The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes)

by Raley, Richard

  “I’m confused again,” Raj whispered.

  Pocket was nodding though. “No, he’s on to something here.”

  “Damn right I am. The way to get to Miranda ain’t to do her a favor, it’s to get her to do a favor for you,” I said.

  “But . . . how does he do that?” Pocket asked.

  “He tells her the truth—”

  “How is this different than just asking her?” Raj interrupted.

  “—but not the whole truth. He tells her he’s worried about getting a date. Tells her that he knows they’re just friends—“

  “I don’t want to be just friends,” Raj interrupted again.

  “—but if she’d go as his date so he can save face . . . that would be so amazing of her,” I finished.

  Pocket nodded along. “That might work.”

  “But I don’t want to be just friends!”

  “Hey,” I told him, “you just asked for me to get you a date, not for me to get you firecrotch sex.”

  “But I don’t want to be just friends!”

  Now if I can just surprise Valentine somehow. Without the whole flashing her thing that Pocket suggested. How does a person show they have hidden depths when they don’t think they have any?

  Or doesn’t want to admit to them . . .

  Session 128

  Hugs.

  Tears.

  Women weeping.

  A father weeping.

  At least all the cops had mostly cleared out by the time we returned to Casa De Ward. Only a lone patrol car remained, obtusely parked a few houses down the street.

  It was still nighttime. 4AM? 5AM? Can’t say I bothered to check a clock or a phone. Too tired, too beat up. Had a nice taser burn and a pistol-whip to the head added on top of my collection of bruises and blood.

  Felt like shit.

  Felt beaten.

  Felt some pain.

  Ain’t no bigger pain than the pain of failure.

  Paine . . .

  The cop car wasn’t the only addition to the place. No news-vans, thank the Mancy, but plenty more vehicles to make up for it. A truck and an SUV both screamed Asylum, brand new, middle-of-the-road hybrids. Four, five more cars than that. Higher end, few of them electrics.

  Guess it makes sense. Shoot out, daughter of a local businessman kidnapped. Shit . . . even with ESLED and the Council working overtime it has a good chance of hitting national news. Local for sure.

  The vultures might have moved off for now, but they’d be back tomorrow for updates. And once something hit local news your phone would be off the hook.

  The Wards are a real family, not like mine back in Visalia. Aunts, uncles, cousins and shit. Grandparents. No shit, King Henry, of course they’d all show up to support Peter and Ronnie through the tough times. That’s what families do: support each other.

  Heh.

  The lucky few at least.

  Val drove up, parked, and we got out of the car. Neither of us bothered to unload our suitcases. Too tired. “I should put some Slush on that cut,” Val said in passing.

  But I shook my head. “Ain’t gonna scar, leave it.”

  Not sure what it says about me, but I was more worried about the bullet damage my GOB had taken than anything the kidnappers had done to me. Cut during a fight . . . what’s new about that?

  The front door had been boarded-in and wrapped in police tape, so we went in through the side door. Lights were still on, so not like we were sneaking in, but I’d hoped for something other than a crowd of people to greet us.

  A bunch of faces snapped up as Valentine stepped into the kitchen. One gave a shriek and then Ronnie was across the room and hugging the life from Val. Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone be that glad to see me. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” Ronnie kept repeating on a loop.

  I stepped around them, ignored the stares from all the other faces. Female faces. Aunts and Grandma Ward I guessed. Four of them, all dark haired. One of them didn’t look too different from how I imagined Christmas would one day.

  Just what I wanted to see right now.

  It took me a moment to realize the faces were all hopeful that I’d have good news. Even I didn’t have the stones to tell them the truth. Christmas is on her way to being sold off to a madman who, from what I can tell, will be doing experiments on her and keep her locked up like a prisoner.

  Instead, I managed to give a shake of the head.

  Nothing like crushing hopes and dreams to end a shitty day.

