by Aven Jayce
“Mr. Jameson?”
And the gun... where the fuck did he get the revolver from? I bet he bought it from a kid at the ski resort or it’s Emma’s. She looks like the type to carry a weapon. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” My chair flies back and hits the wall. The younger cop stands, but he’s given a gesture to hold back, allowing me the opportunity to willingly comply to their request.
My pace is aggressive, heading in a direct line for my son. He slouches in the chair, trying to hide out, sensing my anger. This is an insult to our family and how we... how I do business... he’s put my life in jeopardy.
“Jack!” I shout when he races to the door. “Where the f... where the heck are you going?”
“Christmas shopping.”
“You’re grounded! Get in the office. Now!”
“Mark, wait.” Sophia rushes toward us, wearing a winter coat and carrying her purse. “I’m taking him to buy gifts. I can’t believe no one’s driven him to any of the downtown shops yet. That’s so unfair.”
“Stay out of this,” I demand, pulling him away from the doors.
“Dad, I want to get you something special. Please!”
Perfect. Just perfect. The shirt he’s wearing under his jacket reads You think I give a shit? and his raggedy jeans are full of holes, not to mention there’s a skull pendant necklace hanging around his neck. What an outfit to be arrested in. He looks like a criminal. Why couldn’t he have on a dress shirt or that suit? Damn it to hell.
“I want to go out. Aunt Sophia will make sure I don’t have any fun while I’m grounded. We’ll be back by noon. Dad... listen to me!”
I drag his ass to the office with Sophia defending him left and right.
“It’s the holidays, Mark. Let him have a couple of hours to celebrate. It’s a generous act, wanting to buy everyone gifts. Give him a break.”
“Stop following, Soph. Go upstairs.” Time to be a prick so she’ll get riled and take off. “It’s not like you to let your kids out of your sight. You’re a horrible mother.”
“They’re watching cartoons.”
“So you were going to take off with Jack and not bring them along?”
“They’re coming too.” She lies, not mentioning that Cove’s upstairs with them.
The older officer appears in the doorway, watching the scene. He tilts his head, talking into his chest-walkie while motioning to bring him in.
“What’s going on?” She steps closer.
“It’s private.”
“No. Don’t you dare do this to me. I’m your sister. What? What is it?” she questions while I usher him past the cop and motion for him to take the seat at my desk. I close the door, cutting Sophia out of the conversation, but she pushes her way through in protest.
“He’s my nephew. I need to be here.”
I lean against the wall with crossed arms, ignoring her for now. The little villain, on the other hand, gets my undivided attention.
“Jack, this is Officer Patterson and Officer Luke from the South Lake Tahoe Police Department. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“No,” he says.
The cops are taken aback, although Soph and I are used to his shit.
“I’ll rephrase that. These men are going to ask you some questions and you better answer them truthfully. Got it, hotshot?”
His eyes narrow, my nostrils flare, his mouth twists, my jaw tightens, and finally he surrenders with a smirk and the wave of his hand to go ahead... like the hellion had a choice.
“It’s Jack, correct?” Officer Patterson begins. I monitor his defensive body language, arms crossed tightly and his hands hidden in his armpits as he’s advised of his Miranda rights, informed of the offense, shown the photo, and asked about the weapon. “Where’s the gun? Is it still on the premises?”
He swivels in the chair, copying my actions from earlier, surely with the same thoughts of how to get out of this and whether or not I’m going to kill them.
“Speak.” I command. “Sit up straight and take this seriously. Think about their questions and answer wisely and honestly.”
His hand disappears behind his back, causing the officers to draw their weapons. I react with clenched fists, ready to swing if they harm him. Bastard cops.
“Slowly.” I guide. “Bring it out slowly with your other hand raised. No sudden movements, buddy. This isn’t a game. Place it on the desk and let them pick it up before you move another muscle.”
Officer Luke checks the cylinder, confirming it’s empty as he passes it along to the other guy. Relief. That has to be good. The gun’s not loaded. Okay, I have hope we can make it through this without jail time. He didn’t threaten anyone and there’re no bullets. Good, good, good.
“Where’d you get it?”
“My grandfather.”
Bad! Bad, bad, bad. Oh fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me! He must’ve found it when he cleaned Abram’s room.
I shift and Sophia steps forward.
“He gave it to me before he died.”
“Jesus, Jack.”
“You said be honest.”
