Chapter 14 #2
All the lessons Mr. Zarin had been drilling into him evaporated. The knowledge that he was no longer alone in the world disappeared. All that remained was the boy who wanted to protect his baby sister.
Jack swallowed hard. “What is it you want me to do?”
John Duncan wouldn’t tell him a destination, only gave him directions to “drive” and then “turn right”. As soon as they were heading towards the southern part of town, though, Jack had a sinking suspicion where his dad was leading him.
Cautiously, Jack informed his father, “She’s not there. She goes to school in Seattle.”
“Why the fuck do I care where she goes to school?”
Jack’s muscles were stiff as a board. He couldn’t seem to make them move right. “You’re taking me to her house, right? But she’s not there.” Thank God. “There’s no point in going to her house.”
It was the only reason he was able to get his foot to move, that knowledge that he could take his dad anywhere in town, but Jenna was safe in Seattle. Safe from his dad… Safe from him.
The conjectural scenario Mr. Zarin had posed to him that night a year ago came back to Jack’s mind.
What was he willing to give up for Lilly’s safety?
He’d answered anything, even at the cost of his own happiness.
That answer still stood. But now there was a different scenario in front of him.
Only this one had a lot more serious consequences than the hypothetical Mr. Zarin had given him.
Whose safety, whose life, mattered more to him: Jenna or Lilly.
How did one choose? A recently released book, Sophie’s Choice, was coming up in their English class.
Jack recalled the first day of school when his teacher explained that they would be learning about the impossible decision when a mother had to choose which of her two children would die.
Jack had yet to read the book—they were still working on Beowulf—but he’d give anything to know how the mom got out of making such a choice.
The fact that Jenna wasn’t in Port Townsend was his saving grace. He didn’t have to choose. But what happened when she came back?
“You think I want the rich bitch?” His father snorted.
He still had the blade in his hand but was now sitting forward with his arms crossed over his heavy chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack kept seeing his dad’s tongue flick out along his bottom lip.
Like he was trying to soak up every last drop of alcohol that he might not have swallowed yet.
“I ain’t no pervert. Fucking a virgin cunt does nothing for me.
Not since your bitch of a mother, anyway.
And look where that got me. Ruined my life, she did.
I was going places!” he suddenly shouted.
“I was going to be someone. But that slut spread her legs for me and then had the nerve to get herself knocked up. If you didn’t look so much like me I’d question who your daddy was too.
Bitch was fucking the entire hockey team, I was just the unlucky bastard who won the race. ”
John Duncan’s words were slurring together the more he talked. As Jack braked at a Stop sign, he took a long peek at his dad. His head was slightly lolled back but he was still alert. Even after all that alcohol, the man was still upright.
“If I taught you anything, boy, it’s to wrap up. Getting saddled with pathetic, good-for-nothing kids will ruin you!”
Jack turned his attention back to the road. He was about to step on the gas pedal again when his dad yelled, “Stop!”
Jack froze. His eyes went frantically around, looking for Lilly or Jenna. If they were around town by some fluke of fate, he had no idea what his dad would do.
But then Jack realized where John Duncan was looking and his shoulders sagged with relief. Of course neither Jenna nor Lilly was walking around downtown. Jenna was still in Seattle and Lilly would be home safe with Mrs. Zarin. Idiot, he chastised himself.
“Pull over,” his dad ordered.
Jack hid his sigh as he obeyed. He wasn’t sure if the sigh would have been one of frustration at his father’s new destination or relief at the delay.
He parked on the side of the street in front of one of the fisherman’s bars.
This one was more touristy and high-end than the ones up by the docks, but Jack supposed his dad wasn’t caring about that.
John Duncan flicked the knife towards the bar. “Go get me something. None of the watered down stuff. I want top shelf.”
Jack blinked at his dad. He’d really been hoping that his dad would get out to get himself a drink and then Jack could just drive off. Even as drunk as he was, maybe his dad had a similar thought. “I’m sixteen,” Jack reminded him. “I can’t buy alcohol.”
“Tell Bert it’s for me.” John Duncan smacked his lips as if he could already taste the top shelf liquor.
“Do you have money?”
That was the very wrong thing to ask. John Duncan’s hand shot out—and it was only due to Mr. Zarin’s lessons that Jack was able to dodge the blow.
