Crucified: The Rise of an Urban Legend (Swann Series Book 9)

by Ryan Schow

  He’d ordered the Super Slapped and fries. His father had ordered the Slapped Thrice because he was a burger man and he always went heavy on the meat.

  The three waitresses didn’t know what to make of August, but it was clear to August and especially to his father, that these women had just become girls and these girls were too smitten to even bother hiding it.

  “I see why you wanted to look the way you do,” his father finally said, chewing his fries but looking at one of the girls just over August’s shoulder. It wasn’t because he was a pervert, or some sexual miscreant; August had the distinct impression his old man didn’t want to look at him when he admitted August was right to do what he did.

  “It sure beats staying at home blasting rope in front of the computer,” he muttered as he took a drink of his strawberry shake.

  “Blasting rope?”

  August felt his face go red, took another swallow of his shake. Then: “Yeah, rubbing one out.”

  His father nearly choked on a fry, coughing a small fit, enough for one of the waitresses to come over and say, “Are you alright?” When she glanced up at August and pulled her hair over her shoulder, there was that look in her eye, that obvious lust sitting just below the thin layers of concern. “Is he going to be alright?”

  “He is. It’s what eating and laughing at the same time can do to you. By the way, you have an interesting smile. I think I like it.”

  He watched her neck flush red, but rather than leave, she graced him with the slow rise of what became a very seductive smile.

  “You’re not from here, are you?” she asked.

  “Why? Because I don’t say shit like, ‘little lady’ and ‘ma’am?’” he said with the look that was pure Vegas, pure debauchery.

  Now that his father was breathing again, the waitress (Annabelle), stood up, her nostrils flaring, fighting back a grin she just knew would give her away. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked at August.

  August then turned to his father and said, “You still alive over there?”

  “I am,” he said, dabbing the corners of his eyes with a napkin.

  Turning to the waitress, August said, “Well look at you, all ready to save the day.” She stood there a bit longer, so he said, “Maybe you could come back in ten? Check on him again, make sure we’re both okay?”

  “Oh I know you’ll be okay,” she said with those lustrous eyes of hers.

  “Naturally,” he said.

  There was that flushed neck again. When she left there was an extra bit of pep in her step. So many people think that having game is saying a line, or having a look. Maybe it’s just knowing what a person wants or needs, and being the guy to give it to them.

  August got good at being that guy when he was Brayden, but the game had a way of wearing on you. To Brayden it served a purpose. But right then, looking the way he did and having refined his pickup skillset, August felt damn near lethal with his charm.

  It almost wasn’t fair.

  When Annabelle was out of earshot, his father said, “You think you could get with her? With your looks and all the skills you have from that Vegas retreat I sent you to?”

  “You saw her, what do you think?”

  “I think you can.”

  “Not just her. I could get with her and her friends, too,” August said. “But I have Savannah and she’s going to be enough. Maybe a bit too much.”

  “Seems like it.”

  “She’ll be worth it though. She’s got a huge heart and an impossible burden, one she never wanted, but one she’s come to accept, it seems. I have a lot of respect for that.”

  His father says, “Like I said, I guess I can see why you did this.”

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did for me, Dad, it’s just…this world is changing and I had an opportunity.”

  “So you did this…for her?”

  “I would have done it for her the first time, but this time I did it for me. I did it after Abby said she never wanted to see me again.”

  “Abby who was Savannah.”

  “Yes.”

  “But she found you?” he asked.

  “Yes, and she begged me not to change.”

  This stopped him cold in his tracks. His father looked frozen in place, a wax statue until he blinked. “Wait, so…she liked you…for you?”

  He nodded.

  Both of his eyebrows rose, held for a moment, then settled back down into a brief look of contemplation. “Perhaps I misjudged her,” his father said, a sort of sadness in his eyes at how he had behaved.

  “I think you did.”

  “An old man is not without his faults, and sometimes judgement fails even the greatest of intellects.”

  “Are you saying you’re the greatest of intellects?”

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both burst into laughter. It was probably the most relaxed he’d ever felt around his father. He really did love the old man.

  “I’m going to be with her, and I hope you’ll accept that.”

  He looked at August a long time, nodding his head, then he said, “I’ll work on it. But only after she pays for the door.”

  “She’s not hurting for money, but like me, she just wants to be loved and accepted. That’s all either of us ever wanted.”

  “While I work on that with you, which won’t be hard, I’ll work on that with her, too.”

  Right then, with his fork in his hand, August felt an impossible weight gather behind his forehead. His neck strained against an unseen force. Slowly he felt his eyes roll back into his head, almost as if they were being pulled back against their will.

  His mind was plain black and then a picture of a man burst forth, his face handsome, but something cold and nasty in his eyes. The man’s mouth then opened to a row of teeth that scared the ever loving crap out of him.

  Savannah’s disembodied voice slid into his head.

