15
The Bear
“Thank you for caring,” Emaline says softly as she opens the car door and slides out.
“No problem,” I answer, close to asking if she wants me to come in and maybe stay with her, but I can tell she wants to spend time with her family, and a man staying over at her grandparents’ place is probably frowned upon by her grandparents. Mainly since I’m the oldest Leroux, which is their least favorite person. Although I hope we’ve changed their minds a little after saving their granddaughter and informing them in the middle of the night that she’s in hospital.
After arriving at the hospital, I found Austin, and he directed me to where they were keeping Xave. I was fucking pissed off that I arrived too late for the action because I was in the mood to throw a couple of punches at the cunts that wrecked my car. Or at least, we suspected it was members of their little cult in their direction who wrecked my car. We haven”t figured out who the boss is, but we’re relying on the police officer in charge of the case to do that, so I’m not feeling overly confident about it.
We left Xave lying on the couch high on painkillers, watching a hockey game, while Austin hadn’t been seen for hours, probably gone to work or something. It’s after 8 PM, and it’s been a long day, but Emaline has been there every step of the way, fussing over Xave like a good girlfriend that I wish I had. Maybe I should break my arm so she could pepper kisses over my forehead and bring me food and drink.
Nah, of course, I wouldn’t break my arm because I’d be stood down from the team.
“Thanks for looking after my brother,” I add. “It’s lucky that stab wound didn’t pierce an organ.”
“Yeah, I”m fortunate.” She sounds tired, and I don’t want to get between her and sleep.
Before she slams the door on my face, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to help your situation?”
“Um…paying for the security is more than enough, but I don’t think we need anything else,” she states, and I don’t believe her.
“So, Gainor is parked down the road,” in his new car that I bought him, “so he’ll be watching over your house all night and will message us and the police if someone untoward occurs.”
She bites her bottom lip in fear as she glances down the road to his car. “It’s funny how perception changes. Not long ago, I’d be wary of Gainor’s intentions. Now I view him as a comfort and can’t relax until I see his vehicle.”
The tone of her voice and a strange little chuckle while she’s speaking make me smile. I like this chick in all her weird quirks. “Keep warm and catch up on your beauty sleep,” I say, and she stalls.
“I’m not beautiful,” she says with her back turned.
“I disagree,” I tell her honestly. Unlike her sister, she’s not conventionally beautiful but more intriguing. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
“It’s okay,” she says, “you don’t need to say nice things and lie to make me feel better or to lure me into your bed. I’m not stupid. I know what I look like in the mirror, and I’m not beautiful.”
“Wait, Emaline,” I reach across the seat to grab her wrist before she shuts the door. “Do you think I’m saying nice things to get you into my bed?”
“I have to go,” she says, wrestling with my grip and reluctantly surrendering to let her go. She slams the door on me as I exhale to relieve pent-up tension at being told that I basically use her for sex. Well…did I? Maybe I did. Fuck. There are chicks in my contacts that I use for sex, but she’s not one of them. And I haven’t managed to get a decent fucking boner with any of those chicks since Velma Dinkley started lingering in the Leroux circle.
I wait until she’s disappeared inside, safe and sound, before I drive forward to be parallel with Gainor’s sedan, which I bought him.
“Where’s your SUV?” he asks, blowing smoke out of his mouth and I breathe in to catch a scent to make sure it’s not an illegal substance. I don’t care if he smokes dope, but not while he’s on the clock, as I want him to be alert and wide awake to catch suspicious behavior.
Luckily for him, it’s only cigarette smoke I smell, so I’ll let him off the hook.
“Got jumped, and now it’s a fucking write-off. This is my brother’s car,” I tell him as he takes a strong pull.
He coughs twice before mumbling, “At least you can afford a new one. Probably use some spare change to buy a brand new model of some fucking Porche or Mercedes.”
