King Series Firsts Box Set: King, Lawless & Preppy Part One

by T. M. Frazier

  Wet?

  What the fuck?

  Sitting up with a start I looked around, but there was no one there. I automatically winced as I prepared for the onslaught of my withdrawals, but they never came. There was a slight pounding behind my eyes, but nothing like the stomach twisting, near death, morning after experience I was expecting.

  Something moved next to the bed and I came face to face with the source of the grunting.

  Well, face to snout.

  Wedged between the small space between the bed and the wall was a good sized pig, larger than most dogs. His black and white markings resembled a dairy cow. It rested its head on the bed by my leg, and I could swear the fucker was smiling at me. Its snout was wet and glistening as he sniffed around the bed, probably trying to figure out who the fuck I was. I covered my bare thigh with the blanket so he would stop wetting it with his piggy grossness.

  “Don’t think you’re special. Oscar’s a flirt. He does this with all the ladies,” a familiar voice said, and my gaze snapped from the pig at my side to the man leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles casually, comfortably. His cocky smirk sent shivers up my spine and made my heart race.

  “How am I here? Why?” I asked, wracking my brain for a reason. The last thing I remembered was waiting for my bus and then…and then I had no idea.

  “Simple. I brought you here.” Preppy’s white shirt was perfectly pressed, the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. He wore a pink bow tie with some kind of design, although I couldn’t make it out, but whatever it was, his suspenders matched. He was a contrast of tattoos and class. Like hipster meets teacher. A combination that worked for him, but had me questioning who the fuck he really was and what he wanted with me.

  I pulled the covers over my bare chest and noticed the sSrawberry Shortcake pattern on the sheets. A quick glance around the small room confirmed where I was.

  My childhood room, back at Mirna’s.

  “Mirna!” I shouted, forgetting about the sheet and sitting up on my knees in the bed. “Where is she?” I demanded, “Did you hurt her? This wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything!”

  He smiled and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. I followed his gaze down to my naked chest. I needed answers more than I needed to cover up. He outwardly ogled me, and if he thought that I’d cower or grow uncomfortable under his inspection, then he’d thought wrong. Instead of grabbing for the sheet again or crossing my arms over my chest, I defiantly placed my hands on my hips.

  “You’re welcome for saving you twice in one night by the way.”

  “I wasn’t thanking you,” I spat. “And what do you mean twice?”

  Just then Mirna’s white hair appeared in the doorway. She placed a hand on Preppy’s shoulder and he stepped aside. Relief flooded me. She was alive and appeared unhurt. My first instinct was to run to her and throw myself into a hug, but I remembered how she was when I saw her last and didn’t want to scare her by tossing my battered naked body into her arms, when she didn’t even know who I was.

  No longer needing to prove my point to Preppy, I reached for the sheet and wrapped it around my body. “Hi,” I said with a small wave, clutching the sheet to my chest. Mirna crossed the room, slowly walking over to the bed with her mouth agape. There was something different about her than the day before. More focused. I cautiously reintroduced myself. “I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday, but my name is…”

  “Andrea.” Mirna said, cutting me off. She scooped me off the bed like I was still an infant, cradling me in her arms and burying her face in my neck. “I know who you are, my sweet girl. Oh, thank Jesus. My Andrea is home,” she sobbed, her tears warm on my cheek.

  She recognized me.

  That’s when my own tears started to flow. And for that moment, Conner, Eric, or even the man still standing in the doorway didn’t matter. The sheet had fallen back to the bed and I again was naked. Wrapped up in Mirna’s loving arms like a newborn, surrounded in her superhero like protection. Safe and sound from a life I never wanted to go back to.

  There would be no baptism into death. I wanted to live. And there, in my grandmother’s arms, I was reborn.

  Preppy cleared his throat and our spell was broken.

