by Al Turner
“I do,” Pops said solemnly. “We have a lot more to worry about than Victor Lloyd.”
THE BIG EASY WAY
Joe Page looked at his watch. It was neither fancy nor high-tech. His mother had probably paid very little for it, but it was one of the few things he had left to remember her by—and the last thing she had given him before she died. He missed her.
Memories of his mother were not, however, why he was checking the watch. He wondered why his half-brother’s friend was calling him so late. He had met Rick Sanchez when he had accompanied him and Jack to a Saints game a couple of years before. They had gotten along okay and exchanged numbers.
He let the call go to voice mail, debating whether to listen to it now or wait until morning. Joe decided to wait. He owed that side of the family nothing—except his current business, the place he lived, the car he drove. Hell, he thought. For someone who cared so little for Pops, the bastard who had donated sperm to bring about his existence, he sure had accepted a lot of things from him over the years. Setting the phone down on his coffee table, he headed to the kitchen to grab a beer.
The phone rang again.
Swearing under his breath, he scooped it off the coffee table and answered it. “Hola,” he said. “Sanchez, what’s up?”
Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Joe walked back into the kitchen. He twisted the lid off the cold brew and took a big swig while Sanchez spoke.
“Hey, Joe. Sorry to bother ya so late, but Pops wants me to grab the suitcase from ya,” said Sanchez.
“Sure bro, I can fetch it,” said Joe. “Come by tomorrow to get it.”
“I’m actually on my way there now.”
“Tonight? No, dude, my girl’s coming back over. She’s already pissed that I worked all day and missed dinner.” He started pacing as Sanchez continued speaking.
“I hear ya, man, but it’s important I grab this tonight.”
“Well, it’s important I get laid tonight too, man,” Joe said irritated.
“Sorry, Joe.”
“Shit. Okay, come on over. Bye.”
Joe wasn’t in the mood for company, except that of the curvaceous, bleached blonde Wanda that he’d been dating off and on for the past couple of years. Between his busy schedule and her need for constant attention, their relationship never seemed to move forward. That, and she was a nut. He figured his lady would probably be gone by the time Jack’s friend arrived. She rarely stayed the night anymore. He was thankful for small favors.
Joe sat on his green fabric couch, drinking beer. His home wasn’t large, but it was in a nice neighborhood—and it was his, though he had accepted it from Pops. The man’s attempt to make good for not being in his life had its benefits. Still, gifts aside, he really didn’t care for Pops to be part of his life.
His half-brother Jack, on the other hand, was different. Initially, he hadn’t cared to get to know him either, but the guy was just a cool person to talk to. He had never approached Joe with anything but a desire to connect with his brother. He was also a good listener. Besides, he thought, nobody chooses their parents.
Jack had reached out years ago when he learned he had another brother. Joe remembered his surprise that a preacher actually drank, much less joined him at the casino once. The man listened to Joe vent about their dad and seemed to understand his anger with Pops for not attending his mother’s funeral. Their talks were actually therapeutic.
A knock on the door snapped him back to reality. He wasn’t expecting Wanda yet, but perhaps she decided to arrive early. Opening the door, he saw nothing. He stepped out and looked both ways. Did I imagine it? he thought. Closing the door, he walked back to the living room. His back porch light came on and he could see a shadow in the window.
Retrieving a revolver, another gift from his estranged dad, he opened the back door and stepped out. The source of the shadow was the lawn umbrella, which typically stood between two lounge chairs but was leaning against the window. It had been in its place earlier that morning. Someone was playing games with him.
“Who’s there?” he said and listened. His backyard was mostly a green-stained concrete deck surrounded by a cedar privacy fence. He was rather fond of the color green, as his house and car would attest. The gate was still latched and there was nowhere to hide, except behind his large grill. He crept over and peered around it.
Nothing.