  Peter Ward came flying in from some other part of the house and joined in on the hugfest. We’ve established I’m a coward when it comes to emotions, so it’s not much of a surprise that I focused in on a coffeemaker they had going and not the reunion behind me. I found the biggest mug I could find, poured some black wonder fluid into it, and hightailed it when I heard Val cry out, “we almost had her, Dad, we almost had her!”

  Let Val explain.

  Let her have all the emotions.

  All I wanted was my anger.

  All I wanted was to be that fourteen-year-old boy who hates the world again.

  Who doesn’t care.

  Just for a few hours . . .

  In the living room where the kidnappers had first crashed into the house, a number of men sat around on the couches and chairs. I recognized two of them, but gave no clue that I had. Without meeting a single eye, I walked over to a liquor cabinet, found a bottle of Kahlua, and kept on walking all the way outside, hardly noticing that the backdoor was still broken glass.

  Mug down on my favorite patio table from the day before, I poured Kahlua until the coffee almost overflowed. I unbelted my GOB, threw it beside both the mug and the bottle. The patio was lighted by huge solar panel fueled lampposts. No strain on the eyes at all as I pulled at the links, checking and scowling over the damage.

  They left me out there for half an hour before Peter Ward popped out to check and see if I was alive. He didn’t sit, but he watched me work the triangular links apart, straightening each one back into place with my thumbs. “Another invention?” he eventually asked.

  “Yup.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It got shot about forty times.”

  Silence. “Valentine didn’t get—“

  “No . . . she’s fine. My stupid ass was the one who got caught; her perfect ass is the one who rescued me. Amazing daughter you have. Every time I think I have her figured she surprises me.”

  “Two amazing daughters,” Peter Ward whispered.

  “Yeah. Listen, I know—“

  “I wanted to thank you for at least trying . . . and . . . and for talking to us about the school, showing us what you can really do, it’s helped me understand Valentine more than you can imagine. I always wondered why she became so distant at times, but . . . now I know; she’s just worried about us getting hurt if she doesn’t keep a lid on things.”

  I studied the bent links of the GOB, frustrated I hadn’t brought along any of my custom-made Artificer tools. As was, I couldn’t do anything about the anima channels with huge missing gaps in them and I doubted the GOB would do more than unfold itself and stagger over on its side the next time I activated it. But . . . it was better if I focused on what I could actually fix instead of . . . what I’d fucked up . . .

  “I know both you and Valentine tried your hardest to get her back,” Peter Ward eventually continued with the guilt trip. He was just trying to be stand up and all that, but it only pissed me off more and more with each word.

  “We did . . . wasn’t enough.”

  He finally sat down at the patio table with me. There was just a touch of the barest purple in the sky, hinting that dawn was coming. I was too exhausted to even think about sleep. We’d passed through overtime and into wartime. “Can I trust the other three mancers to help find Christmas or should I call in the real FBI? It will bring the news vans back but . . . going traditional and using social networking might be a good idea. Everyone has a camera on their phone nowaday
s.”

  “Why not ask Val?”

  “She fell asleep on the couch the minute she sat down.”

  I couldn’t believe it, but that made me smile. “Some things don’t change.”

  Peter looked hopeful I’d expound.

  “Back at school . . . the teachers liked to line up their tests so it would really stress us out. That place, even how you handle the test is a test. When they did it, Val would always get worked up. Leg shaking, clicking her teeth. Calmest person you ever seen most days, but those tests . . . she’d just get worked up. Then she’d ace test after test because she’s brilliant, and then we’d finish the schooling, go to the common room for a few minutes, then all go out to dinner together.

  “We’d look around and we’d realize there was no Valentine. One of us would volunteer to go back to the dorms and sure enough, we’d find her asleep on the couch, completely crashed from all the anxiety overload. And there she’d sleep all night no matter how hard we tried to wake her . . .”

  Peter Ward got tears in his eyes but smiled along with me. “Ah . . . yes, it was the same with doctor visits when she was little. Nervous before and out like a light in the backseat of the car afterwards.”

