Half Blind (The Technicians #13)

Chapter 3 - Appeal

T he appeal of a hot breakfast with people he almost, or maybe in the next week or so, would get to know, sure beat eating alone at a sticky table with clacking forks and knives hitting greasy plates. The anger in his current hostess was highly evident, and during the time walking from the yard into the home, he searched his memory banks on everything he knew about venom, its uses, and how to care for a snake bite in the field. Years of working in either sub-Saharan or Central American jungles had helped him develop a healthy respect for animals that lurked under the cover of shadows which could bite you and either kill your heartbeat or the skin cells holding your body together. This also included the humankind because if the women had codenames like Cranberry and Lemon and both knowing the Archangel, the last thing he wanted to do was get on their bad sides.

He winced a bit as he walked, meaning the wound on his leg was progressing and it didn't feel as if it were moving in a favorable direction. One, he was without transportation, and two, his transportation was more than likely barely salvageable, which may mean he needed to purchase another form of transportation. Jared Bane was a man who thought things through. Being put on his feet by a damned tornado wasn't on his bingo card for the year, nor was being stranded in Ohio with a house full of women—been there, loved that scenario. He truly didn't want to do it again.

Inside, the home was bright, colorful, and full of warmth. The ambiance of the home suggested someone nice resided within the walls. However, the woman in front of him didn't seem nice in the least, especially considering what he'd done to her pets. The other one who’d just arrived wasn't watching him, but the girls.

“Lemon,” Helen asked, “Do you want me to start breakfast while you take care of Mr. Bane's leg?”

“No, I want to let that leg rot along with his sad hide,” Myrtle said, noticing the limp as he tried to lean against the counter, “but I won't. Head into that bathroom and use the bath towel to wrap around you so I can get a look at your leg.”

“How about I take a look at it to see how bad it is and whether it requires simply cleaning and a bandage?”

“Or you can do as I ask; take off those filthy pants, which are adding more bacteria to the wound every second you're still in them,” she told him.

Jared looked down and she was correct; the pants were as nasty as he felt. He nodded, limping his way to the water closet, removing the boots, and looking at the sad socks with the hole in them as well as the grungy pants which could have stood up by themselves from the buildup of dirt. Technically, he'd only worn the jeans for four days, but factor in being tumble washed by a tornado, and yeah, they were pretty rank. As a matter of record, so was he.

“I stink,” he said aloud.

“Yeah, you do,” a voice on the other side of the door called back.

Sighing deeply, he secured the towel around his waist, thankful today he wore a boxer brief so no dangly parts would make a surprise appearance when she worked on his leg. The gash was nasty and needed a couple of stitches to stop the steady trickle of blood from the gnash in the skin.

“That looks nasty,” Lemon said as she pointed at the chair at the table. The other woman, Helen, was providing instructions to the girls while they made breakfast. He watched a tray of bacon get loaded inside the stove. Helen's hands were coated in flour as she used a rolling pin to lay out biscuits, showing Bria how to use a glass to cut perfect circles to place on the slightly greased pan. Ayanna, the other teen, cracked eggs, which went into a mixing bowl along with heavy whipping cream. A cast iron pan, already oiled, received the egg mixture with sprinkles of paprika and left over veggies from the fridge. It slid into the oven and the timer was set.

This also meant his time was up. He looked down at Lemon, who was scowling as she cleaned the wound. A cup of coffee appeared in front of him, and he said, “Thank you.”

“I'm sorry about your research assistants,” he said.

“A lot of good you're sorry is going to do me now,” she griped as she poured alcohol into the wound, all the while making eye contact with him.

The pain from the alcohol nearly made him wet the funky underwear, but he wouldn't give a woman named Myrtle the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, no matter how much it hurt him to the center of his body and nut sack. Instead of showing how much he hurt, he took a sip of the coffee. It almost choked him to swallow through the intense pain, especially after she poured more alcohol, then wiped hard, before jamming the needle into his skin to sew up the gash.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Roger and Jerry could be your control group since one's venom was a hemotoxin and a necrotizing agent, while the other was neurotoxin and cardio-toxin.”

“What? And It's Larry and Frank!” Lemon said, looking at him. The girls and Helen were also listening closely to what he had to say.

“You stated you've had Larry and Moe for five years,” he said, intentionally messing up the names to pay her back for the alcohol poured into an open wound. “Use Larry and Curly as a control group for the base of the research.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Lemon said, dismissing his idea.

“I'm simply suggesting that five years of research based on a sub-Saharan viper and cardiotoxic Asian species can be the control group for your research,” he said, leaning back in the chair as she stabbed him again with the needle to sew up the gash. “If you continue the research by expanding the parameters and introducing another two forms of venom from let’s say, a Mamba and a Krait, which have the same chemical properties as the Cobra, you can have a balance in the data. You can also use an American Copperhead or a South American viper like the Fer De Lance against the venom results of the Gaboon. If you wanted to stay sub-Saharan, you can go with a Saw Scale, which is also necrotizing, which expands the basis of the research, making it applicable to the actual composition of the venom versus the venom from only two species.”