After a moment of hearing nothing but a neighbor’s music seeping out of their walls, Joe went back inside. He tucked the pistol into the back of his blue jeans, concealing it under his black T-shirt. He headed back to his living room to finish his beer.
In his peripheral vision, he caught the movement—something coming at him. He instinctively turned, but the knife came at him fast. He felt it hit his stomach as he staggered backward and fell to the floor. The figure hovered over him.
Joe let out a yell, holding his hands up defensively. The white mask was something from a horror movie. The large knife was a dull gray with red covering its blade. He frantically felt for a wound. Surely being stabbed should hurt more, he thought.
Then he saw the person remove the mask. He noticed the blonde hair first, followed by those hazel eyes, and finally that familiar laugh. “What the hell!” he yelled.
Wanda was cackling with laughter as she tossed the mask and fake knife on top of his chest. They landed with a thud, making him flinch. He lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying to collect himself. “Crazy bitch,” he said, slowly sitting up. “What’s wrong with you? I could’ve shot you!”
Wanda took off the black apron that concealed her curves. Tossing it aside nonchalantly, she squatted down to look at him, her eyes ablaze with mischief. “Need to go change your shorts?” she asked with a wicked grin.
“Not funny. Help me up.”
“Sure,” she said, standing and unbuttoning her blue blouse. She bent down to show off her cleavage. “How’s this?”
“Cute,” Joe said, sweeping the mask and fake knife off himself before standing. “You change your hair?” It did look shorter, but mostly he just wanted to talk about something other than what a coward she had made him feel like. “Like it?” she said, striking a model’s pose and running her hand through her thick hair.
Shaking his head and straightening himself, he pulled the pistol from behind him and started for the living room. “It’s nice.”
Wanda looked surprised, her mouth agape. “You really had a gun? Shit.”
Joe stopped and turned. “And now you see why pulling a stunt like that was stupid.”
“No, owning a gun is stupid,” she said, still stunned. “Where’d you get that?”
Joe tried to retrieve the much-needed beer and didn’t bother to turn as he spoke. “Pops,” he answered. He set the firearm down and traded it for the beer. He took a long drink and tried to ignore Wanda’s glare.
“So you’ll accept a gun but turn down money from your old man?”
“It’s none of your business,” Joe said after finishing the beer. He walked past her, tossed the empty bottle in the trash, and grabbed another one. The hiss of the carbonation escaping and the click of the lid on the counter was music to his ears. “I’ve accepted enough. I don’t need anything else from him.”
“If you hate the bastard so much, take him for whatever he’s worth. We can milk him for money, trips to Europe, cars, whatever you want.” She followed him back into the living room.
It wasn’t the first time the subject had come up.
Her list reminded him of a sales pitch he was duped into listening to in Vegas from one of those time-share people. At least he got a free show for that one. He turned suddenly, causing Wanda to stop in her tracks. “I don’t hate the man—I just don’t care for him either. If you want to go milk someone’s family, go bother your own daddy. Last I heard, he wanted to make amends.”
“Screw that! The monster who donated a sperm for my existence doesn’t have money like your donor does. If he did, I’d make
him pay for all those years. “
“Well, I don’t want to be like you.”
The words seemed to sting at first, but she quickly shook them off. “Maybe you should be. It’s not like he worked hard for it. He’s a drug smuggler.”
Joe laughed at her words. “I never said he smuggled drugs. I once said the guy could be a smuggler for all I knew. Stop making shit up. I don’t want anything else from the man. It’s not like it would change the past anyway.”
“Well, if you don’t take advantage of it, you’ll never be anything more than his half-breed bastard.” Her cruel stare was unwavering.
Angrily, Joe pointed a warning finger at Wanda but said nothing. He wanted to kick her to the curb, but he knew makeup sex was the best, if not only, sex worth having with the woman. She could be quite selfish. But every time he wondered why he put up with the abuse, all he had to do was take one look at her. She might have been a spawn of hell, but the fiery pits had passed along primo genes.
