by Ken Lange
My childhood memory of the guestroom didn’t do the place justice. It comfortably held a sofa, desk, and king-sized bed. There was a large en suite with a walk-in shower that would easily accommodate my size. A washer dryer combo sat behind another door, and the oversized closet was next to it.
Over the last few decades, I’d become accustomed to a ten-by-ten room with a communal bath. Coming from that to this was a bit overwhelming, and more than a little too lavish for the likes of me. But I would need to get used to it, because this was how normal people lived. Okay, maybe they didn’t live in their uncle’s house in their own private apartment, but still…
I tossed my bag on the bed and rummaged through it for some clean clothes before heading to the bath. After a piping-hot shower, I got dressed and walked down the hall to the living room. Apparently, Andrew had used the time I was gone to clear the books off the table at the far end of the room. The only thing it held now was a maroon box marked Dalmore twelve and two crystal tumblers with three fingers of what I had to guess was whiskey.
Andrew gestured at the chair next to his. “I hope the accommodations were comfortable. I’ve often considered trying to find someone to live there for some company.”
That made my heart ache. He was lonely, and I’d been busy working, never giving him a second thought. I grabbed the nearest glass and toasted him. “To my good fortune, and to a good man.”
Andrew blushed and took a drink. “Thank you, but I’m not sure that’s an accurate description.” He waved a dismissive hand at the room. “As you can see, I live alone…the result of numerous mistakes and poor choices on my part.”
I raised my glass again and nodded. “We should get along wonderfully then, since we have so much in common.”
Andrew gave me a sad smile and returned the gesture. “To the two of us.”
Taking another drink, I looked around the room. “How are you able to keep this place so clean? If I lived here, it’d be dusty as hell and cluttered with shit from floor to ceiling.”
Andrew actually hooted. “Says the man who can hold everything he owns in a single bag.” I winced, but he went on. “But I don’t keep up with it all. A nice lady, Heather, works three days a week downstairs and cleans up here the other two.” Andrew took a sip of scotch, and his mood suddenly turned serious. “Do you recall the house rules?”
It was the one and only rule my father and Andrew had ever imposed on me. Everything past my uncle’s bedroom was off limits. I could’ve run through the precious books downstairs with a flamethrower and they wouldn’t have cared. But if I took one step into the forbidden hall, I would almost certainly have had my ass handed to me. “I do. Any chance you’d be willing to tell me why?”
Andrew sipped his scotch. “Tell you what…if you stick around long enough, I’ll give you a personal tour of the entire floor.”
Now that was tempting. I didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, but my curiosity about my uncle and his peculiar home was nearly enough to make me want to stay indefinitely.
“You may regret making that deal.”
Andrew chuckled. “Why do you say that?”
I pointed down the hall, and grinned. “I’ve always wondered what was down there.”
Andrew winked. “Finish your scotch, get some sleep, and we can discuss it more tomorrow.”
I held my glass out to Andrew before downing the rest of it. I stood, gave him a quick bow, and smiled. “Thank you again for taking me in.”
Andrew nodded and finished his drink. “Sleep well.”
I padded off to my suite and collapsed on the bed without undressing, and for the first time in twenty years, I didn’t have the nightmare that had haunted me. Instead, I dreamed of my father.
Chapter 3
Thursday May 28th
Last night’s rest had mostly been fragments of sleep snatched between tossing and turning then waking up every time the bed creaked. After being on high alert for so long, every new sound startled me, and trying to rest in an actual bed was weird. Believe it or not, the softness of a mattress was torturous; it made me ache in strange places as the old springs triggered unfamiliar pressure points.
Around midnight, I’d considered pulling the bedding off and sleeping in the laundry room—which was small and defensible—but I was trying to fit in. Still, even without the nightmare, I awoke soaked with sweat and exhausted.
I rolled out of bed, flipped on the lamp, and stumbled toward the shower. Even then, the sensation of the world being out of whack haunted me. The power never flickered, there was plenty of hot water coming out of the showerhead, and it was so quiet…there were no background sounds of fighter jets overhead, gunshots in the streets, far-off explosions.
With a great deal of willpower, I shoved those thoughts aside. After turning off the water, I dried and mechanically dressed. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t a warzone, and if luck held, it never would be. Doing my best to appear normal, I checked myself in the mirror twice before tossing my dirty clothes on top of the washer then strolling down the hall to the kitchen. It was a few minutes to five when I pushed open the door and found Andrew preparing breakfast.
He glanced at me and cocked his head. “Sleep well?”
I ran my hand over my face and yawned. “Absolutely.”
He snorted. “I strongly suspect your version of a good night’s sleep is different than mine.”
I shrugged. “It’s possible.” Pointing at the stove, I asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”
Andrew gave me a dismissive wave. “You can sit your ass down. You’re in the south, and we take care of our guests.”
Without even thinking about it, I followed his instructions, and irrational anger welled in the back of my mind. One of the reasons I’d been great at my job was my ability to think for myself, regardless of the situation. Blindly following orders had never been my thing, and I’d be damned if I was going to start now.