  “The Asylum will do everything they can to find your daughter, Mister Ward,” I told him, “So am I.”

  “But can I trust them?” he asked again, nodding toward the living room.

  Jason Jackson . . . a Recruiter of all things. Guy could barely read or write when he came to the Asylum, but now he looked like a million dollars in designer jeans, a designer jersey, and designer tennis shoes. Val said they use him in the inner cities and I guess the outfit was part of that. Show off some style to the poor ethnic kids, promise them a better life.

  I really should look kindly on the career choice. Being friends with Heinrich fucking Von fucking Welf he could have joined his buddy doing whatever it is rich old-school mancers do after graduating. Instead, Jason decided to be useful, help save the world in his own way. Like Val, like Ceinwyn. One kid at a time.

  But . . .

  Fucking but, I still recall all them fights with Welf and all them fights with Jason too. Hard to trust him, hard to get over all the schoolyard feelings. Val had mentioned him going on strange trips with Welf, what was that about? And I’d just fought another huge corpusmancer a day before . . . shit, could it be?

  More like you want it to be, Price.

  Curator turns out to be Heinrich Welf means you finally get to say ‘I told you so’, you finally get to smash his face in for the last time.

  I’d known Jason was coming to help out the Wards, but the other face had been a surprise. Estefan Ramirez popping up again when I’m in trouble. He’d been there after the whole Coyote thing to get Detective Ribera off my back. Here he was helping with Christmas Ward. Nothing bad to say about Estefan, he’s a good guy—maybe a little crazy seeing how he married Debra a week after we graduated from school—but he’s a good guy.

  Was never the brains of any operation though. Just a junior ESLED agent still . . . a match for this Curator? Don’t make me laugh.

  “The senior agent leave?”

  Peter nodded. “Truman Martin, he said his name was. He went off to contact local sources or some other excuse.”

  “Probably the Vamps . . .”

  “What?”

  “Oh . . . vampires are kind of real, although very different from popular mythology.”

  “What?”

  “Truman Martin . . . why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Why would . . . vampires . . . know anything about Christmas?”

  “Cuz they’re nosy about everything. Don’t worry though, ain’t them that has your daughter.”

  “Don’t worry . . . all I can do is worry.”

  “Yes, you can trust the Asylum to get your daughter back,” I finally said, mostly to distract him from the freak out coming over the horizon, “You can trust the Asylum to teach her once you have her back. More importantly . . . like I said, you can trust me. I’m not stopping on this one. No matter who gets in my way. Even if it is the Asylum. Takes me ten fucking years, I’ll still be at it.”

  Peter seemed to digest this information. “Alright then . . . I see why Valentine likes you.”

  “Uh . . .”

  A bitter curve took over his lips. “First lesson of this family: don’t tell my wife anything you don’t want her entire rolodex to hear about.”

  “What’s a rolodex?”

  “And now I feel very old again . . .”

  “Well, why don’t you go tell everyone what’s going on? Let them know I’ve got another plan. Just not Val, mind you, let her sleep. Also, tell Jackson and Ramirez to get their asses out here already, and make sure Jackson brings his Recruiter communication gizmo with him.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes, but I saw the hope swell up in Peter Ward at my words.

  Never trust the Asylum.

  Lies, all lies.

  And never trust me..

  Cuz I have a plan alright: a plan to get both me and your daughter very dead.

  [CLICK]

  Ceinwyn’s face popped up on the video communicator after the first ring. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “King Henry . . . are you okay?”

  “Never fucking better.” I made sure to curse, how else could she tell it’s really me and not an imposter? I could be a vamp or something. Course . . . vamp would have my memories if they ate me up. Fucking don’t like that thought at all . . . could be anyone . . .

  And this is why no one wants to go to war with them even if they’re eating on people every damn day.

  Well . . . no one but the Curator.

  “And Valentine?”