“What do you mean before he died?” She steps closer. “Your mother’s father is still alive. He lives outside of Philly.”
“My other grandfather,” he says, turning to the officers. “He gave me the revolver a year ago. It was the only time I ever met him.”
Holy fuck. What he is doing?
“This is a lie,” Sophia interrupts. “Don’t do this, you’ll only fall deeper into trouble. Tell these officers the truth.”
“He approached me in the park where I used to play hoops after school.”
“Stop it,” she stresses. “My father, your grandfather, died over a decade ago.”
“He did say he was dying, but wanted to meet me before his time was up. We talked for a few hours until it was getting dark and I needed to head home for dinner... and to do my homework.”
That’s a bit extreme. Homework?
“Before I left, he gave me the gun as a gift. It’s the only thing I have of his.”
“Sophia, step out,” I whisper, keeping watch over him as he creates this absurd, yet picture-perfect story. He’s going to save everyone’s ass. Jules, his, and mine.
“No. What the hell is this? Our dad’s dead. Why is he lying?”
He’s so quick. My son’s a genius. He knows the cops are gonna trace the gun back to Abram, and he’s leading them away from the hotel, back to Philly. He got the gun in Philly. Abram was never here. Good boy.
“I just moved here and... my mom... sh-she died two weeks ago.” He fights back tears. “My stuff arrived the other day and my dad has two living quarters in the hotel... suites on opposite ends... I-I was moving things from one to the other. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to hide the gun when I was unpacking and moving my things because to me it’s not a weapon...” He starts crying. Good show, Jack. “It’s my g-grandfather’s only gift to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm!”
Fucking brilliant.
“We’ll need to run a check on the revolver and bring you to the station to answer more questions, plus get some paperwork filled out. As long as you don’t have a prior record, I firmly believe hours of community service and a rehabilitation program are in your future. I can’t see any court sending you to jail for something like this.”
His palms cover his face as he sobs, showing remorse and putting on a glorious performance. Thank fuck he researched that bastard online. He knew he faked his death months ago. We’re in the clear.
“What’s your grandfather’s name?” Officer Patterson asks.
No.
“Soph, get out,” I take her arm, tugging her to the door.
“A-a-ab,” he stutters. Damn, he wouldn’t. Not with her in the room.
“Abram Jameson.”
SILENT NIGHT
GREASY, FATTY, MEAT.
The scent has permeated my clothing and hair, filling the Ta
coma as Jack and I eat mystery shit. That’s what I call this cheap, unrecognizable meat—mystery shit. No need for a definition, the term speaks for itself.
I haven’t had food so vile since high school, and after today, I doubt I’ll step into another two burgers for a buck, drive-thru dive ever again. I’m only eating it to please my son. He said we needed to have dinner together, that it would make him feel loved after being treated so poorly by the cops. Poorly? Not even close, buddy. They were decent guys.
But when we left the police station, he insisted food was a top priority, saying, “The cops tortured me. I didn’t get a bite to eat. They held me for six hours! I think I’m gonna pass out from starvation. Eat with me, Dad. Join me in an after arrest meal.”
Poor lying baby.
I stopped at the first place we came across on the way back to the hotel... now my truck smells like we just finished our shifts at the Meat Palace—a mix of salty fries, fatty burgers, and sugary apple pies.
I hold the wheel and lick salt from my lips, concentrating on the snowy, dark road, craving nothing more than a relaxing night. Shit, I feel like I’ve said that a few times this week. One night. Just one, is all I desire.
I peer at Jack, observing a continual gummy smile plastered across his face as he eats. Hamburger bun is stuck between his teeth and onion pieces are on his jacket. His happy-go-lucky expression is nonstop this evening.
Taking big bites of food, he chews noisily and swallows hard, always ending with a smile. Bite, chew, swallow, smile, and repeat. He tilts his head back and dumps the remaining fries into his mouth, crumbles the fast food bag into a ball, and pitches it over his shoulder into the back seat.
“That was too close, Jack. Way too fucking close. Jesus Christ, I hate dealing with cops.”
He whistles softly, swiping his hands free of crumbs before texting on his cell, remaining unresponsive to my comment.
“Phweep, phweee... phweeeep, fweee, fuuuuit.”
In my eyes, my son became a man today. I pull his hand away from his cell and give it a squeeze. Our relationship is more important than some goddamn text.
I love him. I love his sense of humor, his playful approach to life, his curiosity and cleverness, and the loyalty he showed to our family today.