Biting back the irritation, I did my best to keep my tone calm because this wasn’t his doing. “You don’t have to wait on me. I’m old enough to make breakfast for the two of us.”
Andrew pursed his lips and sucked air through his teeth loudly. “The question is, can you cook?”
Cooking was one of my few acceptable talents, and usually didn’t involve bloodshed or death, which was a bonus. It was a talent I’d picked up during recovery from a serious injury a few years after leaving home.
I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “I’m actually a damn good cook.”
Andrew didn’t appear convinced as he spooned potatoes onto the plates. “We’ll find out tomorrow morning then. You’ll be restricted to whatever’s in the fridge. If you can make something I don’t want to scrape off my tongue, you have my permission to cook. Otherwise, don’t touch shit.”
That made me chuckle. “Speaking of touching stuff, there are a few things I need, like a cellphone and computer. Any idea where I could pick those up?”
He pushed a plate filled with crispy hash browns and two fried eggs in front of me. Taking a seat, he said, “I’ve got a perfectly good computer in the other room, if you’d like to use it.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I really need one for myself. Something portable I can use wherever I happen to wind up.”
Andrew chewed his food silently and absently stabbed a few more bits of potato with his fork before nodding. “There’s an Office Depot on St. Charles not too far away if you need something quickly. They should be able to help you with the phone and computer.” He paused, looked in my eyes, and smiled. “You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, though.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to be an imposition.”
He spoke between bites. “Having you here is hardly a burden.” Smiling, he asked, “Is there anything else you need?”
Grimacing at the thought of spending a large chuck of my available cash, I said, “I’m going to need something to get around in.
I can’t bum rides from people every time I need to go somewhere, and New Orleans isn’t exactly known for its public transit system.”
A derisive breath escaped his lips. “No kidding, but lucky for you, I might have a solution.”
I tore my eyes off the plate to look up at my uncle. “Oh?”
Andrew’s smile faded, and he dabbed the sides of his mouth with a paper napkin. “I don’t get out like I used to. Which means I have two cars rotting in the garage.” He made a dismissive gesture. “If you want, I could sell you one. It’s an older model, but I assure you it’s in great shape.”
My stomach churned as guilt crept in. “I couldn’t take your car.”
His eyes narrowed, and a sly grin crossed his lips. “You wouldn’t be taking it. You’d be buying it.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry so much. I have a second vehicle, and if I don’t feel up to driving, I’ll ask you to chauffer me around.”
How could I argue with that logic? “Okay, sounds good. Thanks. How much do you want for it?”
Andrew was quiet for several seconds. “I hate paying the insurance, so how about you give me twenty-five hundred, and we call it even?”
Even if it was in terrible shape, the price wasn’t that bad and likely a lot less than I’d have to pay at a dealership. I pulled out the wad of cash, counted out twenty-five hundred-dollar bills, and pushed them toward him. “Done.”
Andrew was quick to pocket the money with a smile. “When we go downstairs, I’ll show you the car before we head in and set up for the day.”
Picking at the last of my food, I nodded. “I take it you’ve got appointments?”
Andrew spread his hands casually. “Someone’s dropping off what’s supposed to be the Dunlap Broadsides for authentication.”
I damn near fell out of my chair. “Someone’s bringing you an original copy of the Declaration of Independence?”
Andrew shoved another forkful of potatoes into his mouth and shrugged. “There are twenty-six accounted for. After today, there might be twenty-seven.”
I obviously didn’t understand what my uncle did for a living. How could he be so nonchalant about the Declaration of Independence? My mouth had fallen open, and I promptly closed it. “You’re acting like this isn’t that big a deal.”
Andrew swallowed another bite of his food. “It isn’t.” He chuckled and waved his hands around in a grand gesture. “In my line of work, you can’t get all misty eyed every time some musty old document comes your way.”
That was something I could understand. After a while, work could desensitize you to things that would baffle anyone else stepping into your shoes. “Well, it may not be a big deal to you, but to me it’s fascinating.”
He snickered. “I’m glad you’re easily impressed. It means I won’t have to work too hard to entertain you.” He eyed my plate and motioned for me to hurry. “Finish up while I grab the title. I’ll have it notarized this afternoon so it will be all nice and legal.”
The hustle to put the vehicle in my name made me antsy. “No rush on my account.”
He patted me on the back. “No, I’m just thrilled she’ll be on the road again. She’s a fine automobile.” He beamed. “Besides, it’s not every day you can break even on a secondhand car.”
That wasn’t great news. If he’d bought it secondhand, God only knew what kind of shape it was in. I could only hope the heap ran until I could trade it in.
I made myself smile at him. “Well, I’m glad I could be of service.”
Andrew disappeared, allowing me to finish what was on my plate before going for a second helping of hash browns. He returned a few minutes later with an envelope and a set of keys he promptly shoved into his pocket.
Chewing the last of my breakfast, I followed him down the stairs and out into the private park my uncle called a backyard. The lush green grass was perfectly manicured, dotted with ancient oaks that were ringed with brightly colored flowers in full bloom. Whoever maintained the grounds could’ve given the White House staff some pointers.
