Vaughn R. Demont's Blog, page 30
November 11, 2010
Free Fiction Friday: The King's Confidante - Part 26
x-posted to
![[info]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1380442969i/1326421.gif)
freeficfriday
Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!
This week's chapter is above average length, coming in at 4700 words, and Spence has crossed the 85k mark!
The archive for the
freeficfriday
community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :)
Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.
This week's posting roster consists of: Vaughn R. Demont![[info]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1380442897i/1319734.gif)
vaughn_r_demont
, I.D. Locke
id_locke
, and Elana Hawk
elanahawk
.
Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. For more information, please send any inquiries to the moderators
vaughn_r_demont
and/or
id_locke
Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)
"Get in."
I'm no more than fifteen feet from the exit of Victory Station, the tower reaching up into the night, the moon full enough for my reckoning. A red scissor-doored sports car named for a dead Italian is in front of me, the windows down, my grandfather behind the wheel, wearing his human guise. Instead of getting in, as commanded, partially because I don't know how the door works, I lean in through the window.
"Listen, I think we're past the talking phase, I'm trying to move into endgame before Thornton gets himself killed, so unless you've got some magical McGuffin in the glove compartment or there's some as-yet untapped power I haven't discovered that you can give me the Cliff's Notes on, I kind of need to find your ex and put her down before the world goes to Hell, okay?" I glance at the glove compartment and shrug slightly. "Do you have a McGuffin? Hopefully not from ACME, Incorporated?"
Coyote smirks and reaches over to unlatch the door, which starts to rise, so I move out of the way before it slaps me in the chin. "Hero thing not turning out to be as easy as you thought, kid?" He pats the tan leather seat. "If you're so intent on rushing headlong, I might as well help you rush a little faster."
With a resigned sigh, I get in the car, where I'd normally be thrilled to be riding shotgun. I buckle up, understandably, and pull the door down a second before he peels out into traffic. "Given who you are, I'm guessing traffic tickets aren't a concern. Or gas mileage."
"So where to?"
"I was thinking Tolon Park, seeing as that's where she was planning on killing me."
He looks at me, steering with one hand, the car still weaving through the late-night rush. "You think she'll go back there? You got away."
"Well, other than going where Thornton presumably told Dad and Hank I was, and asking for yet another bout with them, I don't have a lot of ideas." I'm trying very hard to not squeak in fear as he's not watching the road.
"You do realize I'm not going to let you kill her, yes?" Plenty of teeth in that smile.
"Are you serious? You don't want her stopped?" I shift a little in the seat to face him better. "You have any idea how much she screws with your kids, both literally and figuratively?"
He turns his eyes back to the road, and I clutch onto the dashboard as he yanks hard on the emergency brake, sending the car into a slide, my body pressed hard into the door as the car swings into a busy intersection. All I see are headlights, the grills of economy and luxury cars, terrified drivers, the blaring of an angry chorus of horns flooding my ears. At this moment the only things I can concentrate on is keeping my bladder tight and my anus shut.
I next hear the engine roar, my body pressed hard into the seat, followed by raucous laughter in the seat next to me. "Oh, if you could see your face right now."
"Crazy motherfucker!" I immediately wince, as this really isn't the guy you spout profanity at. In the middle of all that he swung the car back into traffic, and we're back on our journey at high speed. "Don't you get what's going on? Can't you take any of this seriously?"
Coyote smiles that easy smile. "Kid, the second I start taking anything seriously I stop being who I am. Serious is for the marks. Besides, my grandson is the official fuck-toy of one of my primary rivals, so do you really want me taking shit seriously?" He leans toward me and arches a brow. "Hmm? And of course I know what's going on. The question should be if you do."
"She's bringing back her son, a Ra'keth, and then everything gets bad."
"How do you know?"
Okay, he's kind of got me there. "I don't know! I just… know that Ra'keth are a bad idea to have around. Who the Hell wants to be around someone who's all-powerful? Either you'll get killed or life gets boring really fast."
"Sounds like a decent enough reason, but that's not what I'm asking." He takes another intersection, but thankfully doesn't drift through it. "And kid, every tricker thinks Ra'keth are a bad idea until they meet one."
"Meaning?"
"Sorcerers are Mount Everest, Spence." Another intersection, and by the time we leave it we're both in the back of a limo with drinks in our hands. Apparently Coyote's whims have changed. I try to adjust but end up spilling my drink in shock. Here's hoping he can just have the leather seats cleaned on a whim as well. Regardless, he doesn't break stride, only responding to my faux pas with a smirk before continuing. "You don't move around it, you don't take it down, you fucking climb it and plant the damned flag."
"Yeah, the Emerald in the Snow, but you're still not answering my question." I look toward the closed partition. "Do I want to know who's driving?"
"How do you know why she's bringing her son back? Why the Hell would that Dog hold onto those ashes for all this time? And how did the Foxes ever get their hands on a prize like that? Shouldn't a hero be asking those questions?" Coyote takes a swig of his drink. "Face it, Spencer, you're just a dumb kid who's been lucky a few times that I'm only keeping around because you're providing some measure of entertainment."
I blink at him. "Ouch."
"Well, that's what you get for the ACME crack." He takes another drink, muttering. "Fucking Chuck Jones. Listen, the only thing you're doing right is doing exactly what Mama Fate wants."
"Which is?"
He shrugs. "You think I know? Hell, you think I spend this much time with any of my kids, much less grandkids? She keeps throwing you in front of me. Not my job to question though, just to be what I am."
"So what's my job, then?" I lean forward, setting the empty tumbler to the side and noticing that the adjacent seat is now clean and dry. Damn, where do I get a car like this? "I mean, I'll admit it, again, I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe if I knew what I'm supposed to do then…"
Coyote grins, and lights up a cigarette that he produces through sleight-of-hand. "Thought you wanted out? Isn't that why I found myself outside of Victory Station picking you up?"
I exhale hard, looking at the floor, and immediately his fingers tilt my chin upward.
"Uh uh uh, none of that. Look at me." When I bring my gaze upward, his human guise is gone, replaced by a coyote's head, kind of like Dad's, Thornton's, my various and sundry cousins and uncles, but there's a scraggly charm to him. His eyes almost shine, a roguish twinkle in them. "You, Spencer Crain, are sunkmanitu, ma'ii, cleasaí, wanderer, trickster, and a hundred other names, always travelling, never away from home. You are Coyote. That is the life you were given, don't fight it."
I feel his fingers brush along my face, a gentle warmth spreading through my skin, my vision clearing. The pain fades from a dull ache to nonexistent as his human guise reasserts itself. I touch my face, the swelling gone, nothing hurts or stings. "How did you—"
"One of my jobs may be the embodiment of Want, kid, but I told you, I get what I want."
I arch a brow. "You're the embodiment of Want?"
He grins that easy smile. "Thank Mark Twain." He sees my confusion, and rolls his eyes. "Sheesh, kid, turn off the damned TV and pick up a book every once in a while."
"So Fate led you to me?" He nods in reply, and I tilt my head incredulously. "And you do whatever Fate tells you to?"
"I am what I am, kid. No more, no less, and I have no plans on changing that. Trust me, Mama Fate doesn't really approve when you stray from your path." He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "It's like a long con, and everything's on a schedule, going through the phases until you get paid and take it down. Now sure, you'll allow the mark a little leeway because you can't plan for everything, but when the mark really starts to go off course, what happens?"
"Con's usually blown unless you can pull off some impressive bullshitting. Sometimes you get pinched anyway." I shrug, as I haven't got a lot of long con experience, mostly just what Bank's told me, and what I've seen on TV. "So what you're saying is that I need to be what I am so that Fate won't step on my nuts?"
Coyote nods once, and stubs out his cigarette.
"Okay, how do I do that?"
I get a laugh in response. "How should I do my job, kid?"
"Uh, I don't know. You're Father Coyote, I'd think you'd have that figured out." I stumble through a couple of sentence fragments while he looks at me expectantly. "I don't know, okay? I'm not you."
"Exactly. So why do you think I can answer the same question? I know plenty of stories, kid, but I'm no Bard. I know plenty of ways to fleece a mark, but there's not a drop of human blood in here." He taps his chest to make the point. "Think of it like this, you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, even though you're not really."
"I don't understand that at all." I peer at him. "Aw man, it's one of those pebble things, isn't it?" Off his look of confusion, I continue. "You know, one of those things that makes perfect sense right before I die and, God willing, lets me make my miraculous escape and find victory all thanks to the epiphany? Grandpa, that is the most tired trope out there. C'mon, let's just break with tradition and you tell me exactly what I need to know and I take care of all this and then we'll go shoot some pool, okay?"
The limo pulls over to the curb, and suddenly I'm back in the front seat of the Italian sports car. Coyote puts the car in park and looks past me out the window. "Looks like this is your stop, kid." The seat belt unbuckles on its own and the door unlocks with a soft clunk. I can take a hint, so I get out of the car, running my fingers along the roof a little wistfully as I am a bit curious about what it'd be like to drive it. The window rolls down and Coyote leans over. "By the way, how's your masse?"
"Um, that's pool, right? I only know how to break, really."
Grumbling, he shakes his head softly. "You make it through this, come find me, I'll show you how it's done." He takes the car out of park and I start to turn away. "Spencer!"
"Yeah?"