Everyone was quiet. The smell of the bacon mixed with the aroma of freshly baked biscuits filled the space. He also knew he was ripe and smelled like a locker room full of unwashed bodies. Carefully, he opened his knees and rapidly closed them back, sending a whiff of funk to Lemon's nose as she looked up and cursed him out with her facial expression. He actually smiled at her, taking in his moment of petty revenge.

“Yeah, after breakfast, you're bathing,” she said. “I have a shower in the barn; you can use that and keep the towel.”

Bria asked, “Doc Myrtle, is what he said true? Can you do that with the research?”

Ayanna wanted to know as well, “Do you have to order more live snakes? Those things freak me out, especially on the days you have to milk them. I mean, can you just order the venom and not the snakes?”

A light went off in Lemon's mind. She bandaged the wound as the young ladies collected plates and set the table. The food came from the oven with beautiful biscuits and a frittata worthy of a magazine center spread. Helen was proud of the biscuits. The Sunday dinners at Ruth Neary's had done her a world of good, and working alongside the matriarch in the kitchen, she had picked up a few tips and tricks. She’d also learned how to make a few meals that were Mustang's absolute favorites. The surprise on his face when she’d made Ruth's meatloaf covered in mushroom gravy with red potato mash and crunchy green beans almost made the man do a happy food dance. Based on what she saw this morning, the girls didn't know how to cook, and if she could be of any help to Lemon while she was here, this would be her contribution to the household.

“This breakfast looks amazing. Thank you, Helen,” Jared said.

“Yeah, ditto,” Lemon repeated and disappeared into her own head, going over the idea he’d shared.

“Do you mind if I bless the food?” Jared asked.

Lemon cocked her head. “You planning to serve as head of the house as well?”

“I have somewhere else to be, but if that is a request, let me think about it,” he said, lowering his head to pray.

The prayer was quick as was the meal. The food was inhaled and not a crumb left in sight. Jared sat back, sipping on the coffee, grateful for a moment to be safe from where he was running from, uncertain where he was running to, but for a little while he'd take what he could get.

“What's up with the Sheriff?” he asked out of the blue.

Bria spoke up, “He's a creep. He's been trying to find a way to get into this house so he can play daddy with me and Ayanna while Doc Myrtle is in the lab. Is that what you're about too? If so, I can let you know right now, we ain't the ones.”

“Not interested in kids,” he said. “Since you're shooting from the hip, I will too. I like a grown woman in my bed. No, not looking for that either. I'm here by chance and will work to pay back the loss of Curly and Larry. Once I figure out the damage to my truck and get the repairs done, I'm gone.”

Helen sat and listened. He would be the first man who saw young flesh and a lonely woman and didn't try to take advantage of the situation. She wanted to know why. Jared answered the question posed by her facial expression.

“I have three sisters I helped my mother raise after the death of my father,” he said. “They are all younger, and at the age of 12, I became the man of the house. I protected my sisters from all sorts of predators, including women who wanted to use and abuse them as well. So no, I am not interested in teenage girls.”

The sound of a large truck arriving drew everyone's attention. Slowly, Jared rose to see the arrival of his truck. His heart sank, and he knew it would take some work to get it on the road. The money he had on him would buy another used vehicle, but if he could simply get this truck the last 254 miles, he'd be okay. He leaned over the sink looking out the window.

“You could always call the Archangel and get another vehicle sent over,” Lemon said.

“And you can call him for a connection to get your venom supplies or at least direct you in the way you need to go,” Jared said. “Life has taught me to not owe people favors, especially not a man like the Archangel. The debts are never paid, you only end up deeper in the rabbit hole having tea with weirdos wearing big hats.”

Helen smiled. “You must know him well.”

“I know a lot of things, Ms. Helen; it becomes a matter of knowing what is relevant in which moment.”

“Like the knowledge of venom?”

“I'm a soldier; you learn how to treat bites of all types, the ones which rot the flesh and which form of bites rot the soul,” he said.

“The last bite taken out of you is rotting your soul,” Helen said. “Running only keeps you in a state of hyper-vigilance. Digging in, fighting back, and making a stand for your mental freedom is the way forward.”

“Not there yet. The last bite is a big one.”

“If you need the Archangel, I'm sure it is,” she told him. “You have any more clothes?”

“Maybe ? my suitcase is still in the truck.”

“You get it, then clean up, and I'll do a load of laundry for you,” Helen said.

“I'm a grown ass man. I can wash my own clothes. You're being nice to me; what do you want?”

“I was helped when I was at my lowest. Just offering to help you not feel so alone with what is ahead of you. I don't know what's chasing you, but at least here, you can catch your breath,” she said.

“Thanks, I need it,” he replied, leaving the kitchen wearing the towel and looking sexier than any man had a right to in holey socks and smelling like a farm hand after mucking the stalls.

