Chapter 18- End #2
“Again, Sis, I’m not mad at you,” Apple said, rising to wash his glass. He polished off the last of the dark spirit and popped in a breath mint from a container on the counter.
The entire house had so many little touches here and there and it felt like a home.
She’d done the same for him at the farmhouse and for once, both he and Ricky felt as if they had a place, they could truly call home.
Apple used a knapsack to bag up his half of the money.
Helen placed hers in a canvas bag and moved it to her sewing room.
The cases of liquor went into Jay’s office.
Apple returned, taking a seat at the table again, not certain why since he wasn’t hungry.
Oscar returned first, smelling much better and took a seat at the table.
The money was no longer there, and the cases of liquor were moved to the office.
Mustang arrived a few moments later, also taking a seat at the table and blessing the hearty meal.
Bowls of warm comfort came to the table with oozing cheese sandwiches, and Apple also ate a bit more.
“Oscar, how was the father-son weekend? Did you learn a lot?” Apple asked.
“Camping is not my thing,” he confessed, biting into the cheese sandwich. “Aunt Helen, nature called in the middle of the night, and I went to water a tree but walked into a spider web. Yeah, those clothes smell like pee.”
Everyone at the table laughed but Oscar. “I loved canoeing, but the other stuff, sleeping outside, brought back a lot of memories of walking from Teguce.”
Apple sat up in the chair. “I’m sorry. I didn't think about that aspect of your life and how triggering this weekend could have been for you, Oscar.”
“Sleeping in a tent on a cot is a world of difference than sleeping on the ground next to a Coyote who is counting how much he can get for your organs,” Oscar said.
“I wouldn't have gone if I didn't think I could handle it. We had a good time roasting weenies and marshmallows, but I wanted to get back here to the cobbler. Is there any left?”
“Of course,” Helen said, looking at Jay's head. “Must have been a challenge being in a new situation with your co-workers out there in the woods?”
“No, not really,” he said. “They were more curious above all else. Anything I need to know?”
“I spoke with Yield, and he still wants to be your best man,” Helen said.
Oscar looked up and asked “What does a best man do?”
Mustang said, “Well, he makes sure I get to the church on time for the wedding. He is in charge of the wedding rings that day of the ceremony. The best man is also responsible for the bachelor party,”
“What's that?” Oscar wanted to know.
“A couple of nights or the night before the wedding, the men in my life throw me a party to celebrate my last night as a single man,” Mustang said, “but since I'm already married to Helen, I haven't been single in a while, so the party could be for my 42nd birthday.”
“If you want, I can be your best man or throw you a birthday party,” Oscar said.
“Well, you did save my life,” Mustang replied.
“Yeah, there's that, but like I said before, I will always have your back,” he commented, looking toward the fridge for the location of the cobbler. “Besides, I couldn't come back here and face Aunt Helen knowing I let her man get his brain bashed. She's cute, but scary.”
“This is very true,” Mustang answered. “Oscar, would you do me the honor of standing next to me as I say my vows to make Helen my life partner until the end of my days?”
“Sure. Stand next to you and do what?” he said, looking at Mustang.
“I’m asking you to be my best man,” Mustang countered.
“Okay, only if Mr. Milton will be able to offer an assist on the bachelor party thing? I mean I can't order any wine or stuff or any half nekkid dancing girls if he wants that kind of thing. Maybe all the guys should go to Vegas like that movie.”
Apple held up his hand. “Slow your roll half-pint. What do you know about nekkid girls?”
“Jeffrey is always talking about nightclubs where the ladies have no tops,” he said, looking at Helen. “If I say it in front of Aunt Helen, then she won't think I'm trying to corrupt her man.”
Helen burst into laughter. “One of these days, young man, we are going to sit down and talk about your life in Teguce,” she offered.
“Not much to tell. We were poor. Drugs and prostitution everywhere, and people were sick and dying,” he said.
“My mom and sisters and I started walking to the US.
The Coyotes picked off my sisters, stealing them in the middle of the night.
My mom tried to fight for them but got a wound that festered, and I lost her midway through the journey.
I made the rest by myself, only to be sold.
I'm a fighter. I'm here. I went camping and canoeing.
Now, I'm the best man for Uncle Jay when he says his vows.”
Mustang watched him closely. “Oscar, I don't know how it will pan out, but if you still want me in the role of your dad, I'm willing.”
Oscar looked up. “That's cool, but Aunt Helen has to be on board. It's going to be her at the Parent Teacher meetings and bake sales.”
“I can do all of that as well,” Mustang challenged.
“For it to work, it will take you both,” Oscar said. “You're only going to be as good as the lady who supports you. Aunt Helen, are you willing?”
“I'm willing to be Aunt Helen for you,” she said. “The rest we will work out.”
“Okay, you didn't put any furniture in the room, is that so that me and Uncle Jay can make it?”
