Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Selkie
“He wants what?” I shout into the phone. I was having a decent day. I should not have picked up the call.
“He thinks that the four of you should go camping and I told him it was a good idea,” mom replies.
I’m standing in piss central in Reno, wishing I’d brought a gas mask. Doesn’t matter anymore because I’m so distracted by the phone call that I lose the asshole I was tailing.
“No! No! It’s not a good idea!” I step out of the alley I was wallowing in and take a deep breath of air just slightly less toxic.
“Of course it’s a good idea. Camping is fun and you’ll get to bond out there in the wilderness.”
“Says the woman who wouldn’t know a tent from a sultan’s boudoir.”
“Well since I’ve never been in either, that makes sense.”
“Sure, mom,” I reply drily since I seem all out of clever comebacks.
“Elle,” she reminds me to use her name. “That poor man keeps calling you, but you won’t pick up, which is why he was forced to call me.”
“That poor man has only called twice and I was busy. I would’ve called him back eventually.”
Mom tsks. “He’s busy too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them. Nope, same reality. “Doing what? Running drugs, laundering money? Sleeping with hookers?”
“Really, Selkie,” mom says primly. “They’re called ladies of the night.”
I spy my mark slinking into a shit-bag apartment building. “I can’t talk about this now. I’ve got a thing.”
“I told Nathan you’d call him back to make arrangements. I’ll write a list of all the stuff you’ll need and you can buy it.”
“With what?” The lobby door of the building slams shut and my heart sinks. At this rate, I won’t be able to afford getting my period.
Mom sighs. “This is why you need to work in a bar. If you keep your mouth shut, you’d make good tips.”
I ignore her career advice. “He can buy the stuff since it was his bloody idea.” I realize I’ve accidentally committed myself to the camping trip and with mom, there’s no back-pedaling.
“That’s the spirit. I’ll call and tell him. Do you want me to set up the dates too?”
I sigh. “Sure, and while you’re at it, why don’t you come along to work on your suntan.”
For a second she doesn’t answer and I decide I need a muzzle. “No,” she finally says to my relief. “I don’t want Tyler to think I’m a rough and tumble kind of woman.”
“God forbid he sees a human.”
“Is that mom?” Henri says in the background. “Did you tell her about the stupid idea that Oscar’s dad has?”
“Yes, honey, I did.”
“And?” she demands.
“And your mom is totally on board with it.”
“MOM!” Henri yells. Then I hear the phone being wrestled, mom swearing, and Henri grunting. “Give it, Gramma,” she demands.
“Get away,” mom snaps, which is followed by a crash and a bang.
Then mom comes back on the line. “Henri’s getting restless—“
“I’m not!” Henri’s muffed voice shouts as hammering starts in the background.
“What did you do to my kid?” I ask.
“I shoved her into the pantry and I’m leaning against the door so she can’t get out.”
I should be outraged. Any other mother would be, but honestly, I wonder why’ve I never thought of it before.
“Let me out, Gramma!” The pounding’s persistent.
“It’s Elle!” Mom replies.
“Gramma! Gramma! Gramma!” Henri taunts.
“Please don’t kill her,” I say to mom.
“I’m not prone to violence like you are.”
True that. “We’ll talk later.” I hang up the phone knowing that my life is about to become a living hell.
I’m not wrong.
Three days later, Henri, Brambles and I are on our way to a campsite near Pyramid Lake that’s so remote it’s a serial killer’s dream dump site.
I tell myself Eight won’t kill me and Henri because it would set a bad example for his kid.
Also, he seems smart enough to know that if we went missing, he’d be the first person the cops would look at.
Providing mom reports us missing.
Eight agreed to purchase everything we needed, so all I’ve brought are a couple of duffles with our personal shit and Brambles’ food and treats, plus his favorite toys: a well-chewed frisbee that was confiscated by Henri after a neighbor kid threw it in the yard, and a ratty old teddy that mom gave him when he was a pup.
He’s never even looked at the toys I’ve bought him.
I should sell him to Cruella de Vil. Unfortunately, she only deals in Dalmatians.
My car is chugging along like it’s been smoking two packs of cigarettes for the last thirty years and I’m not sure it’s going to make it. When I pull up to a red light, Henri reaches for the door handle.
I grab her hand. “Don’t make me ziptie your wrists and lock you in the trunk.”
She wrestles away from me and crosses her arms. “This is gonna to be the worst time ever.”
I agree. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“Really? What’s the worst time you ever had?”
I think of the time someone locked me inside a porta-potty when I was forced to hide to get away from a couple of gangbangers.
Took two hours and 20 bucks to get out. Then there was the time I fell into a garbage bin trying to find an envelope with my mark’s address.
For days, I stunk like baby shit left in the trunk of a car in mid-July.
Neither time was as bad as when I twisted my ankle falling through the floor in a condemned building as I chased after a payday.
I couldn’t call for help because the jackass stole my phone.
Two homeless men were kind enough to carry me out and set me on a street corner, where I almost got arrested for soliciting.
I glance at Henri. “Let’s reserve judgment until after.”