"You've got my eyes, grandson. Wouldn't kill you to use them." He then peels out in what's becoming his signature fashion, the engine roaring as he vanishes into the night. No traffic, weird.
I get my surroundings and become acutely aware of why there's no traffic when I see the sign marking the intersection.
95th and S.
I'm in the Benedict, pretty much the industrial slums, and also where Thornton said he was bailing me out of jail. There is not, by the way, a precinct office here, there's just a warehouse, a vacant lot, and two closed machine shops, but by closed, I don't mean for the night.
"Well, I wanted to save Thornton, this seems like as good as any place to start."
I hear a click behind me that I watched enough TV to recognize, so I know to raise my hands over my head. "Well that was quick. So am I being arrested, mugged, or killed?" Holy shit, that's a gun, that's a gun, that's a gun, that's a—
Quiet! Be cool, damn it.
I turn slowly, and see my father step out of a shadow, holding what looks like a thirty-eight, or something, one of those little revolvers with the short barrel. It's pointed at me. Dad's wearing a different t-shirt, black, black jeans, black boots. He does not look amused.
"Seriously, Dad? A gun? No tricks or pranks or quips? You're just going to shoot me?"
"I'm tired of tricks, son. I'm tired of being at Father's beck and call, at having my day fucked up because some dipshit needs a life-changing experience. So the Lady and I are going to end that." He takes a step closer, his eyes have a tinge of red, like he hasn't slept in days, but his hand is steady, the barrel of the gun filling my view a little more now.
"She here?"
He shakes his head once. "She's getting things ready. I told you to make a choice, Spencer, and you did." Another step, the gun's even closer now. It's getting harder to steady myself, because I mostly want to fall to my knees and start sobbing. I'm not ready to fucking die yet. But what he said, about making a choice…
"She's going to kill Thornton?"
"I told you it'd be you or him. She wanted you, seeing as you're fucking her husband, but the goal was more important, so I get to kill you." He motions with the gun for me to get down on my knees.
Holy shit, oh fuck, oh god, oh shit…
"Are you serious?" My voice is trembling, but fuck, wouldn't yours be?
"Dead cold serious. On your knees. You're still my son, so I'll make it nice and quick."
Serious is for the marks…
"Do I get any last words or requests?" I can feel tears streaming down my face, my knees threatening to buckle from fear.
"Go ahead."
I take a deep breath, running through the words in my head a few times. I don't even know if it'll work, but there had to be a reason he kept Thornton from saying it so…
"By the laws of Father Coyote, I challenge you." I honestly have no idea what's going to happen next, if there's more that I need to say, or if he'll just shoot me for having the audacity.
Instead, he laughs derisively, but not in any way that leads me to believe he'll punctuate it with a bullet. "You're challenging me?"
"I get a last word-request-thing, so yeah, I'm challenging you. You told me yourself the son never beats the father, so why not? If you shoot me, you'll never know for sure. I mean, c'mon Dad, I've tricked Dogs and Foxes, how do you know you're still a better trickster than me? Besides, you're still Coyote, and by Grandfather's laws, you can't just walk away from this."
"That a fact?" He smirks. "Son, do you even know what it means when you challenge me?"
Shit.
He lowers the gun, thankfully, but I get the feeling I've stepped into murky territory here. "You see, Spencer, you're thinking that I'd need time to prepare, that there's maybe a big ceremony, that you can stall everything until this challenge is settled."
I do?
"But it doesn't work like that?"
Dad shakes his head. "We can settle it here and now. And then, after I win, I shoot you."
"Okay, then, well, if I win you don't shoot me, and you let Thornton go, and you leave me and Mom and him alone forever."
This, understandably, earns quite a laugh from Dad. "Don't work like that."
"I think it does, and you're just trying to make me think otherwise. My old man's a liar, remember?" I grit my teeth, as that gun is still in his hand, and I don't know if this is anything other than a major bluff. "Ok, no matter what happens, I lift that curse off you." This gets his attention. "I mean, if you're going to be nailing the Silver Lady, you'd probably want to get rid of it, right?"
"Why, 'cause I might stub my toe during sex?"
I smile, remembering what I'd said the night of the wake. "May your stories be remembered as lies, and your prowess be remembered as laughable." A chuckle slips out of me. "You really want your number one crush thinking you're a two-pump chump?"
A few seconds pass as he mulls it over. I keep expecting for a car to roll by, but the City might as well be empty. He narrows his eyes at me, crackling his knuckles. "You drop the curse, you come with me, you take Thornton's place, and he walks, and that's all you're getting."
"I win, I drop the curse, Thornton walks, you leave Mom alone forever, and you walk away. And if I lose, I go with you, you still let Thornton go, and right before your new girlfriend slits my throat I tell you how the Dogs managed an Emerald in the Snow."
And Dad laughs, enough to bend over slightly, hugging his sides, convulsing with the hilarity of the statement. "You? You know an Emerald in the Snow?" He holds up a hold ask if to ask me to stop, and then places it over his chest. "Oh God, that's hysterical. Kid, if you actually knew one of the Emeralds I'd let you pick the challenge."
An uncomfortable moment passes as his laughter fades, and he notices that I don't look offended, or indignant. I don't look like anything at all.
"No fucking way, Spencer."
I smile knowingly. "Long ago, when the world was a leaf in a pond of amaranthine fire…"
He trembles, shock, and a small amount of fear in his eyes now. "He wouldn't have told you. He can't."
"And yet, I know it, and you've already seen proof. How else could I have escaped you earlier in the park, Dad?" I fold my arms, smirking, and it's his smirk, I know, but I really don't care. "So I get to pick the challenge, huh?"
"Yeah. So what'd you have in mind?" He cracks his knuckles again, rolls his neck, limbers up.
"Simple challenge. Riddles, and if you miss one, you lose." I chuckle darkly. "And I'm a Bard, Dad, I've gathered riddles from the darkest recesses of humanity's soul, questions that have made the spirits shiver, with answers arcane and maddening." I can feel my eyes burning as I lean forward. "But since the son never beats the father, you certainly won't mind me going first."
And I see my payoff, he swallows hard, his hand trembling, and then he grips the gun tighter before nodding once. He extends his free hand, and then spits hard in his palm. I do the same, and we shake on it.
Okay, Spence, time to be a Coyote.
"Why do blondes hate M&Ms?"
What, you think I was serious with all that shit?
The look on Dad's face is priceless, though, and he stumbles through a few syllables before catching himself, and then I receive a glare that's barely masking a grin of near-pride. "They're too hard to peel. Internet teach you that one, son? What do you call a blonde with ninety percent of her intelligence gone?"
"Divorced, but then you'd be familiar with that. What do you call ten blondes standing ear to ear?" I keep my arms folded, trying to look severe.
"A wind tunnel. Christ, I taught you that one. Why'd the blonde return her vibrator?"
"She kept chipping her teeth. Should've figured you'd jump to the dirty ones first. What'd the blonde's right leg say to her left leg?"
Dad grins, showing teeth. "It said nothing, they'd never met before. Just give up, Spencer, I taught you all of these. Why do blondes like tilt steering?"
"More headroom. Yeah, you taught dirty jokes when I was seven. I was real popular in elementary school. Why do blondes work seven days a week?"
"So you don't have to retrain them on Monday. So that's what this is about? You're getting back at me for walking out? Grow the fuck up. What do you call a blonde with a runny nose?"
"Full. And this is about saving my brother and my mother, I finished mourning you a long time ago, and I wasn't kidding about the grief-sex, either. I fucked Rourke after I got thrown out of your wake, and believe me, after getting fucked in the ass by the King of the Phouka I can definitely see why you felt you needed to knock Mom up before he touched her." God I feel icky for saying that, but it did rattle him, by God. "Why did the blond nurse take a red magic marker to work?"
A couple seconds pass, and I can see him grinding his teeth, and the words come out deliberately. "In case she has to draw blood." A few more seconds pass. "That's not why I slept with Rachel. Why's a blonde like a stamp?"
I need a second to remember that one. "'Cause, uh…" I wince. Shit. "They both get licked, stuck, and sent on their way. And yeah, you slept with Mom because that crazy bitch you're all googly-eyed for treats our family like a eugenics program." I know Grandpa said that, but it works, why not use it? "What's the difference between a blonde and a bowling ball?"
He doesn't miss a beat this time, but he did teach me that one too. "You can only get three fingers inside a bowling ball." A seven year old doesn't really get a joke like that, but it won't stop the principal from sending a note home regardless when he repeats it during show and tell. "And don't call her that. I did care for your mother, but my Lady means more to me, okay? And just because you were conceived to con Fate it doesn't make you any less my son. What do you call a blonde with pigtails?"
I blink a few times, and before he can claim I don't know, I take a breath, my nostrils flared. "A blowjob with handlebars. And fuck you. You were going to shoot me five minutes ago! Hell, you probably still are, so don't even try to pull any of that father-of-the-year bullshit on me." Oh shit, I've got an idea. Well, I already had it, but I could try it again. "Besides, you don't even know what the Hell you did, Dad." He wants to play dirty? Fine. "How do you get a blonde off her knees?"
"Come. And what the Hell are you talking about? You turned out just like our Lady wanted. How do you sink a submarine full of blondes?"
I stumble a second, as he changed tack by going "clean", and with the joke you'd think it have something to do with seamen, but… "Knock on the door. Half and half's never been done, Dad, ever think there's a reason? With all of the Coyotes in the world nailing everything with a hole and a heartbeat, don't you think it would've happened just by pure luck by now? What's the difference between a blonde and most men?"