  “Samuel go get my robe please. It’s hanging on the back of my door.” Mirna set me down on the bed and sat down next to me, keeping my hand tightly in hers. Her eyes were wet and puffy, just as I imagined mine were. Preppy left and came back seconds later, chucking the robe at me. I quickly covered up, tying the sash around my waist. Mirna tentatively touched her fingertips to my cheek, as if she still couldn’t believe I was real. “Samuel,” she said, turning back to Preppy. “This is my granddaughter. This is my Andrea. My girl’s finally come home.”

  I leaned into her hand and we both sighed.

  I’d always hated being close to people. Never cared to be touched or to hold hands. But my grandmother had always been different. Maybe it was that she was older. Maybe I liked the way her wrinkled skin felt wise and safe.

  “Well isn’t this a lucky coincidence?” Preppy barked, running a hand through his hair and stepping fully into the room until he was only a few inches away, towering over us as he looked down, his lips twisted in confusion.

  “Yes,” Mirna said. “What’s wrong, Samuel?”

  “What’s wrong?” Preppy asked, his eyes locking on to mine. Suddenly, I realized that this reunion with my grandmother was going to be short lived. He was going to tell her about the roll I played in destroying her plants, and any hopes I’d had to reconnect with my grandmother would be left in that room when I was thrown out. Preppy paused and glanced between us. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his mood lightening. “I knew you looked familiar, should have known from the six million pictures of you hanging around here.” He turned to Mirna. “But she looks a bit different now, doesn’t she?” he asked her, like he was setting up a joke for the punchline.

  “Yes, she does,” Mirna said, taking in my appearance. “Did I do this?” she asked Preppy, pointing to an IV drip next to the bed that I hadn’t even realized was there. I raised my hand where tape residue and a bruise from the needle was still on the back of it.

  “That’s the reason why you’re not in a world of hurt right now,” Preppy said to me, before answering Mirna. “Yep, you did this, you fixed her up good, like you always fix everyone up good,” Preppy said, his kindness toward Mirna taking me off guard. I didn’t know what to make of this person. His every word, his every move was as contradictory as his clothes and tattoos. “When I found her in rough shape last week, I brought her here. Never thought she was your granddaughter though, that’s just a happy accident.”

  “Last week!” I exclaimed. Mirna’s gasp mirrored my own. “I’ve been here for a week?”

  “Yeah, Mirna gave you some night-night juice and pumped you full of some vitamin concoction that had you snoring worse than Oscar,” Preppy said, bending down to pat the pig I’d forgotten all about. “Kept you from feeling the worst of it.”

  “You’ve been here for an entire week and I’m only just seeing you now,” Mirna said to me. She turned to Preppy, “A week is the longest I’ve…” she started to say before stopping and putting on a brave face, straightening her posture and wiping at her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s fine. You’re here now, and that’s all that really matters.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, wanting so badly for that to be true.

  “I’m going to step into the kitchen and leave you girls alone to catch up for a minute,” Preppy announced. He bent over and kissed Mirna on the top of the head, and instinctually I flinched. Preppy chuckled and left the room.

  I really wanted to ask Mirna what her arrangement was with him, the plants, all of it, but not knowing the situation, I didn’t want to bring up anything that might accidentally upset her.

  “Tell me you’re here to stay,” Mirna said, eagerly awaiting my answer.

  That’s when
I realized that staying wasn’t a choice. I had nowhere else to go. “My dad. He thought I was coming home. He was probably waiting for me at the bus station.” My heart hurt, and my body again felt sick when I imagined the look on his face when I didn’t get off that bus.

  “We will call him, dear. I’m sure we can talk to him and tell him…”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t. That was my last chance. If I wasn’t on that bus…” I couldn’t finish. I didn’t want to say out loud that my dad was no longer my family.

  “Let’s get you sorted out first, and then we’ll worry about everything else later,” Mirna said, again reassuring me when it was me who should’ve been reassuring her. But that was Mirna. “Just tell me you’re staying.”