“After! It’s four days we’re gonna be stuck out there.”
“I know!” I’m losing my patience with the little moaner. “What do you want me to do?”
“Kill them,” she says without hesitation. “Or frame them for murder.”
I shiver at how quickly she responded. “Your murder?”
“Oh, you’re so funny.”
“Sometimes I inadvertently am.”
The next half-hour passes in silence, then Henri tries again. “Why don’t we just go home? I promise I’ll ignore Oscar for the rest of my life.”
“Sure kid. Right up until he puts your braid in the ol’ inkwell.”
“Huh?” she replies as she tries to run her hand through hair that hasn’t seen a brush in two days.
“Ancient proverb. Thoust shall turn the other cheek, but only until thoust is provoked. Then thoust battle begins again and ultimately, Troy fallests.”
Henri wrinkles her nose. “Who the heck is Troy?”
“Metaphor, my warmonger.”
She grits her teeth in frustration. “Could you just speak human for once. You know, like a mom.”
“Such an angel. I wouldn’t want to ruffle your pure white feathers by saying it like it is.”
Henri snorts, turns her back and stares out the passenger window.
When we reach the meeting point, Eight and his kid are already there, leaning against their black Ford half-ton, arms crossed, sunglasses on.
Eight’s around 6 feet tall and Oscar’s already around 5’3”.
Given that he’s only 12, my guess is he’ll outgrow his father by 4 or 5 inches.
They’re both solidly built, short dark hair and warm tanned skin.
Frankly, they’re carbon copies of each other.
Like me and Henri, except I’m the nice one.
Before I’ve even stopped the car, Henri opens the door and bolts. Brambles scrambles out after her. They’re both sprinting in the direction we came.
“Where’s she going?” Eight asks as walks up to me, propping his sunglasses on his head.
I watch as she disappears behind a slight rise. I shrug. “Don’t know. She’ll be back when she runs out of steam.”
Oscar laughs evilly, or at least that’s my interpretation. “She’s so stupid.”
I decide not to greet the kid with ‘fuck off’ and instead reply very adult-like, “What you said right back atcha.”
Eight runs a hand over the top of his head in bemusement. “Well, we’re gonna have to wait for her to come back or go get her. We’ll be driving out in my truck.”
In his truck? “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
He stares at me with his dead eyes. “Elle said you were okay with it.”
I can’t hold his gaze, so I look at his ear, which is nicely formed. Unattached lobe. “Elle’s a liar.”
He walks up to my car and kicks its fender. It literally groans. “Your car won’t make it five miles on these roads.”
He’s right. “Someone might steal it if I leave it here.” I wince at how stupid that sounds.
“Who? A blind coyote?”
He’s right again.
“She’s comin’ back,” Oscar announces and we follow his line of sight.
Henri is trudging towards us, her shoulders slumped as if she’s just misplaced her spine. Brambles is at her side, tail up, tongue lolling.
“Loser,” Oscar yells as she nears us.
“Shut it,” Eight and I say together.
“I hate you all,” Henri drops to her knees and wraps her arms around Brambles, burying her face in his fur.
“I’m hurt to the core,” I say as Oscar snickers and Eight sighs.
Then he turns to Oscar. “This was your idea, so cut the bullshit.” He looks at Henri. “You too, princess.”
Henri stares daggers at him, then turns her back and stalks away. Not far this time, so I don’t have to tackle her.
I pop the trunk and reach for a duffle bag.
Brody’s beside me in a flash. “Let me get it,” he says as he tries to grab it.
“I got it,” I grunt as I grip it hard.
“Jesus,” he replies, still tugging. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your bloody help.” I don’t need anyone’s, I think silently.
He yanks the duffle from my arms so abruptly I fall on my ass.
“This is gonna be the longest fucking week of my life,” he mutters.
He grabs the other duffle bag, stalks to his truck and flings them both in the back of it.
Brambles, the fucking traitor, follows them into the truck bed, then props his paws on the side, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.
“Why’d he take our stuff?” Henri says with hostility as she returns to my side.
I climb to my feet, wiping dust from my ass, then grab the rest of the dog’s shit. “We’re going with them.”
Her jaw drops. “In their truck?”
I slam the trunk and lock the car doors. “Obv.”
“Are you kidding me?” She clenches her fist as her face turns fiery red.
I think she’s about to run again. I think about following her.
I think about her never being allowed back to school, only getting a grade six education and living at home for the rest of her life.
I walk over to Eight’s truck and yank open the passenger door.
“Get in,” I say in my serious mom voice that brooks no argument.
It never did work on Henri. “You can’t make me!” she shouts.
Eight releases a frustrated breath as he walks over to her and hauls her over his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he mutters as he stuffs her in the crew cab. “None of us wants to be here, so get over it. It’s four days. We’ll learn to get along or die trying.”
Henri kicks the back of the seat. “You’ll die tryin’. Not me.”
Oscar takes offence on behalf of his dad. He sticks his face in the back. “Did you just threaten my dad?”
Henri punches him in the face.
Oscar reels back.
I sigh.
Eight says, “Fuck me.”