It was a good hundred yards to the white brick four-bay garage. Andrew pointed at the far door. I tugged it up, and my mouth fell open. The early morning light cut through the darkness to spotlight a mint-condition, maroon, aerodynamic work of art, better known as the Tucker 48.
Andrew slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine purred to life, radiating power as it idled, taking stock of its new owner.
When he got out of the car, he gently closed the door and grinned. “So, what do you think?”
Numb and nearly speechless, I managed to say, “Are you sure you had me open the right door?” I moved back and stepped toward the next one.
He grabbed my arm and shook his head. “I didn’t make a mistake.”
Blinking, I glanced between him and the car. “You’re kidding, right?”
The old man beamed as he put the keys in my hand. “Absolutely not. This is yours.”
My hands were sweating so much I could barely hold on to the keys. “I can’t afford this thing. There’s no way twenty-five-hundred will cover it.”
He brushed off my concerns. “Think of it as twenty-eight years of missed Christmas and birthday presents.”
I nearly choked on the thought. “Uncle Andrew—”
With a slight irritation in his voice, he said, “Uncle nothing! You’ll take it, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll show you what’s in there.” He pointed at the closed door next to this one. “The third door…well, that’s probably never going to happen, but boys can dream.”
What the hell! If this was the shitty toy in my uncle’s collection, I was in for a huge surprise one day. “Fine. I’ll hold it for you until you decide you need it back.”
Amusement painted itself across his face. “If it makes you feel better, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal.” He motioned toward the back of the house. “You can take her out for a spin later. Right now, we’ve got some work to tend to.”
Isidore walked in about half past seven, meandered over to me, and yawned. “I should’ve slept in,” he cooed with a sly grin and a wink. “I see he’s rooked you into doing the grunt work.”
His easygoing attitude was infectious, and it was easy to relax in his presence. “I don’t mind. It makes me feel useful.”
Isidore sauntered over and ran a hand across my shoulders, looking rather devilish while eying my uncle. “Don’t let the old goat fool you. He’s more capable than he appears.”
And in better shape.
Andrew padded over. “Is everything all right?”
I had a sense there was something I’d wanted to ask, but couldn’t recall what it was. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Is there anything else I can do to help?”
Andrew shook his head. “Nah. You should talk to Isidore and get directions to the Office Depot.”
Before long I was out the door, walking to the store on St. Charles. A couple hours later, I returned to the shop with a new phone and a computer that doubled as a tablet.
Andrew pointed at the clock and beamed. “It’s nearly eleven. Care to go find something to eat nearby?”
The thought of a proper meal made my stomach growl. “Sounds great.”
The bell above the front door jingled as a UPS driver stepped through. He looked at the package. “Is there an Andrew Randall available?”
Isidore tensed, and his jovial mood turned serious. He moved to stand between the man and Andrew. “I’m sorry, but we normally don’t take deliveries this time of day. Can I help you with something?”
The driver eyed Isidore carefully, cradling the package in a strangely protective manner. “Are you Mr. Randall?”
Isidore took a tentative step forward, swelling to his full height. “I’m not, but I can sign for it.”
To his credit, the smaller driver stood his ground, shifting to keep the package out of Isidore’s reach. “I’m going to have to insist on speaking with Mr. Randall. He’ll need to sign for the package personally.”
It almost sounded like Isidore let out a low growl, and the skin under his eye twitched. Before things got out of hand, I strode past him, and pulled out my ID. “I’m Andrew Gavin Randall. Can I help you with something?”
The UPS driver handed me the parcel and allowed me to sign for it. He gave me a nervous smile and glanced over my shoulder at Isidore. “Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”
I waited for the driver to leave before putting the neatly wrapped box on the nearest table and waving my uncle over. “It’s for you.”
He was behind me in a moment, peering over my shoulder. “Apparently.”
With a small penknife, Andrew sliced open the bundle. After he finished unwrapping it, he pulled back the cardboard to reveal a large leather-bound book atop a stack of papers. His hands trembled when he closed the lid, and he glanced over at me with fear in his eyes. “Is it all right if we order in? I need to tend to some personal business.”
Judging by the way he was clutching the box, it was exceptionally private. Maybe I needed to give him some time to take care of whatever this was on his own. “No problem at all. Want me to go pick something up?”
He wrapped his hand tightly around my forearm and shook his head. His voice was taut and a little unsteady. “Absolutely not.” He glanced down and quickly released me. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Isidore, would you mind ordering something for us? I need to speak with Gavin alone.”
Isidore’s concern for the old man was all over his face, and it struck me that this relationship went beyond employee and employer. His reactions over the last day had been closer to that of a trusted lieutenant and bodyguard. Even as he nodded his agreement, there was a reluctance to leave his liege alone in my company. “Sure. Anything in particular?”
Andrew absently ran a hand over the top of the box. “Anything that can be delivered will be fine.” He pulled out a couple of hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Isidore. “Make sure to order enough for you as well, and if it isn’t too much trouble, bring it up when it gets here.” Isidore started to walk off when Andrew spoke again, anger creeping into his voice as he gripped the cardboard container. “Keep a watchful eye, and don’t leave without letting me know first.”