“What? All right.”
He went back into his office and closed the door. His head began to pound. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.
“Not now, mother. Not now...”
He called the hospice. The receptionist connected him with Ms. Heller.
“Doctor Brenhurst,” she said. “I'm afraid your mother has had a stroke.”
Sweat burst from his pores. The telephone handset was slick in his grasp.
“Is she...?”
“No. But it can't be long, Doctor.” She was silent for a beat. “Doctor Brenhurst, can you –”
“Is she conscious? Lucid?”
“She is conscious, yes. But her condition... her awareness... it comes and goes, Doctor.”
“Worse than before?”
“I'm afraid so, yes. Your mother is deteriorating rapidly. If you could just –”
“Thank you, Ms. Heller.” Brenhurst's found it difficult to push words though his dry throat. “I know you'll keep my mother comfortable until I arrive.”
“Do you think you'll be long? Your mother...”
“Thank you, Ms. Heller.” Brenhurst hung up the phone and stared at it for more than a minute. Finally, he picked it up again and pressed a button.
“Tamara. Please tell agents Turban and Pratt to prepare for the field. And order me a sandwich – that big one with the pastrami I like, from the place – and bring me a pitcher of water, would you? I missed lunch.”
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Thirty Eight
Thursday night at last.
Jason answered the door dressed entirely in black, from his shoes to his knit cap. Once we were in Lina’s car, he pulled a tin of shoe polish out of his back pocket and started painting his face.
I knew Jason would be perfect for our little mission tonight, but this made me laugh. “Dude. We’re not crossing over the Berlin Wall, you know that, right?”
He smiled gleefully. “Might as well do it right, right?”
Lina shook her head. “Fucking A-Team.” She smiled, though. I think she understood why I’d chosen Jason for tonight over Mel.
She let us out three doors up from Byron’s house. At Jason’s insistence, Lina killed her lights half a block before we got out, and kept them off until she was around the corner.
On the opposite side of the street, a steep hillside loomed in the dark, overgrown with brush, elephant grass, and eucalyptus trees. Jason shook a hang-loose hand sign at me and disappeared into that cover.
The street lamp made it close to daylight for my sensitive eyes. As I slinked up to the side of Byron’s house, I had to remind myself I was much less obvious than I felt. I crouched down beside the rear bumper of Byron’s dad’s Chevy Dually. I listened, like only I could.
Television sounds. Doors slammed. A large shadow passed inside the living room window, back lit by the flickering light of the TV.
I waited.
A commercial played through, and whatever they were watching resumed. I crept to the front door, stabbed the doorbell with my finger, and dashed with all my considerable speed for the cover of the brush across the street.
I saw Byron open the door and look around. I could see his slight smile in the cool porch light. He closed the door. Faintly, I made out, “Nobody there, dad.”
The tang of the eucalyptus made my nose itch. I squeezed my nostrils between my fingers, hard. No sneezing allowed!
I counted to one thousand, slowly. A delicate breeze marked Jason at just about twenty five feet to my right. I smiled. His shoe polish reeked... to me, anyway.
At one thousand and one, I slipped across the street. Again, I stabbed the doorbell. I knew I wouldn’t have as much time, so I darted around the side of their house and crouched below a window.
Byron came to the door again. He put on a good effort. “Damn it!” I heard the door close. “Someone’s doorbell ditching us, dad.”
Anyone could have heard Byron’s dad’s response. Across the street, even.
“God damn punks! I don’t work my ass off all day to put up with this shit! What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
Hearing Byron’s dad blame his kid for an apparently anonymous prank was confirmation for what Lina and I suspected: this guy had a temper.
I counted to two thousand and listened to the sounds inside the house. The television blared on. Someone rustled through the refrigerator. Byron’s dad belched wetly.
Two thousand and one. I rang the bell and shot for the cover of the Dually.
Byron’s dad threw open the door. “I know you little shits can hear me! You do not want me to kick your asses!”
He slammed the door.
Across the street, brush rustled, then spat out a palm-sized rock that smacked against the front door of Byron’s house. Bulls-eye, Jason.
I thought the door would come off its hinges when Byron’s dad threw it open and blasted outside. “God damn punks!”
From the darkness across the street, Jason called out in a warbling falsetto, “Oh shithead…!”
Byron’s dad stepped away from the front stoop. He was no more than eight feet from me. I stopped breathing.
Mister Teslowski was a big man. Wide. Tall. His face was dark red beneath his blonde flat-top. His fists clenched.
“Come down from there, you little shit, or I’ll bring you down myself!”
Jason sang, “Ooh, honey! I’m getting hot!”
I had to choke back laughter when Byron’s dad actually hawked, spit, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he lumbered across the street. He was playing right along.
Right after the last taunting, Jason would have made for higher ground and deeper cover. Byron’s dad went right up the hill and into the bushes. I shot across the street and headed up the hill to his right. He made so much noise thrashing around and tossing off threats to Jason, I didn’t have to be clever about it at all.
I crouched down and closed my eyes for a moment.