Helen cleaned the kitchen while Lemon went to make a phone call. Outside of the window, she watched Jared as the tow truck lowered his vehicle to the ground. The front end was in shambles. The bed of the truck was no more, and the tires were flat, but the doors were intact. Maybe he could salvage it and buy a bed from a local junkyard. From the interior of the truck, he removed a small overnight case.

Helen called to Ayanna to bring a fresh towel for the man to clean himself up. “This is going to be interesting.”

*****

I N THE SMALL OFFICE , right off the kitchen where Lemon sat to pay the bills and manage the household finances, she closed the door and made a call. It had been years since she'd spoken to the man, but a healthy professional respect remained between them. He answered on the third ring.

“Merge here,” the voice said.

“The answers a Lemon,” she said.

“Well, long time no near. How may I be of service?”

“Long story short, tornado, a drifter, broken vivarium, Larry and Frank are dead,” she told him.

“I can't get you replacements in this market,” Merge said.

“Don't need replacements, I need venom from the source,” she said, briefly explaining the research. “The ass hat who terminated my babies suggested allowing Larry and Frank to be my control group and going forward with venom from a Mamba, maybe a Krait, and a couple of South American vipers with the same composition as a Gaboon. I wouldn't know where to start.”

“How much of each do you need?”

“At least ten vials of each to start would be amazing. Is that possible?”

“I know a guy; let me make a call. How soon do you need it?”

“As soon as I can get it,” Lemon said. “Is it going to cost me my home?”

“Don't know, but prepare to shell out shipping costs, which means it may have to be flown in and hand delivered. Where do you want it delivered?”

“To my farm, if possible. Do I need to give you my card?”

“No, when I find out the cost, have cash ready when it arrives,” he said. “Be careful with the delivery man; they can be scary. “

****

J ARED ADDED A LOAD to the washer; since all of his clothes were in the same color palette of either navy or black, he could do with one load and keep it moving. He used a fast wash cycle to get the clothes clean, and he made his way to the barn to shower and change into the last set of semi fresh denims in his backpack. Once he showered, a walk around the property with a notebook would get him started on the repairs. He hoped she had a chainsaw to cut up a number of the large branches that had fallen. For good measure, he placed the carcasses of the reptiles in a box, along with the pickle jar of heads. He stuck it under the desk and covered the vivarium cages with the blanket from the cot he'd used last night.

His years in the military had taught him to trust his first thoughts. If there was an idea that came to mind, he usually went with it, and thus far, it had brought him success. At the end of his shower, he was glad he'd followed his intuition. He stepped out of the tiny shower that didn't nearly have enough hot water to clean off a shitty baby boodie to find the Sheriff waiting for him. Unabashed, after spending time with soldiers, Jared didn't bother covering himself immediately, giving the Sheriff a look at what he assumed Jared would use on Doc Myrtle. Slowly, he reached for the towel, wrapping it around his waist.

“I see your truck has arrived,” the Sheriff said. “You didn't use the names I gave you for the tow over here.”

“Was I supposed to use only one of those names? Perhaps my insurance company suggested otherwise,” Jared said, giving a bit of a smile.

“Truck looks like it's going to need a lot of work.”

“Perhaps.”

“Seems like you plan to be around for a while.”

“As I said earlier, I'm on my way to Cleveland, but I plan to help out around here for a bit before shoving off and being on my way,” Jared said.

“Listen here, son, Doc Myrtle is a gracious lady, really respected around here, and what she does, taking in those girls is a blessing,” the Sheriff told him. “She doesn’t need no near ‘do well messing up her life or fiddling with the heads of those young ladies.”

“Sheriff, I'm going to do the cleanup and repairs, fix my truck, and get on with my life. Not interested in the ladies or the teens; I have somewhere to be, but to thank her for the kindness, I'm helping out. My Mama raised a gentleman, I have three sisters, so I'm not that kind of man,” he said. “Please excuse me so I can get started. The faster I start, the sooner I finish.”

He removed the towel, making a big show of drying his balls before slipping on fresh undies, his last clean pair of socks, and jeans and a shirt. He added a fresh bandage to the wound before donning the jeans and slipped into his boots. Jared left the Sheriff in the barn and began to do an assessment of the damage. Bria came outside.

“Ms. Bria, can you dig up a notebook and pen for me to use please?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” she said. “Do you need me to make notes while you work?”

“Naw, I got it, but thanks, kiddo,” he replied as she dipped into the house, returning moments later with a small notebook and a pen.

The Sheriff sat in the patrol car for a while, simply watching to see if Myrtle, the cousin, or the girls came out to interact with the man. None did. The man moved debris, making a small pile near the fire pit the Sheriff seen Myrtle and the girls use in the Fall for roasting marshmallows. Jealousy seared through him because he wanted to do the clean-up and repairs for Myrtle. It would have been his chance to be her hero, maybe get a dinner invite, but now this fucker was here. He cranked his cruiser as the girl, he thought her name was Ayanna, exited the back door, bringing an insulated cup of water to the stranger.

“Fucker,” the Sheriff mumbled before driving off.