He’s slurring slightly, but that’s nothing new like he lost a few brain cells smoking crack. Despite his history, he’s a good guy and will remain loyal to whoever is paying him. “Yeah, I guess. Have you seen any vehicles around here lately?”
He shakes his head as smoke streams from his nostrils. “Nah. Who jumped your car?”
“I don’t know yet,” I explain, finding the scent of the cigarette smoke alluring, but I don’t want to fuck my lungs up by asking for a smoke. “My brother reckons they’re heavies from a local syndicate after they visited him at his work.”
“Nah, they’re not local,” Gainor asserts. “I’d know them if they were.”
“Where do they come from?” I ask, hoping for a lead.
“Out of state. Spreading their territory, I reckon,” he answers, and I wonder if he indeed does know what he’s talking about or just spinning shit.
“Yeah, well, we reckon it started with Emaline’s parents working for them.” I don’t give him exact details, but I’m curious to see if he drops any more information that might help.
He takes another therapeutic pull and examines his fast-shrinking cigarette under the dim light. “Worked for them? Doing what?”
“Accountants,” I resign.
“Huh? Weird. How long ago was that?” he asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the dashboard I paid for.
“Maybe ten or so years ago. Emaline’s sister stumbled across some information and went into hiding from them, but we don’t know what that is yet,” I assume, although we’re not one hundred percent sure. Still, again, I’m curious to see if Gainor has heard anything on the streets.
He responds by scoffing. “I’ll give ya three guesses what that would be.” Before I had a chance to respond, he answered his question. “Tax fraud, drugs or weapons. Or maybe the human trade.”
“You’re probably right, and it sounds like you’re guessing and don’t know,” I say, putting Xave’s car into gear to drive off.
“Follow the money,” he shouts, then splutters into a cough. “Follow the MONE cough cough EEEY.”
When I reach the end of the street, I flick the indicator to turn right back to the city and our apartment, but a thought crosses my mind, and I turn left instead to head out of the town toward Demon Cove. I should be tending to my wounded little brother, but I need to check something first.
When I arrive, the gate is open because we didn’t lock it up last night after pursuing the kidnappers, and the fairy lights draped all over the broken church are glowing like stars. I shut the gate behind me and headed to the church to switch the lights off. As I move closer, I notice music is playing at low volume. Inside the church, after the rain, it smells like stale cigarettes and alcohol, and a few masks are abandoned on the floor.
I find the plug in the kitchen area and pull it out of the wall, and the entire place falls to darkness and an eerie silence apart from a dripping of water somewhere in the vicinity. The crypt is the last place I need to check before heading home, and I use the light on my phone to guide my way over tombstones to the entrance. The door is open, and I assume it’s because Kieran and Kody didn’t close it after they left. It’s been twenty-four hours since we caught them down here, so it’s weird to notice the dim glow down the stairs.
Stooping low, I quietly head down the stairs and peer around the bend to find the candles lit and someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the Butcher Block.
“Where’s your bike?” I ask my brother as I walk closer, inhaling the scent of dope and noticing the alcohol bottle in a brown paper bag in his hand.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me as he takes a swig from the bottle, swallows, and says, “Hid it in the bushes.”
I park my ass down next to him, and he hands me the bottle, and I take a sip as the sharp taste hits my senses. “You could drink at home, you know.”
He groans as he takes the bottle from my hand for another sip. “I need space to think.”
“About what?” I ask him as he leans forward to light a joint from a burning candle near his feet.
He shrugs his shoulders in reply, and I interpret his shrug to mean he doesn’t want to share his thoughts, which is perfectly fine with me.
We sit in silence for a few moments, drinking and smoking as the flame on the candle dances in the cold breeze coming in from down the corridor.
“I’ve been thinking about selling this place,” I announce, and that comment seems to jolt Austin out of his fug.
“Really?” he asks, baffled. “Why? It’s pretty cool here.”
“Yeah, I just don’t get into the parties anymore. It’s kind of like I’ve outgrown them,” I explain as he nods in agreement.