  “If you see this man, if he approaches you, use all your focus and attention to scream my name into my head,” she said. “He’s dangerous and he’s after me, but I will handle it. I just want you to know ahead of time, just in case. Think the word yes if you understand.”

  The word “yes” popped into his mind and struggled out of his mouth. The otherworldly hold on him broke and his eyes rolled back down.

  His father was staring at him.

  “Holy balls,” August said, returning to the world of the living. “I feel like I was just raped.”

  His dad just sat there, eyes popped wide open, his fork full of food but stopped halfway to his mouth.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Savannah just sent me a…a telepathic text.”

  He drops his fork. “Are you shitting me?”

  “She just showed me a picture of someone dangerous, then told me to send her a signal in my mind if he shows up.”

  “How…”

  “How does she do this?” August said.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t want to know,” he replied, taking that last bite of his burger. “Trust me.”

  “Why would she skull text you a picture of someone dangerous? Are you in trouble? Or is she?”

  Now he looked at his father and said, “One day I’ll tell you everything.”

  “What’s everything?” he asked, shifting in his seat and straightening his back.

  “All the things you don’t know and would barely believe.” Just then Annabelle came over with a second batch of fries, giving August the out he needed. To Annabelle, he said, “Now I know I like you. Before you go, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “It’s personal,” he replied.

  “I’m good with that,” she answered, crossing her feet and standing straight to accentuate both her hips and her breasts. This gave her an air of what she seemed to think was shy sexuality. It was overt and so on point.

  “Are you an empath?” August asked.

  “What’s that?”

>   “It’s a person who, almost by some psychological or spiritual means, seems to know what someone needs the moment they need it. Do you feel like that’s you? Because I feel like it is, but we don’t even know each other. I just get a sense about you.”

  “Are you an empath?” she asks.

  “I know what people need when they need it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said. “But for me it’s my understanding of human nature, not an emotional connection.”

  “I feel like that describes me. The emotional connection part.”

  Now he left it perfectly quiet. The next move was hers. She cleared her throat, tilted her pretty head and said, “How long are you in town for?”

  “I’m leaving after dessert.”

  “And what’s dessert?” she asked, flush once more, glancing only barely at August’s father.

  “Pie.”

  She looks at him a long time, then she said, “I have a boyfriend.”

  “I do, too,” he said. “I’m from California. Guys dating guys is the new norm.”

  “You’re…gay?” she asked, totally upended.

  Now both he and his father started laughing uproariously.

  “He’s not gay,” August’s father said.

  “Oh,” she said, flustered, “because we don’t judge here.”

  “You’re hot as hell Annabelle,” August said, “and if I was a local and not taken, I’d steal you from your boyfriend and spoil the absolute hell out of you.”

  “How do you know I’d want that?” she asked, her entire face red now. “Because you’re like five or ten years younger than me.”

  “I do well with older women.”

  Oh my God, he thought, this is too easy. She fixed him with a look that he didn’t mind. There was something in her eyes that totally arrested him.

  “Do you think I’m a jerk?” he asked with that smile.

  Her expression slipped into a frown and she said shook her head in a weird way, her mouth halfway open, almost like she wanted to say something, but had no idea what to say.

  “I am, but I mean no harm. I’m taken and you’re taken, but what’s to say we can’t have a very brief, very innocent flirtationship?”

  “What does that entail?” she asked.

  “Me embarrassing myself in front of my father, you turning red, then maybe you getting a big tip because you’re good at your job and you seem like an amazing person I want to get to know in our next lifetime when we’re both available.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. Then, with that smile again, “The big tip.”

  “Innuendo,” his father said, like he was catching on.

  “In my end-oh,” she said with a sexy grin before she turned and sauntered off.

  “Jesus on the cross,” his father said, running a hand over his head, same as August when he was Brayden, “who the hell are you and what have you done with my son?”

  “I just want you to know that even though I don’t have the same passion for oil you do, and that I’m not as big or as strong as you, I am your son and your opinion of me matters.”

  “Well I love the hell out of you and I know you’re damn good at whatever it is you choose to do, so if that’s worth something to you, it’s sure as hell worth more to me.”

  “I’m good at what I do, but gaming is part of my past. There’s not really any challenge anymore, and it’s not fair to a girl to just game her and bang her and move on. That’s how you ruin lives.”

  “So why are you gaming Annabelle?”

  “I’m not. I’m just making her day. A girl like her isn’t going to get this kind of attention from a guy like me for awhile, so I like doing this for her.”

  A few minutes later, Annabelle returned with the check. The two other waitresses were trailing behind her. August smiled at all three then said to Annabelle, “I like your thinking, bringing all your friends like that.”

  “We want a picture with you, for the wall.”

  There were a few framed photos on the walls, but they were mostly pictures of old guys who were once relevant but now might be dead. Guys like Lyndon B. Johnson and Jimmy Carter (pass the peanuts, please…), and some action movie star stunt man that looked like a young Sylvester Stallone.