Sitting down to enjoy his next beer, he decided the best thing to do was ignore her. She would hate that. True enough, she eventually tired of picking at him and disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink. Joe could hear her mumbling but chose not to pay attention. He turned on the fifty-inch television to check the news, ensuring the volume would drown out Wanda’s grumblings. Flipping through the various local and cable channels, he only saw the same polarizing garbage that everyone was typically subjected to. He clicked it back off again.
Wanda stayed in the kitchen for quite a while. When she returned to the living room, she was no longer wearing pants or underwear. Drifting quietly by Joe, she sat beside him on the couch and let him get a good look at what was beneath her open blouse.
This he did notice.
After plenty of foreplay and arguably some of the best sex they’d had in a while, they both drifted off to sleep on his couch.
In the back of his mind, Joe thought he heard knocking. He drifted back into consciousness and sat up, listening. He heard nothing; it must have been his imagination. He looked at his watch and figured he had been asleep a couple of hours. Damn, he thought, trying to disentangle himself from Wanda’s limbs. He quickly got dressed in boxers and a T-shirt.
The back porch light came on. Instead of going to the back door, which hadn’t turned out well the last time, he peeked out the closest window. Walking past his window were three figures. They went straight to his patio door. The girl in the group knocked. The two men stood behind her and waited.
Retrieving his gun, he waited to see what they would do. After a moment, the knocking grew louder. Joe sat there, watching through the blinds. Wanda sat straight up on the couch, still waking up.
“Joe?” she called.
“By the window,” Joe said in a low voice.
“Is somebody knocking?”
“Yes,” Joe said, watching the group.
Wanda found her own window and peered out. “Who’s the blonde? You expecting another plaything?”
Her jealousy was amusing to Joe, since he was certain she dated other men behind his back. Glancing over at her, he said, “Yeah, I thought I’d do her and the two dudes standing behind her,” he said. Wanda flipped him the bird and curled her upper lip into a snarl. As he turned back toward the window, he was startled to see piercing blue eyes staring back, just a few inches away.
“Hi,” said the girl through the window.
Joe jumped back and stumbled. Wanda giggled at the sight of him trying to regain his balance. After cursing a bit, he opened the blinds again. “Come to the front,” he said loudly.
Throwing on some pants, he met the three at the front door, the gun tucked behind him. They’re not much more than kids, he thought. Opening the door, he was greeted by a chorus of different salutations.
“What do you want?” Joe asked.
“Uncle Joe, it’s me, Carson.”
“Who?”
“Your niece,” Carson said, sounding offended he didn’t remember. “You know, your brother Jack’s daughter?”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t seen you since you were, like, a teenager.”
“I was twenty-three when I came to visit last year,” she said and walked past him. “You’d know that had you been listening to me instead of watching my boobs.”
“Really?” Joe said, feeling he had been abused enough for one night. He turned back to the two men who were still waiting to be asked in. “Who are these guys?”
“That’s Tripp, my brother and your nephew,” Carson called back from the other room. “You’ve never met him because he’s a homebody. The other guy is Daniel, his best friend.”
Joe followed Carson into the living room, where Wanda was sitting and glaring at her. Carson smiled and nodded at the woman, who was barely covered by the crumpled blouse she tried to hide her nakedness with.
“Oh hi,” said Carson. “You are?”
“Trying to sleep,” Wanda snapped.
Joe moaned. “Shit. Come on in,” he said, turning to Daniel and Tripp and motioning for them to come in.
“Who’s this?” Wanda demanded.
Tripp and Daniel appeared behind Joe.
“Whoa,” said Tripp, turning around in embarrassment as he spotted the woman’s partially uncovered breast. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Do I look like some old lady to you?”
“Chill, Wanda. The boy’s just trying to be polite,” said Joe.
“We’re family,” said Carson. Her hands moved to her hips as her eyes narrowed on the other woman.
