couldn’t bear to turn away.
Luca moved for the Black Pieces, still transfixed.
Even if Luca looked just like his father, he had still only been on Earth for eight years. It was making him feel weird; how the thoughts in his head were starting to feel so much older than his eight years. Luca didn’t think as old as he looked, but he also didn’t think nearly as young as he was.
Luca took the final black knight and wondered again what Paola really thought of him. He loved playing with her. Mary and Desmond were like his new mom and dad, or at least the closest thing to parents that he had now. So, that meant Paola was like his sister. But he didn’t feel about Paola like he did about his sister, Anna. Not at all. Paola gave him a weird feeling, and reminded him of something his dad once said:
Young love softens the mind too much to control the body’s tingles.
Luca hadn’t really known what it meant; still didn’t. But he was somehow sure it had something to do with how he was feeling now, sure it had to do with the weird feeling he never had before tingling in the place he wasn’t supposed to talk about.
Luca moved for Black Pieces again, taking his own white knight with the Black Pieces’ rook.
He wished Jimmy were still alive. Jimmy probably would have had good advice on the subject. Luca didn’t have the courage to discuss his feelings with any of the grown-ups, though he did manage to ask Will if he thought Paola might ever like him as more than a friend. Will said, “Chicken pox and puppy love are both terrible after 20, so you’re definitely in the right time frame.” Will’s answer mostly confused Luca, so he asked Will about the funny feelings he was getting. Will laughed and said, “Girls will melt your brain and make blood run to your lips, cheeks, and everywhere else. You can’t and won’t ever be able to do anything about it. Might as well stop trying now.” That left Luca more confused than ever.