The knife, though, nicked the steering wheel and his dad fell forward from the momentum of the left-handed blow.
He caught himself on the dashboard. For a moment, Jack thought he was just going to pass out.
Then he pushed himself upright as if nothing had happened.
Breathing heavily, John Duncan snapped, “That’s what you get for disobeying me, boy.
” Jack had to wonder if his dad thought he’d actually connected with him.
If he was that drunk, then maybe… “Get in the fucking bar and get me something to drink! You’re fucking the richest teenage cunt in town. Use the money you’ve gotten from her!”
Jack did not want to leave his dad in his truck alone, but thought that, just maybe, giving the man more alcohol might get him out of this mess.
Pocketing his keys, Jack jumped out of his truck. Before he slammed the door closed, his dad instructed, “And no telling Bert what we’re doing! I don’t want him thinking he can get a cut of this score.”
Since Jack still had no idea what it was they were doing, his father had no worries there. Jack closed the door before his dad could issue any more orders.
Jack had been in many bars in his short life.
Most of them were the older, more rundown ones on the other side of town.
His mom would drag him along to pick up his dad when he was a kid.
To his young mind, bars had always been nasty, scary places where men behaved badly.
More than one man had slapped his mom’s ass as they walked past or tried to pull her onto his lap.
To Jack’s knowledge, none of them had tried anything with him, but he still had always dreaded having to accompany his mom inside to get his dad.
As he entered the bar now, Jack had to wonder if his mom thought it was safer to bring her kid into the bar with her rather than leave him unattended in the car outside the bar or if she truly just hadn’t been fazed by what went on in the bars to care what happened to him.
Though the door opened without protest, no one was inside the bar. Jack looked around at the upturned chairs on round tables and had to wonder if the bar was even open.
A man came out from the back with a case of something heavy between his thick arms. Despite the cold outside, he was only in a white tank, jeans, and boots. An unlit cigarette was behind one ear.
The man paused at the sight of Jack standing just inside the bar and then he continued on his path to the back bar. Whatever was in the case was glass because it clattered as he set it on the counter. “Ain’t you a little young to be in here?”
Jack ignored that. The legal drinking age had been changed from eighteen to twenty-one last year. Many juniors and seniors who had been about to turn eighteen were pissed about that, but a lot of the local bars didn’t care what age you were so long as you had the money to pay your tab.
“Are you Bert?” Jack asked.
The man, who was maybe in his mid-thirties, raised an eyebrow. “Rodger,” he corrected. “Bert was my old man. He died about ten years back.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder. The glass door was fogged from the heat inside and the cold outside the bar, but he was still able to see his truck and the silhouette of the man in it. “Fucking drunk,” Jack muttered under his breath as he came forward. “Look, I need to use your phone.”
“I ain’t an operating service,” Rodger snapped. “There’s a phone outside if you need it.”
Jack cursed, because he couldn’t risk his dad seeing him trying to make a call. He eyed the various bottles on the wall behind the bar. He knew the different types of alcohol but not the differences in brands or proofs.
He was still mulling things over in his head when Rodger’s eyes narrowed. “Ain’t you John Duncan’s boy?”
Jack stiffened. Why would this man know who he was? Not seeing a point in lying, Jack nodded.
The man’s hard eyes soften slightly. “Look, from one drunk’s son to another, this ain’t the answer. Whatever you’ve got going on, you’re not going to find the solution at the bottom of a bottle.”
Well that told him more about Bert than Jack needed or wanted to know. “I’m not here for that,” Jack insisted automatically. Then corrected himself. “Well, I am. But not for me. I need to call Chief Cunningham. My dad’s out in my truck. He’s drunk and he has a knife.”
Rodger’s eyebrows rose up. He started to reach below the counter—Jack could only hope to get the phone—when the door behind Jack burst open. The thing slammed against the snow on the sidewalk, causing it to puff up.
John Duncan came storming into the bar. “What the fuck is taking so long, boy! I told you not to tell him anything!”
The knife was away but John Duncan was very clearly drunk.
Rodger turned his attention to Jack’s father. “John!” he smiled widely. “Been a long while. If I’d known he was asking for you, I wouldn’t have turned him down.” To Jack, he snapped, “You need to speak up, boy. Real men say what they want and mean.”