The ground felt moist through the knees of my jeans. A concrete drainage ditch up the hill carried a sour tint of mildew and moss. The eucalyptus odor was still strong, but I managed to suppress its impact as I built a mental map of the olfactory landscape. I hoped everybody stayed upwind.
Byron’s dad smelled like beer, potato chips, sweat, and old farts. No problem keeping track of him, even when he wasn’t crashing through the brush and breathing through his mouth. Further along, Jason’s shoe polish beacon was sharp and clear.
I took a deep breath, immersing myself in the sensorium of the hillside. I slowly exhaled through pursed lips and opened my eyes with a smile. I felt pretty good.
Jason called, “Lover boy..!” Byron’s dad pounded toward the sound of his voice, but I knew Jason moved as soon as he spoke. I crouched on all fours and crept toward Mr. Teslowski, staying a little higher on the hillside than him.
A sharp star of light suddenly appeared. A key-chain flashlight, I thought. Perfect. Now, even Jason could keep tabs on Byron’s dad. I smiled and moved until I was fifteen feet behind him, just up the hill.
He kept his light trained in the direction of Jason’s last catcall, which conveniently blinded him to most everything else. Jason was at the crest of the hill, probably laying prone, commando style, next to a tall stand of elephant grass.
I found a small rock and pitched it in a high arc. It landed just beyond Byron’s dad with a satisfying rustle of twigs and leaves.
I heard him bark with satisfaction. He snapped off the little light and did his best to creep toward the source of the sound.
From the top of the hill, Jason warbled, “I’m getting lonely over here, sweetie!”
Byron’s dad whirled and almost lost his balance on the slope. “Son of a bitch!”
I decided it was time to contribute to the conversation before he could move.
“Ooh, me too, big man!” Still on all fours, I moved up the hill until I was about sixty feet from Jason.
“You think it’s fun
ny, punk?” Mr. Teslowski started crashing toward me.
On the street below, I heard Lina’s car pull up to Byron’s house. Perfect.
“Hey, I’m gonna get jealous!” Jason’s falsetto now came from further down the hill. He had scurried almost to the sidewalk.
“You can’t have him.” I made kissing sounds and came to my feet. In my normal register, I added, “C’mon, dude. You’re never gonna get us both.”
I came to my feet and ran along the crest of the hill, counting on the night to obscure my features. Byron’s dad did his best to pursue me, but it was no contest, really. I dropped down the far side of the hill and lost myself in the Glen.
Byron’s dad gave it up.
Thankfully, there was no sign of the mysterious bear-bum’s scent on the wind. I’d been a little worried about that, but I started to think I’d imagined the whole thing. I pushed my unease away and jogged among the trees in high spirits.
I’d had a lot of opportunities to use my “talents” in the last two weeks. There was no denying the temptation to just be better than normal people. Especially when the normal people were bullies like Byron’s dad and Terrance Felder.
It struck me: if there were more people like me out there in the world, maybe fewer people would think it was okay to shit on other folks.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Thirty Nine
I emerged from the Glen three blocks away from Byron’s house and walked casually down the sidewalk until Lina’s car pulled up a few minutes later. I got into the front passenger seat. Byron and Jason were already in the back.
Lina gave me a little smile. “All done?”
“I guess so.” I squeezed her hand.
Jason slapped me on the shoulder. “Dude, we ran circles around him! That was so rad.” In the rear view mirror, I saw him wipe the shoe polish off his face with a threadbare Def Leppard bandanna.
Byron glanced out the window. “What happened with my dad?”
“He gave up,” I said. “I guess he went back to your house. He’s probably trying to figure out where in the hell you went.”
His eyes darted to meet mine in the mirror. He looked nervous. “What now?”
“I’m hungry.”
Lina leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “What a shocker.”
She drove us to a twenty-four hour place in Belltower Plaza. Byron kept looking at people in the other booths.
“Byron,” I said around a mouthful of chicken strip. “Relax.”
“Oh, sure.”
Jason twisted his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Dude, what’s your problem?”
Byron glared at him. “You don’t even know, Talbot. So shut up.”
Jason shook his head. “Oh. Okay. You’re, like, welcome, dude.”
Lina gave Jason a glare that made him sulk. “Will you two chill out?” She said to Byron, “My friend Carson is cool. He’ll put you up.”
“What about his folks?”
“He doesn’t have any,” Lina said.
Jason’s eyebrows went up. “Whoa.”
Byron’s expression seemed more thoughtful. If I were him, the idea of no parents would probably sound pretty good. No one around to sell him out, for one thing.
“What happened?”
“Plane crash,” Lina said. “Right before his eighteenth birthday.” Her eyes fogged for a split second.
I realized she’d known him then; probably been there to help him through it. I thought about the picture over the bed in Carson’s house. “Damn. This is really cool of him, then. To get involved.”
“He’s a sucker for the underdog,” Lina said, not unkindly. “Plus, he’ll do whatever I ask him to.”
My chest tightened. “He will? Why?” I didn’t want to sound jealous, but I could hear it coming out in my voice.
Lina gave me a curious look.
Byron said, “Does he know about the… does he know about me?”
“All I told him was that you needed to lay low for a while,” she said to him. “He’s taking a risk, too, you know. We’re all minors.”
