10
The Bear
I heard Austin leave early, and I fell asleep quickly afterward. It was the longest night of my life. We waited until security arrived from AA, one of Huntsman’s many businesses, before leaving for home. After midday, I bolt awake again at the sound of the distinctive phone notification of my car alarm being activated. I roll out of bed, and as soon as my feet land on the ground, I sense movement in the apartment. I grab the baseball bat, signed by my favorite Atlanta Braves player when I was a kid, leaning against my wall.
I’m wearing nothing but my tight boxers, so only my natural muscle as armor if I get pummeled. I can’t afford to get injured this far into the football season, but I have no problem whacking the odd turkey over the head who broke into my apartment.
As I move down the hall to the living room, the sound of utensils and a spitting fry-up tells me it’s one of my brothers. Austin”s unfriendly face greets me, narrowed eyes fixed on the baseball bat.
“Expecting someone?” he asks with a small, bemused smile on his smug dial.
“My car alarm went off,” I tell him, prodding a strip of bacon to see if it’s cooked yet. I prefer it crispy.
“You don’t seem too concerned about it,” he states, smacking my hand away from the frying pan. “Get your own.”
“Probably false alarm.” I’m not that concerned because it means someone had to sneak into the parking garage, where there’s CCTV, and pick my car out, which is insured anyway. They’d have to be dumb as fuck to choose me to piss off. Unless it’s random.
“Confident prick, ain’t ya,” he digs. “Always assuming no one would dare poke the Aaron sleeping bear with a stick.”
“Why would they be so fucking dumb. Anyway, Xave said he was heading down to the hospital later. You should go with him.”
“Nah,” he replies. “They don’t want me down there.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Probably don’t want me and Xave there either, but we still showed up.”
I walk down the hall to my brother’s room and tap on the door with my baseball bat. “You up, Xave?”
“Nah,” he says in a sleepy, croaky voice. “Austin is making breakfast.”
“No, I’m not,” Austin yells down the hall, overhearing what I said. “This is a party for one. And it’s lunch, not breakfast.”
“Xave, have you received an update from Emaline?” I ask him.
The sound of sheets rustling follows a groan, and I’m guessing he’s checking his phone. “Nah,” he finally answers.
“Alright,” I answer, feeling strangely worried about it, even though it has nothing to do with us. But good people have had bad things happen to them, and I’d like to see a positive outcome here. Besides, if I keep on the good side of Emaline, she’ll let me fuck her again. Considering that I’m not finding any other girls attractive, I’ll stick with her at least until this phase passes, if it’s a phase at all.
I pull on my sweatpants, sweatshirt, and sneakers, and with my bat still firmly in my hand, I head back down the hall to the living room, where Austin is plating his lunch for one. My phone starts ringing, and the building’s security flashes onto the screen. I assume he’s calling me to tell me it’s a false alarm and that I must get down there to turn my car alarm off.
“Hello?” I answer, grabbing my car key from under a t-shirt on my chest of drawers.
“Mr. Leroux, I need you to come down to the parking garage,” he says stiffly when he’s usually a friendly guy.
“Yeah, my phone reported my alarm going off. I’m coming down now,” I explain, tossing my baseball bat aside. Obviously, I won’t need it if he’s there, but then, you never know.
“Thank you, sir. See you in a few minutes,” he states. His words chill me a little, and before I leave my bedroom, I grab my baseball bat again. I don’t want to damage the bat because it’ll be worth a mint, but I won’t hesitate to crack someone over the head with it.
Austin cocks his eyebrows at me as he sits at the table, scoffing bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. Cunt.
“Just going down to check my car. If I haven’t returned in approximately twenty-five minutes, you know I’ve been jumped,” I tell him as I walk to the door.
My little brother grunts and drops his eyes as if it’s no big deal. “Xave can organize the funeral.”
“Ha. Funny,” I say mockingly as I watch him focus back on his phone screen. He couldn’t give a fuck, that prick. Although if I did get jumped, he’d be the first to beat the shit out of whoever did it.
I take my swipe card and phone and slam the door, particularly aggressively, startling Austin out of his selfish head. Before stepping out of the elevator, I hear my car alarm echoing through the garage. The security guy waits for me and shirks a little when he spots the bat in my hand.
“You never know who’s lurking around corners these days, bro,” I assure him that the bat isn’t for his benefit but mine.
“It looks like someone has been busy, Mr. Leroux,” the security guy says.
“Fuck, just call me Aaron,” I tell him, glancing at his name badge, which reads Paul. Weirdly, we moved into this apartment three years ago, and I never noticed his name. Does that make me a piece of shit? Yeah, probably. Does it also mean that I’m becoming a better person? Maybe.
“I hope you have insurance,” he adds. “I’ll leave it down to you if you want to call the police to investigate.”