  Preppy answered for me, popping his head back in and unhooking a pink leash from a small rack on the wall. “If she’s smart like you, Mirna, she’ll be sticking around for a while.” He winked and disappeared again with the cow-colored, dog-sized, pig grunting after him down the hall.

  His words were disguised as a polite invitation, but I knew what they really were.

  A warning.

  When Mirna and I were finally alone I turned back to her, prepared to launch into a million questions when she yawned. Her eyelids were heavy. “I think you and I have some catching up to do, my dear,” she said, rubbing her temples. “The only cost of rent here is your honesty. I expect that you’ll tell me everything.” She turned my hand over and ran her fingertips up the raised scars on my arm, inspecting my shame. “And I do mean everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mirna patted my hand. “It seems things have changed quite a bit for the both of us, haven’t they?”

  I glanced at the wall that separated us from him, like I could see him through it, and wondered what game he was playing at. “Yes, it seems they have.”

  Eight

  PREPPY

  During the days that Dre was comatose I poured myself into work, determined to have two more Granny Growhouses set up by the end of summer, which was going to be hard, considering the amount of work each one took and I had no one around to help me. Work was all I did.

  Well, and I watched some porn.

  And then there was that wee bit of blow I did.

  While watching porn.

  And the smidge of weed I smoked.

  With that waitress from Presto’s who takes it up the ass like it’s her fucking job.

  I motherfucking digress.

  While Dre went through her withdrawals as a vegetable, I checked in on Mirna like usual. She did manage to have a few moments of clarity, but most of the time she was back to thinking she was in her twenties and waiting for her husband to get home from the war.

  During one of her clearer times she talked about Dre, and it was obvious that she adored her granddaughter, smiling and laughing while telling me stories of her devilish childhood, where apparently Dre had spent a lot of time breaking shit. There was even love in her voice when Mirna told me that she’d received cancelled checks back from the bank in the mail to the tune of $1,700. All made out to cash. All forged. She’d closed the account, but it wasn’t until Dre showed up that she knew who was behind it.

  I wasn’t exactly in a place to reprimand someone for their life choices, but ripping off her own grandmother made me so pissed, I was surprised that when Dre woke up that I hadn’t immediately grabbed her by the throat and pushed her out the door.

  Shit, if Mirna hadn’t come in and been with it, I just might have.

  I made a mental note to look into getting a trustee set up for Mirna’s finances so there was no chance of anyone ripping her off while her condition continued to get worse. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be living on her own anymore.

  “Why didn’t I get on that bus?” Dre asked from behind me. I turned to find her standing next to the table, her hands fighting with the sash of the robe that swallowed her small frame in billowing white cotton. Her long black hair was wild around her face. Her deep-brown eyes burned holes into me as she waited for me to answer.

  I turned my attention back to the stove where I’d burnt yet another pancake. “Motherfucker.” I tossed it into the trash bin and started over again, pouring a ladle of batter onto the hot pan. “Seriously, is this making pancake business some sort of holy magic? Do I need a wand and a Harry Potter spell?” I grumbled. “Maybe there is something wrong with this stove.” I adjusted the heat setting and again read the side of the box of mix to make sure I didn’t do something to it that somehow made the magical pancakes flammable, almost instantly burning. “Where’s Mirna?” I asked, ignoring her question and flipping my newest attempt which landed on the side of the pan, batter splattered on the burner with a hiss.

  “She’s laying down for a while.”

  “Excellent!” I exclaimed, pointing at her with my spatula. “It will give us a chance to have a little breakfast, a little chat, and a little bit of threatening. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I pulled out a chair from the little dinette table and made a grand sweeping gesture with the spatula for her to take a seat.

  Her eyes darted to the chair, but she didn’t move.

  “Sit down,” I repeated. “It’s not a suggestion,” I warned. She came forward, hesitantly. I pushed in her chair with a little more force than necessary, pushing her legs out from under her, causing her ass to plunk down hard onto the seat. I leaned over her shoulder. “Now was that so hard?” I whispered against her neck. Her shiver gave me a deep satisfaction I felt all the way down to my toes.