Dad furrows his brow, pushing through my words, but not the riddle. I can see the wheels turning, and I'm about to call him on taking too long, but he spits out the answer quickly when he sees me react. "Blonde has the higher sperm count. Don't try to bullshit me. What do you call a blonde skeleton in a closet?"
I up my tempo. "Last year's hide and seek champion. You know that I didn't see shit until someone told me what I was, what I'm supposed to be seeing. I never claimed to be half-Coyote, that's all you guys. And you really think I could trick Phouka and Foxes and learn the name of the Silver Lady with relative ease within days of discovering what I am if I was just a third-rate trickster?" I step closer to him. "What you did with mom, making sure all the stars were aligned and shit, you sure you got it right? The Ra'keth didn't just do that shit to breed new kinds of people, they had other legacies to keep up."
I take another step toward him, and I can see in his eyes he's starting to work it through. "I mean, c'mon Dad, Father Coyote only fucked your new girlfriend to keep her from breeding more Ra'keth." I smile, and it's his smile, Grandfather's smile, and my own too. "You could almost think it ironic…" I show some teeth as he starts to sputter, and move in for the kill. "Tell me, Dad, what happened when the blonde coyote got stuck in a trap?"
At this point Dad starts looking around wildly, his ears pricking up, and he's making a definite effort not to look me in the eye. "There's no way. No fucking way. I would've known, damn it, I would've!" He looks off to his right, toward Beckettsville, Allora, Tolon Park. "You… She… You couldn't…"
"I didn't quite get that." I step closer while he trembles. "Did you have an answer for me, Justin—"
"Don't say my name!" He brings the gun up but I swat his arm back, the gun clattering to the sidewalk and he backs away, eyes mad with fear. "Don't fucking say my name! You won't… You…"
He takes off in a streak, into the night, not looking back, leaving me and the gun behind. A few second pass before I kneel, and pick up the gun, and then do what the heroes on TV usually do: I empty out the bullets, and toss the gun in a nearby Dumpster.
A minute later I finally let myself react to what just happened.
"Holy shit." I giggle nervously, rubbing my face. "Holy fucking shit, he bought it." The chuckle grows into a relieved chuckle. I walk a couple of blocks and find a pay phone, and call Rourke.
The phone rings about five times before he picks up, his machine apparently off. "I can only guess it's you."
"Mom okay?"
"She had plenty of words for me, not a one of them good. She seems pleased with placing the blame squarely on my shoulders. 'Taking advantage' was one of the terms she used. I still imagine, though, that she has plenty of words for you." Strangely enough, he doesn't sound angry. "Where did you get off too?"
"Had a moment of weakness, but I got through it. Is Mom still there?"
"She drank half a bottle of my whiskey and is currently asleep on my couch. For your information, she's beginning to believe she's a bad mother, I would suggest you alleviate that right quick, gradhan."
I know it's wrong, I know that after what happened the last time I was with him, but his voice is working for me, and I'm aware of what I just did to Dad. "Rourke, I need a couple of favors, first."
I hear him sigh, and I know he's probably shaking his head on the other end of the line. "Dare I ask?"
"Well, for starters, I need a ride to Grunstadt, I'm at 95th and S in the Benedict. I can tell you more when you pick me up. Mom will be safe at your place, right?"
" I seriously doubt my home would be attacked. After your father's burglary, I told the front desk to not let anyone up until I see them personally. And the other favor?"
I squirm slightly. "Well, you know what it's like for me when I put one over on someone?"
He chuckles softly, but there's a lecherous tint to it. "Indeed I do."
"I just tricked Justin Crain into thinking I'm a Ra'keth." I can almost literally feel my erection trying to throb its way through my jeans. "So uh… You can kind of guess what—"
"I'll bring the Rover, big back seat."
To be continued next Friday!
And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)
freeficfriday
Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!
This week's chapter is above average length, coming in at 4700 words, and Spence has crossed the 85k mark!
The archive for the
freeficfriday
community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :) Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.
This week's posting roster consists of: Vaughn R. Demont
vaughn_r_demont
, I.D. Locke
id_locke
, and Elana Hawk
elanahawk
. Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. For more information, please send any inquiries to the moderators
vaughn_r_demont
and/or
id_locke
Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)
"Get in."
I'm no more than fifteen feet from the exit of Victory Station, the tower reaching up into the night, the moon full enough for my reckoning. A red scissor-doored sports car named for a dead Italian is in front of me, the windows down, my grandfather behind the wheel, wearing his human guise. Instead of getting in, as commanded, partially because I don't know how the door works, I lean in through the window.
"Listen, I think we're past the talking phase, I'm trying to move into endgame before Thornton gets himself killed, so unless you've got some magical McGuffin in the glove compartment or there's some as-yet untapped power I haven't discovered that you can give me the Cliff's Notes on, I kind of need to find your ex and put her down before the world goes to Hell, okay?" I glance at the glove compartment and shrug slightly. "Do you have a McGuffin? Hopefully not from ACME, Incorporated?"
Coyote smirks and reaches over to unlatch the door, which starts to rise, so I move out of the way before it slaps me in the chin. "Hero thing not turning out to be as easy as you thought, kid?" He pats the tan leather seat. "If you're so intent on rushing headlong, I might as well help you rush a little faster."
With a resigned sigh, I get in the car, where I'd normally be thrilled to be riding shotgun. I buckle up, understandably, and pull the door down a second before he peels out into traffic. "Given who you are, I'm guessing traffic tickets aren't a concern. Or gas mileage."
"So where to?"
"I was thinking Tolon Park, seeing as that's where she was planning on killing me."
He looks at me, steering with one hand, the car still weaving through the late-night rush. "You think she'll go back there? You got away."
"Well, other than going where Thornton presumably told Dad and Hank I was, and asking for yet another bout with them, I don't have a lot of ideas." I'm trying very hard to not squeak in fear as he's not watching the road.
"You do realize I'm not going to let you kill her, yes?" Plenty of teeth in that smile.
"Are you serious? You don't want her stopped?" I shift a little in the seat to face him better. "You have any idea how much she screws with your kids, both literally and figuratively?"
He turns his eyes back to the road, and I clutch onto the dashboard as he yanks hard on the emergency brake, sending the car into a slide, my body pressed hard into the door as the car swings into a busy intersection. All I see are headlights, the grills of economy and luxury cars, terrified drivers, the blaring of an angry chorus of horns flooding my ears. At this moment the only things I can concentrate on is keeping my bladder tight and my anus shut.
I next hear the engine roar, my body pressed hard into the seat, followed by raucous laughter in the seat next to me. "Oh, if you could see your face right now."
"Crazy motherfucker!" I immediately wince, as this really isn't the guy you spout profanity at. In the middle of all that he swung the car back into traffic, and we're back on our journey at high speed. "Don't you get what's going on? Can't you take any of this seriously?"
Coyote smiles that easy smile. "Kid, the second I start taking anything seriously I stop being who I am. Serious is for the marks. Besides, my grandson is the official fuck-toy of one of my primary rivals, so do you really want me taking shit seriously?" He leans toward me and arches a brow. "Hmm? And of course I know what's going on. The question should be if you do."
"She's bringing back her son, a Ra'keth, and then everything gets bad."
"How do you know?"
Okay, he's kind of got me there. "I don't know! I just… know that Ra'keth are a bad idea to have around. Who the Hell wants to be around someone who's all-powerful? Either you'll get killed or life gets boring really fast."
"Sounds like a decent enough reason, but that's not what I'm asking." He takes another intersection, but thankfully doesn't drift through it. "And kid, every tricker thinks Ra'keth are a bad idea until they meet one."
"Meaning?"
"Sorcerers are Mount Everest, Spence." Another intersection, and by the time we leave it we're both in the back of a limo with drinks in our hands. Apparently Coyote's whims have changed. I try to adjust but end up spilling my drink in shock. Here's hoping he can just have the leather seats cleaned on a whim as well. Regardless, he doesn't break stride, only responding to my faux pas with a smirk before continuing. "You don't move around it, you don't take it down, you fucking climb it and plant the damned flag."
"Yeah, the Emerald in the Snow, but you're still not answering my question." I look toward the closed partition. "Do I want to know who's driving?"
"How do you know why she's bringing her son back? Why the Hell would that Dog hold onto those ashes for all this time? And how did the Foxes ever get their hands on a prize like that? Shouldn't a hero be asking those questions?" Coyote takes a swig of his drink. "Face it, Spencer, you're just a dumb kid who's been lucky a few times that I'm only keeping around because you're providing some measure of entertainment."
I blink at him. "Ouch."
"Well, that's what you get for the ACME crack." He takes another drink, muttering. "Fucking Chuck Jones. Listen, the only thing you're doing right is doing exactly what Mama Fate wants."
"Which is?"
He shrugs. "You think I know? Hell, you think I spend this much time with any of my kids, much less grandkids? She keeps throwing you in front of me. Not my job to question though, just to be what I am."
"So what's my job, then?" I lean forward, setting the empty tumbler to the side and noticing that the adjacent seat is now clean and dry. Damn, where do I get a car like this? "I mean, I'll admit it, again, I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe if I knew what I'm supposed to do then…"
Coyote grins, and lights up a cigarette that he produces through sleight-of-hand. "Thought you wanted out? Isn't that why I found myself outside of Victory Station picking you up?"