  “We really pretending Ramirez hasn’t been texting you updates every five seconds on what I’m eating and drinking or whether I’m having regular bowel movements?”

  “We taught you everything but manners it seems . . .”

  I gave my I-don’t-care shrug. “When that ever bother you?”

  Being Ceinwyn Dale, she smiled, but it was despite herself. She looked tired, exhausted, and run ragged, all three of them combined. Ageless Ceinwyn Dale showing the lie to that title. First time I ever thought Ceinwyn looked to be in her forties. “I’ll have you know, I went to finishing school as a little girl, King Henry.”

  She was sitting down somewhere, a tall seat behind her. There was also a slight rattle to the camera view. “You on a plane?”

  “I’m refueling in New York, I’ll be in San Francisco in a few hours to help you.”

  “Ah.”

  Her smile wilted. “I don’t like that tone.”

  “What?”

  “That’s your ‘I’m-going-to-do-something-rash’ tone.”

  “Well . . . guilty. Unless you have some information that convinces me otherwise. Yeah, rash, like a rash on your asshole even Noxzema won’t cleanse, ya know the kind?”

  She sighed, looking even most tired than before. “I know they attacked you, King Henry, but you have to let these things go and let the Institution handle it. Surely you learned that with the Vega situation.”

  “The Vega thing . . . that was a huge fuck up,” I admitted, “because I assumed some shit. This time though . . . this is the real deal. This is the bad motherfucker hurting those close to me, doing heinous shit to innocent children. Got the word it’s him from his own people, from Vega, and the Vamps. Triple checked, Ceinwyn, this guy needs to go down. So much confirmation even CNN couldn’t fuck this story up.”

  She perked up. “You’ve found out who’s behind this?”

  I scoffed, “You haven’t?”

  “Everyone’s silent on the issue. I even sent Agent Martin to personally meet with Duchess Antonia, but have yet to hear back from him. Vega’s unhelpful, I’ve been unable to contact Mister Washington since you arranged your deal with him, and the Institution’s own sources are flummoxed by this event, they’ve never heard of anything like it.”

&n
bsp; Another part of growing up is admitting your parents and the adults around you are just as fallible as anyone else. Often just as big as fucktards as anyone else too. Not in the angry, rebellious, teenage way of thinking that the whole world sucks, but a clear-eyed look at the cruel reality of mortal limits. “And here I hoped you’d save me from myself . . .”

  “Perhaps if you stopped being so elusive and tell me what you—“

  “The Curator,” I said, again using the name like a cudgel to judge the reaction it got.

  Ceinwyn’s nose flared and her eyes went as frosty as I’ve ever seen them. But she said nothing, waiting me out.

  My turn to smile, though to be fair it was more of a snarl. “I don’t know what he does with them, but apparently he collects and experiments on mancers . . . and he really dislikes him some vampires judging how he’s killed the shit out of them. New power in the world, right? Yeah, he’s behind this, or behind the guy kidnapped Christmas at least, paying him for delivering her. I’m sure all your researchers at the Asylum will notice soon enough that there’ve been others over the last few months. Kids disappearing, crazy people disappearing, all sorts going gone. Scooped up for a quick payday from the Curator. Only this is the first time someone was stupid enough to be aggressive about it, got on the Asylum’s radar.

  “So, Ceinwyn, what can you tell me about the Curator? Know enough about him to save me from myself? Know enough to convince me sitting back and letting you handle this thing is the right move?”

  She stared through the video screen for a long time. Watching me. Studying me. Weighing me. “Estefan . . . Jason . . . if he tries to leave that house you’re to physically stop him, use of the Mancy is also allowed.”

  I felt both the guys nod from behind me. Well . . . that would complicate things. Unless . . . here I hoped she’d help me, but instead Ceinwyn was just driving me further into my desperation. It wasn’t really betrayal, just an adult doing what was best for a person she still saw as that fourteen-year-old boy with the redneck hair, the torn jeans, and the dirty tee-shirt.