“That’s nice,” Wanda said sarcastically. “More of the Page clan, I suppose? Did your dad screw a Chinese whore too?” She looked straight at Daniel.
Daniel looked taken aback by the comment. “I’m actually not related,” he said. “Also, I’m about a third Japanese.”
“Please tell me this isn’t my aunt,” Carson said.
“No, she’s not.” Joe said, and Wanda sneered. He had spoken too assuredly for her taste. “It’s late. I was expecting a dude named Sanchez to drop by, not you three.”
“Relax, Uncle Joe. He’ll be here. We passed him after crossing into Alabama. His truck is old and slow.”
“Then why are you here?” Joe said, irritated.
“Answers. We know something’s going on that involves this family. Since nobody else will tell us, I thought I’d introduce my brother to his uncle.”
Tripp offered a hand while using the other to shield his eyes from the sight of Wanda. Joe shook it and turned his attention back to Carson.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. If you came all the way from Florida to get answers from me, lil’ niece, you’ve wasted your time.”
“Yet Sanchez is coming here to pick up a briefcase. Look, I was kidnapped and held at gunpoint this morning—well, technically yesterday now—and I want some answers. What does Dad have in that case?”
Joe was still trying to determine if he had heard the part about kidnapping correctly when Wanda, suddenly interested, positioned herself between him and Carson.
“Yeah, Joe. What’s in the case?” said Wanda.
“I didn’t bother to look,” Joe said. “My brother asked me for a favor. I obliged.”
“Is it money? Let’s have a look-see,” said Wanda, excitement in her widening eyes.
“I’ll second that,” said Carson. She looked both unsure and glad someone else wanted what she did.
“It’s not here,” said Joe, repulsed at Wanda’s greed. “Even if it were, none of you would have a vote on the matter. As soon as this Sanchez gets his ass here, that thing will be gone forever, out of my life.”
“You really didn’t look inside this briefcase, Joey?” Wanda asked, unconvinced. Her tone had became sultry. She stood up and pressed herself against him, running her hand from his chest to his belt. “Let’s go have a look-see. Your little niece wants to see it too.”
“I said it’s not here,” Joe said, growing annoyed. “I seriously do
ubt it’s money.”
“I sure hope not,” Carson said. “I’d prefer deep, dark family secrets.”
“Steamy ones,” added Wanda. “Something we can blackmail your bastard father with.”
“Really?” asked Carson and Joe in unison. Both folded their arms and glared at the woman.
“Oh, you two are definitely related. Where’s the case, Joe?”
“None of your damn business, Wanda. Get dressed so I can kick everyone out together.”
Wanda huffed as she grabbed the rest of her clothes and headed for the bathroom. She made sure to slam the door. Joe didn’t flinch; he had grown used to her tantrums over the past two years.
After he was sure Wanda wasn’t going to come flying back out of the bathroom, Joe turned to his visitors. “I’d like to say she’s not usually like this.”
“Sir,” came Tripp’s voice, “we’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your evening and causing a ruckus. We wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for what happened to us yesterday–that and my sister’s insatiable need to know everything.”
“It’s okay, kid,” said Joe, relieved for the break from the Carson and Wanda duo. “You guys were kidnapped?”
Carson started to answer, but Tripp abruptly held a finger across her lips, as if to suggest that she really needed to let him do the talking. Joe was impressed anyone could silence the fiery blonde. He knew of no force in the universe that could do the same to Wanda.
Tripp told a short version of the story, about how their lives went from routine, if not mundane, to more adrenaline charged than they bargained for. He explained how they tried to get answers from their dad, which only produced more questions. He mentioned the secret rooms they found but didn’t go into detail. When the part about Jitters came up, Joe only rolled his eyes.
“Someone needs to put that poor bastard in a padded room,” Joe said. “So you’re worried about your dad?” Joe asked. “Is that the gist of the story?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very worried,” Carson added quickly, then fell silent again.