I exhale hard, looking at the floor, and immediately his fingers tilt my chin upward.
"Uh uh uh, none of that. Look at me." When I bring my gaze upward, his human guise is gone, replaced by a coyote's head, kind of like Dad's, Thornton's, my various and sundry cousins and uncles, but there's a scraggly charm to him. His eyes almost shine, a roguish twinkle in them. "You, Spencer Crain, are sunkmanitu, ma'ii, cleasaí, wanderer, trickster, and a hundred other names, always travelling, never away from home. You are Coyote. That is the life you were given, don't fight it."
I feel his fingers brush along my face, a gentle warmth spreading through my skin, my vision clearing. The pain fades from a dull ache to nonexistent as his human guise reasserts itself. I touch my face, the swelling gone, nothing hurts or stings. "How did you—"
"One of my jobs may be the embodiment of Want, kid, but I told you, I get what I want."
I arch a brow. "You're the embodiment of Want?"
He grins that easy smile. "Thank Mark Twain." He sees my confusion, and rolls his eyes. "Sheesh, kid, turn off the damned TV and pick up a book every once in a while."
"So Fate led you to me?" He nods in reply, and I tilt my head incredulously. "And you do whatever Fate tells you to?"
"I am what I am, kid. No more, no less, and I have no plans on changing that. Trust me, Mama Fate doesn't really approve when you stray from your path." He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "It's like a long con, and everything's on a schedule, going through the phases until you get paid and take it down. Now sure, you'll allow the mark a little leeway because you can't plan for everything, but when the mark really starts to go off course, what happens?"
"Con's usually blown unless you can pull off some impressive bullshitting. Sometimes you get pinched anyway." I shrug, as I haven't got a lot of long con experience, mostly just what Bank's told me, and what I've seen on TV. "So what you're saying is that I need to be what I am so that Fate won't step on my nuts?"
Coyote nods once, and stubs out his cigarette.
"Okay, how do I do that?"
I get a laugh in response. "How should I do my job, kid?"
"Uh, I don't know. You're Father Coyote, I'd think you'd have that figured out." I stumble through a couple of sentence fragments while he looks at me expectantly. "I don't know, okay? I'm not you."
"Exactly. So why do you think I can answer the same question? I know plenty of stories, kid, but I'm no Bard. I know plenty of ways to fleece a mark, but there's not a drop of human blood in here." He taps his chest to make the point. "Think of it like this, you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, even though you're not really."
"I don't understand that at all." I peer at him. "Aw man, it's one of those pebble things, isn't it?" Off his look of confusion, I continue. "You know, one of those things that makes perfect sense right before I die and, God willing, lets me make my miraculous escape and find victory all thanks to the epiphany? Grandpa, that is the most tired trope out there. C'mon, let's just break with tradition and you tell me exactly what I need to know and I take care of all this and then we'll go shoot some pool, okay?"
The limo pulls over to the curb, and suddenly I'm back in the front seat of the Italian sports car. Coyote puts the car in park and looks past me out the window. "Looks like this is your stop, kid." The seat belt unbuckles on its own and the door unlocks with a soft clunk. I can take a hint, so I get out of the car, running my fingers along the roof a little wistfully as I am a bit curious about what it'd be like to drive it. The window rolls down and Coyote leans over. "By the way, how's your masse?"
"Um, that's pool, right? I only know how to break, really."
Grumbling, he shakes his head softly. "You make it through this, come find me, I'll show you how it's done." He takes the car out of park and I start to turn away. "Spencer!"
"Yeah?"
"You've got my eyes, grandson. Wouldn't kill you to use them." He then peels out in what's becoming his signature fashion, the engine roaring as he vanishes into the night. No traffic, weird.
I get my surroundings and become acutely aware of why there's no traffic when I see the sign marking the intersection.
95th and S.
I'm in the Benedict, pretty much the industrial slums, and also where Thornton said he was bailing me out of jail. There is not, by the way, a precinct office here, there's just a warehouse, a vacant lot, and two closed machine shops, but by closed, I don't mean for the night.
"Well, I wanted to save Thornton, this seems like as good as any place to start."
I hear a click behind me that I watched enough TV to recognize, so I know to raise my hands over my head. "Well that was quick. So am I being arrested, mugged, or killed?" Holy shit, that's a gun, that's a gun, that's a gun, that's a—
Quiet! Be cool, damn it.
I turn slowly, and see my father step out of a shadow, holding what looks like a thirty-eight, or something, one of those little revolvers with the short barrel. It's pointed at me. Dad's wearing a different t-shirt, black, black jeans, black boots. He does not look amused.
"Seriously, Dad? A gun? No tricks or pranks or quips? You're just going to shoot me?"
"I'm tired of tricks, son. I'm tired of being at Father's beck and call, at having my day fucked up because some dipshit needs a life-changing experience. So the Lady and I are going to end that." He takes a step closer, his eyes have a tinge of red, like he hasn't slept in days, but his hand is steady, the barrel of the gun filling my view a little more now.
"She here?"
He shakes his head once. "She's getting things ready. I told you to make a choice, Spencer, and you did." Another step, the gun's even closer now. It's getting harder to steady myself, because I mostly want to fall to my knees and start sobbing. I'm not ready to fucking die yet. But what he said, about making a choice…
"She's going to kill Thornton?"
"I told you it'd be you or him. She wanted you, seeing as you're fucking her husband, but the goal was more important, so I get to kill you." He motions with the gun for me to get down on my knees.
Holy shit, oh fuck, oh god, oh shit…
"Are you serious?" My voice is trembling, but fuck, wouldn't yours be?
"Dead cold serious. On your knees. You're still my son, so I'll make it nice and quick."
Serious is for the marks…
"Do I get any last words or requests?" I can feel tears streaming down my face, my knees threatening to buckle from fear.
"Go ahead."
I take a deep breath, running through the words in my head a few times. I don't even know if it'll work, but there had to be a reason he kept Thornton from saying it so…
"By the laws of Father Coyote, I challenge you." I honestly have no idea what's going to happen next, if there's more that I need to say, or if he'll just shoot me for having the audacity.
Instead, he laughs derisively, but not in any way that leads me to believe he'll punctuate it with a bullet. "You're challenging me?"
"I get a last word-request-thing, so yeah, I'm challenging you. You told me yourself the son never beats the father, so why not? If you shoot me, you'll never know for sure. I mean, c'mon Dad, I've tricked Dogs and Foxes, how do you know you're still a better trickster than me? Besides, you're still Coyote, and by Grandfather's laws, you can't just walk away from this."
"That a fact?" He smirks. "Son, do you even know what it means when you challenge me?"
Shit.
He lowers the gun, thankfully, but I get the feeling I've stepped into murky territory here. "You see, Spencer, you're thinking that I'd need time to prepare, that there's maybe a big ceremony, that you can stall everything until this challenge is settled."
I do?
"But it doesn't work like that?"
Dad shakes his head. "We can settle it here and now. And then, after I win, I shoot you."
"Okay, then, well, if I win you don't shoot me, and you let Thornton go, and you leave me and Mom and him alone forever."
This, understandably, earns quite a laugh from Dad. "Don't work like that."
"I think it does, and you're just trying to make me think otherwise. My old man's a liar, remember?" I grit my teeth, as that gun is still in his hand, and I don't know if this is anything other than a major bluff. "Ok, no matter what happens, I lift that curse off you." This gets his attention. "I mean, if you're going to be nailing the Silver Lady, you'd probably want to get rid of it, right?"
"Why, 'cause I might stub my toe during sex?"
I smile, remembering what I'd said the night of the wake. "May your stories be remembered as lies, and your prowess be remembered as laughable." A chuckle slips out of me. "You really want your number one crush thinking you're a two-pump chump?"
A few seconds pass as he mulls it over. I keep expecting for a car to roll by, but the City might as well be empty. He narrows his eyes at me, crackling his knuckles. "You drop the curse, you come with me, you take Thornton's place, and he walks, and that's all you're getting."
"I win, I drop the curse, Thornton walks, you leave Mom alone forever, and you walk away. And if I lose, I go with you, you still let Thornton go, and right before your new girlfriend slits my throat I tell you how the Dogs managed an Emerald in the Snow."
And Dad laughs, enough to bend over slightly, hugging his sides, convulsing with the hilarity of the statement. "You? You know an Emerald in the Snow?" He holds up a hold ask if to ask me to stop, and then places it over his chest. "Oh God, that's hysterical. Kid, if you actually knew one of the Emeralds I'd let you pick the challenge."
An uncomfortable moment passes as his laughter fades, and he notices that I don't look offended, or indignant. I don't look like anything at all.
"No fucking way, Spencer."
I smile knowingly. "Long ago, when the world was a leaf in a pond of amaranthine fire…"
He trembles, shock, and a small amount of fear in his eyes now. "He wouldn't have told you. He can't."
"And yet, I know it, and you've already seen proof. How else could I have escaped you earlier in the park, Dad?" I fold my arms, smirking, and it's his smirk, I know, but I really don't care. "So I get to pick the challenge, huh?"
"Yeah. So what'd you have in mind?" He cracks his knuckles again, rolls his neck, limbers up.