“Yes, but I have one request, Oscar,” she said. “Can you finish out the school year with Apple here, then come here after the honeymoon to start the summer? I will have completed my training and have a chance to research schools and things to get you settled.”
“So, not right away?”
“End of June,” Helen said. “I still have a wedding to plan, a business to wreck, and more. I need a little time to get ready to have a young man in the house full time. Is that fair?”
“Fair enough,” Oscar said. “I need to work on this bachelor party. Figure out how this party is going to end.”
****
DONOVAN TURNBULL THOUGHT his life was coming to an end.
The call came when he was leaving Kurtzwilde’s house, for an order to complete the same job the Big Man requested: find the woman.
He knew what she looked like, her name, or at least the handle she went by, but not her specialization.
Taking the job would offer him a chance for closure.
The drive to Grosse Pointe gave him time to think.
His thoughts strayed to being in her arms and having something on the side with her, but did she have on a ring?
He wasn’t sure, but her hands were delicate.
Was there a ring? The idea went back and forth in his head until he arrived at the home of the Chrysalis member called Swallowtail.
In her private office, the woman put in the request and gave him a stack of money and orders to find the one called Cranberry and bring her to the house.
Chaos erupted in the home. As he waited, he heard a gunshot. Not one to run into a maelstrom of anything, he stepped out of the room behind Swallowtail to spot the gunslinger: the one and only Cranberry.
“Job complete,” he said facetiously. “That is her. She’s already here.”
Swallowtail squinted at the woman. “Her? That is the Cranberry?”
“The one and only,” Donovan said, still partially hidden behind the large woman and a plant.
To add insult to stolen inventory, Cranberry made eye contact with Swallowtail and provided a quick salute before exiting the front door.
Red and blue lights appeared at the entryway, and Donovan slipped out the side door to his truck.
The app he needed to track the girl was already on his phone.
He simply had to follow the girl Cranberry had rescued, then follow The Cranberry to her home. At least, that was his plan.
The first stop was a disaster. Half-hidden in the shrubbery, he watched her and the scary man unload liquor that should have been delivered to Swallowtail for her party. Those two were stealing it, an action, which surprised him, but not as much as the arrow that landed in his shoulder.
“The fuck!” he screeched, feeling the pain of the arrow. He took off at top speed, running to his truck. Inside the cab, he snapped the wood and pulled out the two pieces that pierced his flesh. Tears from the pain rolled down his cheeks. He needed to clean the wound and get it bandaged.
It would take a solid two days to get to Pueblo to return his father’s truck. Another four hours to get home to Amarillo. Three days.
Three long days it took him to get home.
His shoulder was stiff and aching but not festering.
He was grateful the Technician hadn’t coated the tip of the arrow with any toxins or slathered the wood with a flesh-eating bacterium.
He’d made it home, tired, worn out, and angry.
It had taken nearly four days to come back to his life that wasn’t as interesting as it once was.
On the far side in his living room was his trophy wall.
He added the cell phone The Cranberry had thrown in the trash bin in Eau Claire, no label, just the phone.
It sat solo on its own shelf in a cabinet filled with other souvenirs he’d taken off prey he’d been hired to hunt.
All had been tracked and successfully turned over to the Game Warden. All but one.
“Fucking Cranberry,” he groused. He stood for a moment staring at the phone. He had dusted it for fingerprints, and she’d left none. For a reason, he couldn’t seem to answer himself, he sniffed the device for a trace of scent. She’d also left none. “What kind of Technician are you, lady?”
Wearily, he made his way to his bedroom, grateful he had no pets or plants.
A pair of loungers would suffice for the night with a loose tee over the aching shoulder.
He also smelled ripe since he’d rolled into Pueblo, swapped the vehicles, and rolled home much to his parent’s dismay.
Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom to start the shower.
The hot water beaded on his head as he shook off the road grime, preparing himself for a good night’s sleep.
In the cabinet, there were a few leftover pain pills that he could surely use tonight to get him over the hump.
Lather, rinse, lathered again, and rinsed once more before he exited the shower.
He wrapped one towel around his waist, and the other he used to blot dry his air.
As the towel came down, his eyes went to the bed.
The covers were turned down. The covers weren’t turned down before. On his pillow was a novel with a knife wedged deep into the pages, through the hard cover, splitting two cranberries. The white sheets were mottled with red circles from cranberries like bleeding bullet holes in the bed.
“Fuck!” he yelled, running to the living room to check the security cameras.
He pulled up the footage on the screen and watched the living room.
The hair on his arms stood up as he watched the person in his home, coming from the closet as he went down the hall to start the shower.
The phone he’d collected from The Cranberry was gone.
The slim figure, in a hood and balaclava, turned to face the camera and pointed a finger. Fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was seeing.
“Was she here in my home?” he said, darting down the hall. His eyes went to the book. It was the same book he’d seen her reading in St. Paul. “Fuck!” he yelled again and took a seat on the side of the bed.
He’d reached the end. The message had been received. He would hunt her no more.