  I made my way back over to the stove and looked over the sad stack of six, lopsided, half-burnt pancakes that looked more like the sad survivors of the pancake apocalypse than breakfast.

  I took off Mirna’s “Kiss the cock” apron that used to say “Kiss the cook” but with one little swipe of a permanent marker, I had made it way more my speed. I set the stack of zombie pancakes in the center of the table and took the seat next to Dre. I placed a small stack in front of her and the rest I took for myself, pouring syrup over both plates. “Okay, now we can talk,” I announced, taking a bite of what tasted more like baking powder and foot than fluffy delicious pancakes.

  “You want to know why you’re here? Right? You’re here because one of your buddies decided to dose you full of heroin, drag you across the parking lot into some shit bag motel, and play hide the salami while you drooled all over yourself.” I turned my head and opened my mouth to mimic her facial expression.

  She winced.

  “Truth fucking hurts, Doc.” I shoved more of the awful tasting pancakes in my mouth, and I knew exactly what they tasted like. Failure.

  “Doc?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Yeah, like Dr. Dre. Remember? Or do we have to start at the beginning again? Okay, lets do this. I’m Samuel Clearwater, my friends call me Preppy.”

  “I remember,” she said, her pancakes remaining untouched.

  “Anyway, saw what was happening and went and…retrieved you. Brought you back to Mirna’s ‘cause she’s a nurse. Even when she’s a little out of it, she still remembers her training. Didn’t know you were her granddaughter,” I said, speaking with my mouth full. If I didn’t hate wasting food so much I’d have spit it out, but instead I swallowed hard and chugged my orange juice.

  “You could have just left me there,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, I could of.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I stabbed my fork into another piece. I held it up and examined the food on my fork. I glanced up at Dre’s doll-like eyes that were as black as her hair. “I have no fucking clue.”

  “Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

  “Hospitals tend to ask a fuck of a lot of questions when you bring in a girl who’s doped up on H.”

  “Why would questions be a bad thing when you’re the one who saved me.”

  “Because, Doc, questions lead to answers, and in this case, answers lead to bodies.” She gasped.

  �
�Shit.” Her face paled.

  “There’s that realization I was waiting for. I was wondering when that would happen. Took you long enough. But I’ll chalk up your slow reaction time to just waking up from a semi-coma. Remind me not to challenge you to a game of sudoku anytime soon.”

  “Bodies?” she asked slowly, standing from the chair. I grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her back down.

  “Well, body,” I corrected, “Just one, though. But you know, bodies sound better for dramatic effect and all that.” I took another gulp of juice. “So let’s just say that one of them is no longer available for shooting up in a dark alley, beating you to a pulp, stealing my plants, or long walks on the beach.” I set down the glass. “In the words of the oh-so-wise Taylor Swift,” I leaned across the table. “‘Never ever. Like ever.’”

  “Eric? You killed Eric?” she asked, and I knew she was confirming that it wasn’t Conner, whatever false sense of loyalty she had toward the motherfucker was really pissing me off. Until I realized that was exactly who I’d killed.

  Oops.

  “Yep, it was totally Eric,” I agreed, shoving more pancakes into my mouth and trying not to gag.

  “So he’s…”

  “Dead? Oh yeah. Very dead.”

  There was nothing readable about Dre’s expression, which was disappointing. I was looking forward to seeing her afraid. After all, I’d just admitted that I’d made good on my threat and had killed someone she knew, albeit not the person she’d wanted me to kill, but she didn’t know that.

  To-ma-to, to-mah-to.

  She was more out of it than I’d originally thought. “You killed him,” she said, slowly. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

  I held up my index finger and my thumb, slowly closing the gap between them, peering over at Dre through the tiny slit that remained. “Little bit.”

  “I don’t think you can kill someone a little bit.”

  “Oh, well then, a lot a bit. I killed him a lot of bit.”