"Simple challenge. Riddles, and if you miss one, you lose." I chuckle darkly. "And I'm a Bard, Dad, I've gathered riddles from the darkest recesses of humanity's soul, questions that have made the spirits shiver, with answers arcane and maddening." I can feel my eyes burning as I lean forward. "But since the son never beats the father, you certainly won't mind me going first."
And I see my payoff, he swallows hard, his hand trembling, and then he grips the gun tighter before nodding once. He extends his free hand, and then spits hard in his palm. I do the same, and we shake on it.
Okay, Spence, time to be a Coyote.
"Why do blondes hate M&Ms?"
What, you think I was serious with all that shit?
The look on Dad's face is priceless, though, and he stumbles through a few syllables before catching himself, and then I receive a glare that's barely masking a grin of near-pride. "They're too hard to peel. Internet teach you that one, son? What do you call a blonde with ninety percent of her intelligence gone?"
"Divorced, but then you'd be familiar with that. What do you call ten blondes standing ear to ear?" I keep my arms folded, trying to look severe.
"A wind tunnel. Christ, I taught you that one. Why'd the blonde return her vibrator?"
"She kept chipping her teeth. Should've figured you'd jump to the dirty ones first. What'd the blonde's right leg say to her left leg?"
Dad grins, showing teeth. "It said nothing, they'd never met before. Just give up, Spencer, I taught you all of these. Why do blondes like tilt steering?"
"More headroom. Yeah, you taught dirty jokes when I was seven. I was real popular in elementary school. Why do blondes work seven days a week?"
"So you don't have to retrain them on Monday. So that's what this is about? You're getting back at me for walking out? Grow the fuck up. What do you call a blonde with a runny nose?"
"Full. And this is about saving my brother and my mother, I finished mourning you a long time ago, and I wasn't kidding about the grief-sex, either. I fucked Rourke after I got thrown out of your wake, and believe me, after getting fucked in the ass by the King of the Phouka I can definitely see why you felt you needed to knock Mom up before he touched her." God I feel icky for saying that, but it did rattle him, by God. "Why did the blond nurse take a red magic marker to work?"
A couple seconds pass, and I can see him grinding his teeth, and the words come out deliberately. "In case she has to draw blood." A few more seconds pass. "That's not why I slept with Rachel. Why's a blonde like a stamp?"
I need a second to remember that one. "'Cause, uh…" I wince. Shit. "They both get licked, stuck, and sent on their way. And yeah, you slept with Mom because that crazy bitch you're all googly-eyed for treats our family like a eugenics program." I know Grandpa said that, but it works, why not use it? "What's the difference between a blonde and a bowling ball?"
He doesn't miss a beat this time, but he did teach me that one too. "You can only get three fingers inside a bowling ball." A seven year old doesn't really get a joke like that, but it won't stop the principal from sending a note home regardless when he repeats it during show and tell. "And don't call her that. I did care for your mother, but my Lady means more to me, okay? And just because you were conceived to con Fate it doesn't make you any less my son. What do you call a blonde with pigtails?"
I blink a few times, and before he can claim I don't know, I take a breath, my nostrils flared. "A blowjob with handlebars. And fuck you. You were going to shoot me five minutes ago! Hell, you probably still are, so don't even try to pull any of that father-of-the-year bullshit on me." Oh shit, I've got an idea. Well, I already had it, but I could try it again. "Besides, you don't even know what the Hell you did, Dad." He wants to play dirty? Fine. "How do you get a blonde off her knees?"
"Come. And what the Hell are you talking about? You turned out just like our Lady wanted. How do you sink a submarine full of blondes?"
I stumble a second, as he changed tack by going "clean", and with the joke you'd think it have something to do with seamen, but… "Knock on the door. Half and half's never been done, Dad, ever think there's a reason? With all of the Coyotes in the world nailing everything with a hole and a heartbeat, don't you think it would've happened just by pure luck by now? What's the difference between a blonde and most men?"
Dad furrows his brow, pushing through my words, but not the riddle. I can see the wheels turning, and I'm about to call him on taking too long, but he spits out the answer quickly when he sees me react. "Blonde has the higher sperm count. Don't try to bullshit me. What do you call a blonde skeleton in a closet?"
I up my tempo. "Last year's hide and seek champion. You know that I didn't see shit until someone told me what I was, what I'm supposed to be seeing. I never claimed to be half-Coyote, that's all you guys. And you really think I could trick Phouka and Foxes and learn the name of the Silver Lady with relative ease within days of discovering what I am if I was just a third-rate trickster?" I step closer to him. "What you did with mom, making sure all the stars were aligned and shit, you sure you got it right? The Ra'keth didn't just do that shit to breed new kinds of people, they had other legacies to keep up."
I take another step toward him, and I can see in his eyes he's starting to work it through. "I mean, c'mon Dad, Father Coyote only fucked your new girlfriend to keep her from breeding more Ra'keth." I smile, and it's his smile, Grandfather's smile, and my own too. "You could almost think it ironic…" I show some teeth as he starts to sputter, and move in for the kill. "Tell me, Dad, what happened when the blonde coyote got stuck in a trap?"
At this point Dad starts looking around wildly, his ears pricking up, and he's making a definite effort not to look me in the eye. "There's no way. No fucking way. I would've known, damn it, I would've!" He looks off to his right, toward Beckettsville, Allora, Tolon Park. "You… She… You couldn't…"
"I didn't quite get that." I step closer while he trembles. "Did you have an answer for me, Justin—"
"Don't say my name!" He brings the gun up but I swat his arm back, the gun clattering to the sidewalk and he backs away, eyes mad with fear. "Don't fucking say my name! You won't… You…"
He takes off in a streak, into the night, not looking back, leaving me and the gun behind. A few second pass before I kneel, and pick up the gun, and then do what the heroes on TV usually do: I empty out the bullets, and toss the gun in a nearby Dumpster.
A minute later I finally let myself react to what just happened.
"Holy shit." I giggle nervously, rubbing my face. "Holy fucking shit, he bought it." The chuckle grows into a relieved chuckle. I walk a couple of blocks and find a pay phone, and call Rourke.
The phone rings about five times before he picks up, his machine apparently off. "I can only guess it's you."
"Mom okay?"
"She had plenty of words for me, not a one of them good. She seems pleased with placing the blame squarely on my shoulders. 'Taking advantage' was one of the terms she used. I still imagine, though, that she has plenty of words for you." Strangely enough, he doesn't sound angry. "Where did you get off too?"
"Had a moment of weakness, but I got through it. Is Mom still there?"
"She drank half a bottle of my whiskey and is currently asleep on my couch. For your information, she's beginning to believe she's a bad mother, I would suggest you alleviate that right quick, gradhan."
I know it's wrong, I know that after what happened the last time I was with him, but his voice is working for me, and I'm aware of what I just did to Dad. "Rourke, I need a couple of favors, first."
I hear him sigh, and I know he's probably shaking his head on the other end of the line. "Dare I ask?"
"Well, for starters, I need a ride to Grunstadt, I'm at 95th and S in the Benedict. I can tell you more when you pick me up. Mom will be safe at your place, right?"
" I seriously doubt my home would be attacked. After your father's burglary, I told the front desk to not let anyone up until I see them personally. And the other favor?"
I squirm slightly. "Well, you know what it's like for me when I put one over on someone?"
He chuckles softly, but there's a lecherous tint to it. "Indeed I do."
"I just tricked Justin Crain into thinking I'm a Ra'keth." I can almost literally feel my erection trying to throb its way through my jeans. "So uh… You can kind of guess what—"
"I'll bring the Rover, big back seat."
To be continued next Friday!
And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)
November 10, 2010
From Twitter 11-10-2010
11:38:58: And another chapter done, sitting just under 85k. #kingsconfidante
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
November 9, 2010
From Twitter 11-09-2010
23:52:14: 84k has come and gone. I'm suspecting that I'm going to break 90 on this, despite my best efforts. #kingsconfidante
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
November 8, 2010
From Twitter 11-08-2010
09:03:11: Ok, back to work. Just need my caffeine first. :)
14:22:06: Broke 82k, but I think I figured out how to finish this chapter. Also, anyone know any good blonde jokes? It's research, I swear. :)
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
November 7, 2010
From Twitter 11-07-2010
09:37:15: Oh, right, DST. That would explain why I'm awake at a more productive time than normal... #forgotDST
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
November 6, 2010
November 5, 2010
From Twitter 11-04-2010
10:37:21: @mythicfox Today I will get a McRib and join the cult. All the cool kids are doing it. That's all the justification I need.
17:22:00: Like what you like because you like it, don't let those smug bastards make you feel ashamed or guilty. #tweetyour16yearoldself
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
November 4, 2010
Free Fiction Friday: The King's Confidante - Part 25
x-posted to
freeficfriday
Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!
This week's chapter is average length, coming in at 3100 words, and Spence has crossed the 80k mark!
The archive for the
freeficfriday
community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :)
Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.
This week's posting roster consists of: Vaughn R. Demont
vaughn_r_demont
, Cassandra Gold
cassandra_gold
, and Michael Mandrake
desiresdd
Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. Please send any inquiries to the moderators vaughn_r_demont and/or id_locke
Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)
"That was the best you could come up with? So what, are you calling from jail?"