  “I hope you’re thinking of rehabilitating this wall, because these old guys make my grandpa seem spry. I mean, for real.”

  “It’s not for that wall,” one of the waitresses said.

  “Yeah,” her friend said, “we’ve got our own wall in back.”

  “How many guys are on it as of now?” he asked.

  “Including you?”

  “Including me.”

  Anabelle grinned, snuck a look at her co-workers, and said, “One, if you let us take your picture.”

  She had her cell phone out.

  He looked at his dad and said, “Dad, let’s not keep these ladies waiting.” Then to the women, he said, “Well pile on in here with me, let’s make this a good one.”

  The women found a way into the booth, their bodies leaning on him, curled around him, damn near making him the happiest puppy in the pack. His father took the camera, stood and moved back, getting them all in the frame.

  “On the count of three,” he said.

  When his father counted out the word one, August said, “Kisses right here, ladies,” and pointed to his cheek. The two that could reach him leaned in and put their lips on him, and that’s when his father took the picture.

  “That one’s free,” he said to Annabelle. “The next one will cost you.” And then the smile. The one Aniela said was a real panty stealer.

  So close he could smell her minty breath and see a smattering of freckles and a few old acne scars, Annabelle whispered, “I’d pay the price.”

  True to his word, they left a big tip and his father didn’t say a thing until they hit the road.

  “If you really love me,” his father said out of the blue, “if you really care about my well being, you’ll do me one favor.”

  “What’s that?” August said.

  “When we get home, or maybe tomorrow morning, you have to pack your things and leave. In case you haven’t figured it out, Lenore’s been making eyes at you.”

  “I saw that,” August said, humbled.

  “I don’t need you messing up my marriage on account of you looking like every woman’s waking dream.”

  “I have to leave anyway,” he said.

  “What about that guy?” his father asked. “The one you got the head text over.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Sure, I’m sure.”

  As they were driving home, August thought about Savannah, about how much he missed her. He could go on autopilot and pick up women, and he was good looking enough that it wasn’t hard anymore, but the only thing that fulfilled him was Savannah. The truth was, he was a closet romantic—a guy who wanted one woman and the adventure that came with it.

  God, he missed her! He was also starting to worry. He knew she couldn’t really be killed, but when she was shot in the head back at Holland’s lab, he dealt with fake Abby because repairing the real one was beyond Holland’s skillset.

  An awful feeling spread through him thinking back to that time. The fake Abby was no bowl of cherries.

  This had him wondering about the life he was signing on to if he decided he wanted to live with her forever. There was no way in hell riding second chair to her would be easy. He was no slouch in life, but he wasn’t her.

  “What are you going to do about school?” his father asked, breaking his trance.

  “I don’t need school, Dad. I have other things I can do.”

  “What about a career?”

  “I created an app,” he admitted, “and it’s made a ton of money. Plus, well, I hate to say this, but when I got caught by the FBI, I got caught because I wanted you to know that I was someone in that world. I’m still someone. I’m someone who will never get caught if I don’t want it.”
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br />   His father shifted in his seat, adjusted his hands on the steering wheel, set his jaw.

  “This is your thing, isn’t it?” he asked, obviously afraid of what the answer would be, but a realist nevertheless.

  “It is. For now anyway.”

  “There’s no guarantee you won’t get caught doing it again,” his father warned.

  “There is. I’ve seen the inside of the FBI’s Cyber Crime Division. I’ve seen it legally all the way to its heartiest firewall.”

  The stopped for a red light. When his father looked at him, it was with his most serious face. He said, “Did you create the hack that got you out of there with time served?”

  “Not the original hack, but the five subsequent ones, yes. It helped me control the situation.”

  His father was quiet for a long time, then he said, “You have to promise to visit me. Don’t just run off and leave your old man to rot.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I can give you some money if you need a start,” he said.

  “Money is just numbers in a computer. It’s got a trail that can be altered, buried and wiped clean with ten minutes concentrated effort and a Red Bull.”

  “What else am I going to give you then if you don’t need money?”

  “Just be proud of me.”

  “You’re about to live like a criminal,” he said.

  “Who is more criminal, the person changing numbers in a computer, or the banks using those same numbers to acquire interest and real assets as security? It’s all a game. If I put a million dollars in my account and buy a car, the bank doesn’t go broke, the auto dealer gets his money, I get my car and no one gets hurt.”

  “We’ll hurt if you go to jail. Being this good looking out in the world is something to behold, but it will be a curse in the slammer. You’re every felon’s future tossed salad looking like that.”

  He gave a conciliatory laugh, but his father was afraid for him and it showed. He said, “If I get caught, Savannah can get me out. She can stop all of it.”

  “What is she, anyway?”

  “A dream wrapped in a nightmare wrapped in a person I fell in love with when she was overweight and insecure and having the hardest time in life. We are each other’s soul mates. I’d do anything for her, and her for me.”