Now I’m getting worried. “Why?” I ask him as he steps ahead, and my jaw slacks when I look at my black SUV. I didn’t expect that. I flick my car alarm off, and the garage falls into eerie silence. As I walk toward my precious beast, it becomes evident what’s happened.
Someone has stabbed the tires, smashed every single window, and scratched the paintwork. I inspect the other parked vehicles, expecting to see others in the same state. “Did other vehicles get wrecked or only mine?”
“Not that we’ve found,” he answers sternly. “And ah…we’ve got the CCTV footage for you to look at.”
Peering inside, I notice that the leather seats have been slashed, my sound system is smashed and hanging by wires, and there’s a pungent stench of human feces and urine, which looks like it’s coming from that lumpy, wet patch on the back seat.
“Did you upset someone, sir?” Paul asks.
I shrug my shoulders casually. “I wouldn’t notice. I live my life. Do what I want, and if I piss someone off, that’s their problem, not mine.”
I follow him into the security room, where several screens show images of the garage, front foyer, and halls. Paul sits down at the desk, clicks on the computer mouse, and plays my SUV getting smashed.
Three guys covered head to toe in black appear with crowbars, and to my anger, a couple of them turn and wave at the camera. I’m a proud man, but this is like an attack on who I thought I was, which is untouchable.
“How the fuck did they get?” I seethe, taking my irritation out on Paul since he’s security and should’ve prevented this from happening.
He clicks on the mouse again to show me the angle of the car entrance that leads from outside. You can’t get in without a swipe card, so how did they do it?
“It appears they waited until a vehicle arrived who activated the garage door, and they snuck in while keeping in the driver’s blind spot so they couldn’t see them,” he explains.
“So, where were you?” I ask since this is where they work.
“Doing the security walk when we check emergency exits on all floors, check doors and locks, check for anything suspicious,” he explains as his forehead becomes shiny from sweat, nervous that he let this happen.
“How often do you do that?” I ask him.
“Every two hours and takes about thirty minutes,” he explains, “so it looks like they waited until I was gone.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “It had crossed my mind that perhaps it was a prank by an opposing team, one of your enemies.”
“Yeah, it could be,” I reply dryly, although I have doubts. It’s not uncommon for frat houses to be hit with toilet paper and graffiti, but in this case, it seemed to be targeting me personally, not my team. However, I shouldn’t rule it out and take my phone from my pocket to check for messages from my teammates complaining about being targeted by pranksters.
There were no texts, so I messaged Kieran, Kody, and a couple of other guys to see if they had been targeted. It seems weird doing so after what happened last night involving Kieran and Kody, but I’m curious to see what they say. Maybe they’re in on it.
I cannot deny that this is worse than any prank I’ve seen, and I doubt it’s worth sending the SUV in for repair. It makes more sense to dump it and get a newer model, but only after I find out who wrecked it in the first place and why.
“Thanks,” I say, “can I get a copy of that footage?”
“Sure, I’ll email it to you now,” he replies, and I take one last look at my beloved SUV. I swallow over a lump in my throat as I walk back to the SUV to take several pictures for evidence, then head to the elevator.
Once out back onto my floor, my phone goes off with messages from Kody and Kieran, who I suspect are together since they reply simultaneously. They deny being pranked, and my anger rises that I’ve been singled out. Who the fuck dare do this to me?
“It’s a fucking right off,” I tell Austin as soon as I walk in, slamming the door behind me.
“How?” he asks, sipping on a coffee.
I bring up the pics of my damaged SUV on my phone and place it in front of him. “That’s how.”
“Jeezus, fuck,” he growls, picking up the phone to examine the pics closely.
“Paul, the security guy, is emailing me the footage,” I tell him, flicking the large screen TV on to set up the security footage once emailed to me. I want to look closely at them because I’m letting them get away with it.
“You reckon it might be Kieran?” Austin asks, and I clench my fists, wondering if they were pissed that we confronted them about keeping Emaline and her friends down in the tomb.
But it doesn’t sit right with me, and my mind keeps going back to those fuckers who kidnapped Brielle. We interrupted their plans, got one of their lackeys arrested, and freed their prize.
Xavier comes swagging out with messy hair and stinking like he bathed in cologne. “I’m heading down to the hospital after I’ve had a bite to eat,” he announces as if he wants us to come with him.
“Xave, I need you to look at something first,” I tell him seriously. I grab my phone off Austin to check my emails and find that Paul has done as I asked.
“What?” he asks sharply, wandering to the kitchen and opening the fridge to find something edible.
“My SUV is getting smashed up. It’s all on camera,” I inform him, and he pulls his head out of the fridge to give me a precarious look.
“Are you fucking with me?” he asks, slamming the fridge door shut and stepping over to me as I set the footage up on the large screen.
“Take a close look because whoever fucked my car over is gonna wish they weren’t fucking born,” I snarl in conviction. It’s not the fact they smashed my car because I can get another one easily enough. It’s because they messed with me. That’s what I have a problem with.
No one dares to fucking mess with me.