I look around at the bustling area, people seated, walking, on laptops, cell phones, games, the bank of payphones largely unused. "Might as well be Thornton, but no, Mom was pissed but not that pissed. I can't believe I'm saying this…" I lean into against the wall, trying to hide my mouth and the receiver from view. "But I'm almost wishing she'd blanked out when she saw us."
"So what, you need me to come get you, bail you out?" There's only a hint of mocking in his voice, I can hear the concern underneath it. He's actually worried about me.
"Thornton, I don't think there's a thing you could say to fix this. I doubt even Father Coyote could talk his way out of what I got caught doing." I slink down the wall next to the pay-phone, the steel-wrapped cord still long enough to let me sit under it. "It's me, isn't it?"
"You're going to have to be a little more specific, Spence. What exactly did you do?"
"I think Mom sees all of us for what we are. I think that's what's making her, well, not right. I mean, if I've looked like this all my life, then maybe that's why Mom's always…" I swallow hard. "I'm just making her worse, aren't I?"
Thornton's voice drops low over the line. "Spence, what's going on?"
Just hang up, man. Hang up, sack up, and get back to work. C'mon, Spence, game's not over yet.
"I… I can't do this, Thornton." Fuck. "I got in too deep, I can't handle all this shit."
There's a pause on the line, enough time for me to close my eyes and clunk my head back against the wall a few times. There has to be a way through this, right? This isn't the time to—
"C'mon, little brother, just tell me where you are so I can come bail you out, okay? We'll figure it out." His voice is back to normal, still concerned though, still nervous. Don't really blame him, with how I'm talking.
"I don't need you to bail me out. I'm…" I look around the lobby again, as if my location's changed in the last ninety seconds. "I'm at Victory Station. At the bus terminal."
No response on the line, but I hear him breathing.
"Father Coyote wanted to handle this shit, he can. Rourke… He's better off without me. Mom, I know she's better off without me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, man. I had an idea, but it went south when Dad showed up, and it got even more screwed when Mom found me with Rourke and…" I take a breath. "I bought a ticket to the Capital. One of my friends from the park is in a crew up there, maybe I can learn the trade a little more, come back eventually, I don't know, I just…"
I just am a fucking coward.
"Shit, what were you doing out there? No, forget it, you can tell me when I pick you up. So 95th and S, got it. See you in a bit, stay strong for me, okay? Don't drop anything." An audible click follows, and I hear my change rattle down above me, the last of my quarters eaten up.
95th and S? That's in St. Benedict, on the other side of the City, and I wouldn't be out there unless I was looking to get killed. Maybe the caller ID got messed up or something, gave him a bad number.
I want to say that Thornton changes my mind, or give some old grifter's chestnut about knowing when to shut down the con and run like hell to justify what I'm doing, but I know what this is. And I'm not proud of it.
I called Bank, said friend from the park, a half hour ago, and he can give me some crashspace, his brother runs a crew that could use a short-con guy for fundraising. In about twenty minutes I can get on a bus and write off the whole thing as a bad dream, or whatever I need to call it to lessen the sting. Bank told me he got his start at my age, that the world really does owe you a living if you know how to endorse your paycheck, that God don't care as long as you're fleecing the wicked.
This'll all be over and done, at least my part, in not too long now. I should be free of it right about the time the bus rolls across the North Bridge, a little after two in the morning. I just have to hold onto my cowardice until then.
"Hey, you got a quarter?" The voice is small, soft, weak, and when I look up I see a guy in dirty blue jeans, and a gray hoodie, the hood pulled up, and, well, looking as beat to Hell as I probably do, but his eye looks a bit nasty. As for age, I wouldn't put him much older than me.
"Just used my last one, honestly. Nine-one-one's a free call, though. What, you get mugged?" He doesn't answer, only sniffs back in a way that signifies he's either got a cold, or he's been crying, and it's not cold season. "You okay, man?"
After a few seconds, he just shakes his head, sniffling again, and I exhale, patting the floor next to me. "Getting mugged happens, man. It sucks, though, I know. Been rolled a few times myself." I attempt a weak chuckle. "Bit of advice? Never count the day's take before you decide to skim off the local gang's cut. You'll end up with your ass kicked and out two hundred bucks."
He looks a bit more apprehensive now, but after a brief pause, he sits next to me, on my right, his hood obscuring his face now, though he tugs it further forward regardless. "That what happened to you?"
"Nah, this was my Dad. Don't get me wrong, it's not like this is a regular thing. My brother, though, every time I see him he hits me, seems like." I shrug. "I don't know, maybe he's got a pituitary problem or something, whatever kind of hormone imbalance fucks people up in the head."
He turns toward me, enough for me to catch a lock of red hair, and his right eye, the non-swollen one, where I can see he's at least got a nice shade of green there. "So this happens a lot."
"Mugging, or getting smacked around?" I try a weak smile. "I don't know man, in this city…" I reach to pat him on the shoulder, and he immediately cringes away. "Oh shit."
Beat up, black eye, at a bus station with no bags, wearing clothes that probably haven't been washed in a week or so, winces away from people touching him, reacts to mentions of abuse…
God, can I not make any more of an ass of myself?
"Listen, man, I didn't mean to make light of anything. I mean, if your dad is hitting you, then you need to—"
"My father doesn't hit me. My brothers don't either. My family isn't like yours."
So I laugh, 'cause you've gotta laugh, right?"
"God, I hope not. I wouldn't wish my family on anyone. I can't even handle them. My mom's snapped, or she's about to, my grandfather's got a crazy ex that has serious boundary issues, I've got two half-brothers, one who belongs in jail and another that will someday be devoured by pubic lice, and Hell, I'll probably end up a third-rate con artist." I smile to him, friendly, because really, it is kind of funny when I lay it all out like that.
"You'll just say all that to someone you don't know?"
I shrug playfully. "Stranger's confessional, man. We'll tell anyone anything if we think we'll never see them again."
He mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch.
"What was that?" I lean toward him, taking care not to touch him. "It was a crack about my hair, wasn't it? It's okay, think of it as a life lesson to never get drunk with a chick who's going to beauty school who thinks you'll look hot with highlights and streaks."
He doesn't say anything, and I lean around him, getting a better look at his face. Black eye, fat lip, a lot of bruises that look old. Laughter might not be the best medicine here. "Listen, uh, I'm sorry if I'm cracking jokes. Just what I do, you know? Be straight with me, you okay?"
A few long seconds pass before his eyes meet mine, and then he looks downward, shaking his head slowly.
"You don't have to tell me any details, it's all right. Besides, uh…" It's pretty obvious now that I've really looked at him. "So you're leaving… her? Him?"
The word comes out, small, choked back, and he starts to tremble with the onset of tears. "Him." He takes a few ragged breaths. "I just… I just looked in the mirror and saw…" His fingers touch his face briefly, and he winces, as if it's been confirmed once again that it's not a dream. "God, I was so stupid. He's gonna be so pissed, he's—"
"Hey." I place my hand on his forearm, and he doesn't shy away. "You're doing the right thing here. It's the brave thing."
Unlike what I'm doing.
"I can't go anywhere. I don't have any money, I just came here because…" The sobbing starts. "I just ran out, I just grabbed some clothes and ran. Everything is back there, I don't have any ID, I can't get a ticket and…" His voice breaks down into sobs, and a few people look our way, but no one comes over. I guess they figure I've got it covered, since I'm not trying to drag him off anywhere.
I'll admit I'm a bit torn. I mean, I'm running, just like him, I'm fleeing from people who've been beating the crap out of me. Well, I guess that's not really true. I'm fleeing a confrontation that I got myself neck-deep in. This guy is running from someone who's been terrorizing him, I'd bet. He's the brave one, I'm the coward.
Not to mention the poor guy doesn't even have the cash to get a bus ticket. Then again, I could do him a solid, my cards are my American Express, after all. I reach into my pocket and take them out, and he looks at me inquisitively.
"What's that?"
I fan the five cards out at him. "Your bus ticket, or well, it will be once I find a couple fish." I scan the crowd, looking for a place to set up where I can get out quick if need be. Victory Station isn't exactly the bus lounge in the Benedict, after all, there are cameras and cops and all that. It's not like I can grab a cardboard box and set up shop. "I work this right I can get you bus fare to Idaho if you want in fifteen minutes."
"But what if you lose?"
I smile indulgently, and pat his forearm. "You're adorable." I then lay the cards out in front of him, three at first, showing the queen, and two aces, and go through my shuffle. "I don't lose, okay? When I do, it's hooking a fish. It's not pride, it's because I know how to work the cards. More than that, I know how to work the mark. It's all about distraction, that's why we all talk and use rhymes and chat up the crowd, keep the tempo going. If I can get you to take you eyes off the cards for a second, I've won." I flip the cards over, showing the same queen, but two different aces.
"How'd you…"
"Magic." I grin widely, and, just for a second, a smile peeks around the corners of his mouth, but it quickly disappears. "Seriously, though, it just takes a lot of practice, observation, all that. A little natural talent doesn't hurt either. Place like this is good to set up too, if you're doing short game with a low take. People will play because you're the only game in town, and they're not going anywhere, and as long as you don't take more off them than a couple Jacksons, they'll get on their buses and be pissed about it, but you won't have to worry about cops."
He looks down at the cards, and then at me, incredulously. "They don't know it's obvious that you're cheating?"