Byron squirmed in his seat. “Oh. Yeah. So, he doesn’t know about the… you know…”
“What difference does it make? He’s not an idiot.” She looked at me. “And he’s not an asshole, either.” She swiveled back to Byron. “You wanna go back home, Byron?”
Byron looked at his chili fries.
“Fuck no.”
I stood up and looked at my watch. “Let’s go.”
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty
Nobody said much of anything while we drove to Carson’s. After the restaurant, there was way too much tension going around.
The flashing lights were obvious as soon as we turned onto Carson’s street.
“Put your head down, Byron.” I put my hand on Lina’s arm. “We have to turn around.”
“What’s going on?”
Down the street, two police cars were parked at an angle in front of the house. My eagle eyes caught a glimpse of Car standing in his driveway talking to three cops and two civilians. One of them was the right size and shape to be Byron’s dad.
I was pretty damn sure the other person was Doctor Lester Brenhurst.
“Fuck.”
“What, dude?” Byron started to straighten up. Jason shoved him back down.
Lina made a tight u-turn and got us back on the main drag.
“Okay, Byron.” My heart pounded. “You can get up now.”
He twisted around to look in the back window. “What the fuck?”
“Your dad was there with the cops. And that Brenhurst dude.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now? We are fucked!”
“Byron…” I tried to keep my voice cool. I actually thought we were pretty well fucked, myself.
“We’re fucked! No – I’m fucked! Game over, man! Game over!”
Jason shook his head, but he had a dickish little grin on his face. “Shit creek, dude.”
Bryon gave Jason a sudden and violent shove. “Fuck off!”
Jason was caught off guard. His head bounced off the car door window. “Hey! Chill out, fucker!”
“You chill out! You fuck off! I am fucked! I am so fucked!”
Byron’s voice cracked. I looked away. I didn’t need Byron losing it right then.
Lina sighed. “We have to take Jason home.”
Jason rubbed his head. “What did I do?”
I had some idea of where Lina was headed. My stomach tightened.
“That’s not it, Jase,” I said. “You’ve got to show up in school tomorrow.”
“Well, what about you guys?”
I looked at Lina. She managed a smile, and that stabilized me a little.
I made a decision.
“We’ll be in Kirby Lake.”
Lester Brenhurst – Seven
Brenhurst instructed Turban and Pratt to stay in the car when they arrived outside of Carson Meunetti's house. He was pleased to see Meunetti occupied with the police Brenhurst had called.
Marc Teslowski plodded up. His clothes were wet and muddy. He wiped his palm on his slacks and stuck it out for Brenhurst to shake.
“Thanks for coming over, doc... still don't know how you knew the kids would come here..!”
Brenhurst took the other man's hand and leaned in close. He spoke quietly.
“You have to promise not tell anyone, Mister Teslowski.”
Teslowski's eyes darted to Meunetti and back. “No problem, doc.”
“My brother is on the force,” he lied. “They've been watching this Meunetti character.” He looked over at the kid and made a face. “Drugs... you know.”
“No shit!”
“Shh... they've had the place under surveillance for months. When they heard about your son and the Charters boy, my brother recognized Byron’s name, and called me.”
They ended their handshake. Teslowski made fists. “If that son of mine is
a damn loadie..!”
“We can determine that when he comes to Tyndale Labs this weekend,” Brenhurst said. “In fact, that's one of the reasons I wanted to meet you here. I think it might be best if your son come with me tonight.”
“I've got no problem with that.” Teslowski snorted. “But... if he's gonna do your survey thing an extra day... we'll get paid for that, too, right?”
Idiot.
“Absolutely, Mister Teslowski.”
One of the police officers approached.
“The kids aren't here,” he told Teslowski. “And this guy's not admitting anything. If you want, we can haul him in, hold him for a while, but there's nothing to charge him with.”
Teslowski frowned. “Ain't you got, whatever you call it, probable cause, or whatever? Can't you just find some –”
Brenhurst cut him off. “Perhaps they went somewhere else first.”
The officer looked at him. “Are you a member of the family?”
“I'm a friend of the family.” Brenhurst looked at Teslowski. “Marc, what if we have the police check back tomorrow morning?” He leaned closer to Teslowski and whispered, “It'll be worse for Meunetti if we actually catch him with the kids.”
The cop nodded and was already walking back to his partner as he said, “Tell you what. You call us tomorrow, we'll come by here again if you want.” He looked at Meunetti. “If we find those kids here, you'll be in some trouble, Meunetti.”
He was pale. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Teslowski left with the police. Meunetti went back into his house. Brenhurst opened the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel.
“We're going to wait here for a while,” he told the agents. “If a car parks in front of that house, detain whoever gets out.”
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty
We dropped off Jason, then Lina drove back toward my house. She stopped the car a few doors down, around the corner.
“Are you sure about this?”
I was nothing like sure. I was scared. I felt guilty, and I hadn’t even done anything. Yet.
“I’m sure,” I said. “But you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to get into trouble.”
The Sovreign Era (Book 1): Brave Men Run Page 16