“I notice that it’s mostly freshmen that turn up now,” he adds. “I never liked these parties much anyway, but…” He trails off to take a pull of the joint and hands it to me. “Be good to do the place up and turn it into a home.”
“Ya reckon? How long have you been thinking about that idea?” I ask him since it’s the first time I’ve heard of it, although it could be off the cuff without little thought.
“For a while,” he states. “I’d purchase the field behind and turn it into a bike track. That’s all wasteland there so we could get a good price for it.”
“Huh,” I ponder his idea for a few seconds before saying, “At least the neighbors would be quiet.” It takes a few seconds for him to get the joke, and he smiles.
“The dead in their graves are the perfect neighbors, as long as you don’t believe in ghosts. What would happen to all those skeletons if you sold this place to a developer or farmer? They might destroy the graves. They’re family members of living people,” he states, and I’m taken aback by his sensitivity here.
“You’ve got a thing for dead things, don’t ya?” I say in jest.
“No. I have a thing for bones,” he corrects me. “The rotting flesh side of death, I’m not a fan of, but I like bones, especially a complete skeleton.”
“Yeah, personally, I’m not a fan of rotting flesh either,” I say, pulling his joint and exhaling the smoke. “I shouldn’t be smoking this shit.”
“Me neither,” he grunts.
I take the opportunity to raise his least favorite question on the planet while he’s relaxed and in a talkative mood. “Got a career path sorted?”
Predictably, he groans in annoyance. “Fuck, dead people make better brothers too.”
I can’t help but laugh because I’ve always liked his dark sense of humor. “Bro, our parents have been asking for the past year or so about what you want to do when you leave college, so…you gotta give them something,” I justify my line of questioning because the parents are on my back about it. And because I worry that he’ll wander without purpose.
He is silent for a few seconds as he stubs out the blunt and shoves it in his sweatpants pocket, but I can tell he’s stewing on it. “I’ve been offered a paid position on the bone gallery after I’ve graduated.”
“Bro, that’s great, but I don’t think that’s what our parents had in mind,” I say gently so he doesn’t get pissy and smack me in the head.
“I’m not fucking working for the family business,” he seethes. “And Griz is set to retire soon, and he wants to train me up as curator, and I’ve accepted the position, so if you don’t like it, then get fucked. I’ll buy this place off you and live out here, so I don’t have to see your fucking fat face again.”
“Are you saying my face is fat, bro?” I laugh. “I thought I had good bone structure.”
“It’s a bit wide, bro,” his gloomy expression lightens.
“Look, tell Mom about your opportunity because she’ll like the idea of having a son who’s a curator, and let her talk to Dad. That’s my advice for what it’s worth,” I say, glancing at the time on my phone to discover that it’s only after 9 PM.
“Yep,” he grunts.
“So, will you tell me why you’re sulking?” I dig, knowing it’ll cause a reaction.
“I’m not fucking sulking,” he hisses on cue. Predictable. Poke a sleeping bear and get a reaction.
“It’s about Velma Dinkley, isn’t it?” I tease.
“No,” he snaps. “A man likes to spend time on his own sometimes, and it’s nothing to do with women.”
“Just tell her you’ve fallen for her,” I keep on teasing because it’s fucking fun.
“I haven’t fallen for her,” he hits back.
“Tell her you want to suck her titties while off-loading in her sweet pussy,” I laugh, keeping my distance from a flying fist. “Tell her you want to make her pussy yours.”
“Why don’t you tell her that since you’re so keen?” he fumes.
“Maybe I will,” I tell him as I stand and look down at my brother. “Meanwhile, while life continues and people grow up, you’re hanging with your dead neighbors down here. Bro, you can’t make a girlfriend out of bone dust.”
“Maybe I don’t want a girlfriend,” he calls after me as his voice bounces off the walls.
“Sure, bro,” I laugh as I approach the bottom step. “Make sure to blow the candles out before you leave.”