I laugh. "Man, everyone thinks you're cheating, doesn't stop them from thinking they can beat the game anyway. It's like the lottery, or casinos. The odds are stacked against the mark but they line up to throw their money away because they're convinced they can beat it." I sigh wistfully. "God, pride is a lucrative sin. Greed too. Even if they know you're cheating, there's ways around it, you play it straight to throw them off, or you do a turnover, or pull a drop…"
So 95th and S, got it. See you in a bit, stay strong for me, okay? Don't drop anything.
When I play back the conversation I'd had with Thornton in my head, a few things start to seem odd. I'd told him that I wasn't in jail, but he kept using terms that could be construed that I was, like that he'd bail me out. And then there was the bullshit address. That he accented "drop" was only hitting me over the head with it. Considering that we both had an admiration for Canada Bill Jones, it's not much of a stretch to assume my brother would know the significance of the word.
A drop, at least as Three Card's concerned, is when you're onto the fact that the mark is onto you. It's a distraction move, needs a bit of practice, but basically you drop a card on the ground, act like you can't reach it, and ask the mark or your shill to grab it for you. While the mark's watching the card getting picked up, you switch a card out, either to make him right to keep him on the hook with a convincer, or to take the last Jackson off him before you fold the case.
TL;DR? You do a drop when there are eyes on you.
Given that if Dad or Hank were about, they'd have picked me up by now, I have to assume that Thornton's been taken. And he did a drop, dropped the card in the middle of the damned Benedict so I could switch out and get away clean. He's bailing me out so I can run.
And, well, I've seen enough TV to know that when someone risks their ass so you can escape, you risk everything to save them right back.
"Um…"
Right, I sort of trailed off there. "Sorry, I just uh… I just realized that I have to get out of here." I hold up a hand, calming any suspicions that I'm bailing. "Do you know anyone in the Capital?"
He nods once. "My father, well, kind of close to there, he's in the Mews."
"All right." I take out my bus ticket, and place it in his hand. "This is what you're going to do, okay? You get on the bus, ride it to the Capital, and when you get off, look for a black guy with bleach-blond hair wearing a motorcycle jacket. His name is Bank, tell him the cracker had to give you his exit." I gently lift his chin. "What are you telling him?"
"The cracker had to give me his exit?" The words come out like he's trying to speak a foreign language. He looks at the ticket. "I can't take your ticket, though—"
"Yeah, you can. Think you need a getaway more than I do, you know?"
"No, I mean…" He sniffles, slight relief crossing his face. "They check identification, and I don't have mine, and—"
"Relax." I smile at him, and take out my wallet, fishing out the license that had gotten me into a few strip clubs, a couple of bars, one pack of cigarettes (a coughing fit off my first once saw the rest traded to Bank) and a slew of R-rated movies when I was sixteen. "Just show the driver this when he checks the new passengers. I bought the ticket with that one, and I can always get another."
He takes the ID, and inspects the photo, and furrows his brow. "I don't really look like this."
I sigh, and try to not sound like a dick. "I'd hate to say this, man, but right now? You don't really look like anybody." I pat his forearm again when he sniffles in response. I don't want him to start crying. "Listen, it's awful that this happened to you, but right now, as bad as this sounds, it actually works in your favor."
"How?" There's more than a little disgust in that word.
"No one's going to pry, or ask twice. Yeah, you don't look like the picture, but given your condition, they're going to give that mine field a wide berth and let you slide. And if anyone asks from now until you get home to your dad, your name is the one on the ID, okay? Hey." I lift his chin again, and try to be reassuring. "Hard part's over man, you're going to be all right."
A few seconds pass, and he looks at the ticket, and then the ID, and then at me before nodding once, solemnly. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"I don't even know your name."
I chuckle softly. "Well, seeing as I'm kinda smuggling you north, just call me a coyote. Only, y'know, without the extortion and shit." I then get up, and help him to his feet. "Your bus is over that way, might as well get in line."
He nods again, and then hugs me, tightly, and I return it, patting his back gently. I watch him start to cross the lobby, and it's time for me to head out as well, to find Thornton, to stop the shit with Selah, to end it once and for all with Dad.
He turns back to glance at me, and I wave, and grin slightly. "Hey, you never told me your name either."
"It's…" I see him make an approximation of a smile, and he checks the ID, and looks back at me. "James Black."
Jack Black would've been too obvious, you know? Still, I nod with approval, and turn away, heading for the exit, and then onto to Tolon Park.
To be continued next Friday!
And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)
freeficfriday
Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!
This week's chapter is average length, coming in at 3100 words, and Spence has crossed the 80k mark!
The archive for the
freeficfriday
community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :) Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.
This week's posting roster consists of: Vaughn R. Demont
vaughn_r_demont
, Cassandra Gold
cassandra_gold
, and Michael Mandrake
desiresdd
Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. Please send any inquiries to the moderators vaughn_r_demont and/or id_locke
Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)
"That was the best you could come up with? So what, are you calling from jail?"
I look around at the bustling area, people seated, walking, on laptops, cell phones, games, the bank of payphones largely unused. "Might as well be Thornton, but no, Mom was pissed but not that pissed. I can't believe I'm saying this…" I lean into against the wall, trying to hide my mouth and the receiver from view. "But I'm almost wishing she'd blanked out when she saw us."
"So what, you need me to come get you, bail you out?" There's only a hint of mocking in his voice, I can hear the concern underneath it. He's actually worried about me.
"Thornton, I don't think there's a thing you could say to fix this. I doubt even Father Coyote could talk his way out of what I got caught doing." I slink down the wall next to the pay-phone, the steel-wrapped cord still long enough to let me sit under it. "It's me, isn't it?"
"You're going to have to be a little more specific, Spence. What exactly did you do?"
"I think Mom sees all of us for what we are. I think that's what's making her, well, not right. I mean, if I've looked like this all my life, then maybe that's why Mom's always…" I swallow hard. "I'm just making her worse, aren't I?"
Thornton's voice drops low over the line. "Spence, what's going on?"
Just hang up, man. Hang up, sack up, and get back to work. C'mon, Spence, game's not over yet.
"I… I can't do this, Thornton." Fuck. "I got in too deep, I can't handle all this shit."
There's a pause on the line, enough time for me to close my eyes and clunk my head back against the wall a few times. There has to be a way through this, right? This isn't the time to—
"C'mon, little brother, just tell me where you are so I can come bail you out, okay? We'll figure it out." His voice is back to normal, still concerned though, still nervous. Don't really blame him, with how I'm talking.
"I don't need you to bail me out. I'm…" I look around the lobby again, as if my location's changed in the last ninety seconds. "I'm at Victory Station. At the bus terminal."
No response on the line, but I hear him breathing.
"Father Coyote wanted to handle this shit, he can. Rourke… He's better off without me. Mom, I know she's better off without me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, man. I had an idea, but it went south when Dad showed up, and it got even more screwed when Mom found me with Rourke and…" I take a breath. "I bought a ticket to the Capital. One of my friends from the park is in a crew up there, maybe I can learn the trade a little more, come back eventually, I don't know, I just…"
I just am a fucking coward.
"Shit, what were you doing out there? No, forget it, you can tell me when I pick you up. So 95th and S, got it. See you in a bit, stay strong for me, okay? Don't drop anything." An audible click follows, and I hear my change rattle down above me, the last of my quarters eaten up.
95th and S? That's in St. Benedict, on the other side of the City, and I wouldn't be out there unless I was looking to get killed. Maybe the caller ID got messed up or something, gave him a bad number.
I want to say that Thornton changes my mind, or give some old grifter's chestnut about knowing when to shut down the con and run like hell to justify what I'm doing, but I know what this is. And I'm not proud of it.
I called Bank, said friend from the park, a half hour ago, and he can give me some crashspace, his brother runs a crew that could use a short-con guy for fundraising. In about twenty minutes I can get on a bus and write off the whole thing as a bad dream, or whatever I need to call it to lessen the sting. Bank told me he got his start at my age, that the world really does owe you a living if you know how to endorse your paycheck, that God don't care as long as you're fleecing the wicked.
This'll all be over and done, at least my part, in not too long now. I should be free of it right about the time the bus rolls across the North Bridge, a little after two in the morning. I just have to hold onto my cowardice until then.
"Hey, you got a quarter?" The voice is small, soft, weak, and when I look up I see a guy in dirty blue jeans, and a gray hoodie, the hood pulled up, and, well, looking as beat to Hell as I probably do, but his eye looks a bit nasty. As for age, I wouldn't put him much older than me.
"Just used my last one, honestly. Nine-one-one's a free call, though. What, you get mugged?" He doesn't answer, only sniffs back in a way that signifies he's either got a cold, or he's been crying, and it's not cold season. "You okay, man?"
After a few seconds, he just shakes his head, sniffling again, and I exhale, patting the floor next to me. "Getting mugged happens, man. It sucks, though, I know. Been rolled a few times myself." I attempt a weak chuckle. "Bit of advice? Never count the day's take before you decide to skim off the local gang's cut. You'll end up with your ass kicked and out two hundred bucks."
He looks a bit more apprehensive now, but after a brief pause, he sits next to me, on my right, his hood obscuring his face now, though he tugs it further forward regardless. "That what happened to you?"
"Nah, this was my Dad. Don't get me wrong, it's not like this is a regular thing. My brother, though, every time I see him he hits me, seems like." I shrug. "I don't know, maybe he's got a pituitary problem or something, whatever kind of hormone imbalance fucks people up in the head."
He turns toward me, enough for me to catch a lock of red hair, and his right eye, the non-swollen one, where I can see he's at least got a nice shade of green there. "So this happens a lot."
"Mugging, or getting smacked around?" I try a weak smile. "I don't know man, in this city…" I reach to pat him on the shoulder, and he immediately cringes away. "Oh shit."
Beat up, black eye, at a bus station with no bags, wearing clothes that probably haven't been washed in a week or so, winces away from people touching him, reacts to mentions of abuse…
God, can I not make any more of an ass of myself?
"Listen, man, I didn't mean to make light of anything. I mean, if your dad is hitting you, then you need to—"
"My father doesn't hit me. My brothers don't either. My family isn't like yours."
So I laugh, 'cause you've gotta laugh, right?"
"God, I hope not. I wouldn't wish my family on anyone. I can't even handle them. My mom's snapped, or she's about to, my grandfather's got a crazy ex that has serious boundary issues, I've got two half-brothers, one who belongs in jail and another that will someday be devoured by pubic lice, and Hell, I'll probably end up a third-rate con artist." I smile to him, friendly, because really, it is kind of funny when I lay it all out like that.
"You'll just say all that to someone you don't know?"
I shrug playfully. "Stranger's confessional, man. We'll tell anyone anything if we think we'll never see them again."
He mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch.
"What was that?" I lean toward him, taking care not to touch him. "It was a crack about my hair, wasn't it? It's okay, think of it as a life lesson to never get drunk with a chick who's going to beauty school who thinks you'll look hot with highlights and streaks."
He doesn't say anything, and I lean around him, getting a better look at his face. Black eye, fat lip, a lot of bruises that look old. Laughter might not be the best medicine here. "Listen, uh, I'm sorry if I'm cracking jokes. Just what I do, you know? Be straight with me, you okay?"
A few long seconds pass before his eyes meet mine, and then he looks downward, shaking his head slowly.
"You don't have to tell me any details, it's all right. Besides, uh…" It's pretty obvious now that I've really looked at him. "So you're leaving… her? Him?"
The word comes out, small, choked back, and he starts to tremble with the onset of tears. "Him." He takes a few ragged breaths. "I just… I just looked in the mirror and saw…" His fingers touch his face briefly, and he winces, as if it's been confirmed once again that it's not a dream. "God, I was so stupid. He's gonna be so pissed, he's—"
"Hey." I place my hand on his forearm, and he doesn't shy away. "You're doing the right thing here. It's the brave thing."
Unlike what I'm doing.
"I can't go anywhere. I don't have any money, I just came here because…" The sobbing starts. "I just ran out, I just grabbed some clothes and ran. Everything is back there, I don't have any ID, I can't get a ticket and…" His voice breaks down into sobs, and a few people look our way, but no one comes over. I guess they figure I've got it covered, since I'm not trying to drag him off anywhere.
I'll admit I'm a bit torn. I mean, I'm running, just like him, I'm fleeing from people who've been beating the crap out of me. Well, I guess that's not really true. I'm fleeing a confrontation that I got myself neck-deep in. This guy is running from someone who's been terrorizing him, I'd bet. He's the brave one, I'm the coward.
Not to mention the poor guy doesn't even have the cash to get a bus ticket. Then again, I could do him a solid, my cards are my American Express, after all. I reach into my pocket and take them out, and he looks at me inquisitively.
"What's that?"
I fan the five cards out at him. "Your bus ticket, or well, it will be once I find a couple fish." I scan the crowd, looking for a place to set up where I can get out quick if need be. Victory Station isn't exactly the bus lounge in the Benedict, after all, there are cameras and cops and all that. It's not like I can grab a cardboard box and set up shop. "I work this right I can get you bus fare to Idaho if you want in fifteen minutes."
"But what if you lose?"
I smile indulgently, and pat his forearm. "You're adorable." I then lay the cards out in front of him, three at first, showing the queen, and two aces, and go through my shuffle. "I don't lose, okay? When I do, it's hooking a fish. It's not pride, it's because I know how to work the cards. More than that, I know how to work the mark. It's all about distraction, that's why we all talk and use rhymes and chat up the crowd, keep the tempo going. If I can get you to take you eyes off the cards for a second, I've won." I flip the cards over, showing the same queen, but two different aces.
"How'd you…"
"Magic." I grin widely, and, just for a second, a smile peeks around the corners of his mouth, but it quickly disappears. "Seriously, though, it just takes a lot of practice, observation, all that. A little natural talent doesn't hurt either. Place like this is good to set up too, if you're doing short game with a low take. People will play because you're the only game in town, and they're not going anywhere, and as long as you don't take more off them than a couple Jacksons, they'll get on their buses and be pissed about it, but you won't have to worry about cops."
He looks down at the cards, and then at me, incredulously. "They don't know it's obvious that you're cheating?"
I laugh. "Man, everyone thinks you're cheating, doesn't stop them from thinking they can beat the game anyway. It's like the lottery, or casinos. The odds are stacked against the mark but they line up to throw their money away because they're convinced they can beat it." I sigh wistfully. "God, pride is a lucrative sin. Greed too. Even if they know you're cheating, there's ways around it, you play it straight to throw them off, or you do a turnover, or pull a drop…"
So 95th and S, got it. See you in a bit, stay strong for me, okay? Don't drop anything.
When I play back the conversation I'd had with Thornton in my head, a few things start to seem odd. I'd told him that I wasn't in jail, but he kept using terms that could be construed that I was, like that he'd bail me out. And then there was the bullshit address. That he accented "drop" was only hitting me over the head with it. Considering that we both had an admiration for Canada Bill Jones, it's not much of a stretch to assume my brother would know the significance of the word.
A drop, at least as Three Card's concerned, is when you're onto the fact that the mark is onto you. It's a distraction move, needs a bit of practice, but basically you drop a card on the ground, act like you can't reach it, and ask the mark or your shill to grab it for you. While the mark's watching the card getting picked up, you switch a card out, either to make him right to keep him on the hook with a convincer, or to take the last Jackson off him before you fold the case.
TL;DR? You do a drop when there are eyes on you.
Given that if Dad or Hank were about, they'd have picked me up by now, I have to assume that Thornton's been taken. And he did a drop, dropped the card in the middle of the damned Benedict so I could switch out and get away clean. He's bailing me out so I can run.
And, well, I've seen enough TV to know that when someone risks their ass so you can escape, you risk everything to save them right back.
"Um…"
Right, I sort of trailed off there. "Sorry, I just uh… I just realized that I have to get out of here." I hold up a hand, calming any suspicions that I'm bailing. "Do you know anyone in the Capital?"
He nods once. "My father, well, kind of close to there, he's in the Mews."
"All right." I take out my bus ticket, and place it in his hand. "This is what you're going to do, okay? You get on the bus, ride it to the Capital, and when you get off, look for a black guy with bleach-blond hair wearing a motorcycle jacket. His name is Bank, tell him the cracker had to give you his exit." I gently lift his chin. "What are you telling him?"
"The cracker had to give me his exit?" The words come out like he's trying to speak a foreign language. He looks at the ticket. "I can't take your ticket, though—"
"Yeah, you can. Think you need a getaway more than I do, you know?"
"No, I mean…" He sniffles, slight relief crossing his face. "They check identification, and I don't have mine, and—"
"Relax." I smile at him, and take out my wallet, fishing out the license that had gotten me into a few strip clubs, a couple of bars, one pack of cigarettes (a coughing fit off my first once saw the rest traded to Bank) and a slew of R-rated movies when I was sixteen. "Just show the driver this when he checks the new passengers. I bought the ticket with that one, and I can always get another."
He takes the ID, and inspects the photo, and furrows his brow. "I don't really look like this."
I sigh, and try to not sound like a dick. "I'd hate to say this, man, but right now? You don't really look like anybody." I pat his forearm again when he sniffles in response. I don't want him to start crying. "Listen, it's awful that this happened to you, but right now, as bad as this sounds, it actually works in your favor."
"How?" There's more than a little disgust in that word.
"No one's going to pry, or ask twice. Yeah, you don't look like the picture, but given your condition, they're going to give that mine field a wide berth and let you slide. And if anyone asks from now until you get home to your dad, your name is the one on the ID, okay? Hey." I lift his chin again, and try to be reassuring. "Hard part's over man, you're going to be all right."
A few seconds pass, and he looks at the ticket, and then the ID, and then at me before nodding once, solemnly. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"I don't even know your name."
I chuckle softly. "Well, seeing as I'm kinda smuggling you north, just call me a coyote. Only, y'know, without the extortion and shit." I then get up, and help him to his feet. "Your bus is over that way, might as well get in line."
He nods again, and then hugs me, tightly, and I return it, patting his back gently. I watch him start to cross the lobby, and it's time for me to head out as well, to find Thornton, to stop the shit with Selah, to end it once and for all with Dad.
He turns back to glance at me, and I wave, and grin slightly. "Hey, you never told me your name either."
"It's…" I see him make an approximation of a smile, and he checks the ID, and looks back at me. "James Black."
Jack Black would've been too obvious, you know? Still, I nod with approval, and turn away, heading for the exit, and then onto to Tolon Park.
To be continued next Friday!
And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)
From Twitter 11-03-2010
22:01:28: @mythicfox I haven't played AD&D in years and even I want that.
Tweets copied by twittinesis.com