“Carrying that revolver in plain sight was a childish mistake, but—”
“I always carried my swords around the house back in Philly.” His cell’s put away as he defends his slip-up.
“The corridors of my hotel aren’t a home. It’s a business.” I calmly finish my sentence, “It was a childish mistake, but you handled it like a man.”
He sighs. “How long is my punishment extended for this time?”
Car lights blind me before I can answer. My arm straightens in front of his chest, protecting him as the approaching car crosses into our lane.
“Hold tight!” I caution, swerving my truck onto the narrow shoulder then quickly steering back once the car passes.
“What the fuck?” I see the lights in the rear view mirror disappear down the mountain road. “See, that’s why you’re taking driver’s ed... and I’m not buying you a motorcycle until you’re forty. The roads up here are dangerous, especially in the winter. It’s a different world than Vegas and Philly.”
“No fucking shit. Why’d you pick this area anyway? Out of all the cities to choose from, you came here. Why not Portland, or Seattle, or hell, why not Boulder? You know, weed’s legal in all of those cities. They have a better music scene too. I keep looking online and in the paper for something to do around here and I can’t believe there aren’t any bands that play out at night. I’m gonna be bored shitless once snowboarding season’s over.”
“Try focusing on homework and a job.”
“How lame. Oh, I forgot I’m gonna be one of your pool boys. Do I get a weapon before then? Cuz if it’s just gonna be me and a bunch of drunken guests out there each day, I’ll need something. What if I get attacked?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He turns. “Just like that you’re gonna give me a gun.”
“No.”
“Fuck, wishful thinking on my part.”
“A blade. My number two.”
“Your what? What does that mean?”
I turn onto the hotel drive, following the flickering white lights leading us forward like an airport runway. The scent of burning wood from the hotel fireplaces replaces the smell of fast food. Ahh. Home sweet home. The weather’s calm and the sky’s cloudless. A full moon’s expected...
“Hello? You know you zone out all the time.” He stirs me back to the conversation.
“My number two,” I continue. “The second blade I ever bought and one that I’ve always treasured. One day I’ll pass it on to you. That day’s getting nearer, especially considering the commitment you showed to Jules and me today. You’re now my favorite kid.”
“Only kid,” he laughs. “I’m your only kid so that doesn’t count.”
“Of course it does. Remember who it’s coming from. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever said to you.” I mess around, relieved that this situation’s over for now. “I think as long as you behave in court, you’ll end up in counseling and doing community service—and both will do you some good. I’d be happy with that outcome. It’s a far better punishment than sitting in a juvenile detention center. And Jack...” He watches the garage door open while I place my hand on his shoulder. “That performance with the cops was fucking extraordinary.”
“What performance?”
“The one... in the... wait, what do you... I get it; you’re being a comical brat. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The fucking gun!” I jerk my hand away. “You found it when you cleaned the bloody mess. You got it in that room.”
“Hmmm. I suppose.”
“Jack!” I grunt.
“What?”
“It’s Abram’s gun—from the room—yes or no.”
“Yes or no to which part?”
I study his face, searching for a slight twitch, the beginnings of a smirk, a scratch of his nose, anything to get a sense that he’s fooling around, except he holds steady.
“Be straight with me.”
“I told you, I got it from Abram.”
“Where? Did he seek you out in Philly? Did that actually happen?”
He shrugs and begins a string of questions. “Can I have the knife tonight? How big is it? Is it like a pocketknife, a switchblade, or a machete? How many men have you killed with it? Is there blood on it? Is it a kickass handmade one from a specialty shop like you bought for Jules?”
I park in the garage and get out of my truck, my son trailing behind, still mumbling about the weapon as I ponder his words.
We walk up the two flights of stairs and enter a dark living room. Jules is nowhere to be seen in the quiet suite. Good, more time to talk.
“Tell me about Abram’s gun.”
“Okay.” After a deep breath, he wipes the smile off his face. “The truth is, since you’re asking and all, I lie about most everything in my life.” He removes his jacket, raising his shirt to expose his back. “Like this tat. It’s sweet. Too high of a quality to be done by some kid in his parents’ garage, don’t ya think? I got it from a shop in Philly. Cut a deal with a wicked female. She hired me to torment her ex-boyfriend in exchange for this badass tat. Her loser ex was messing with her, so I keyed his car and slashed his tires. Oh, and I got her dog back. That was the big request. I broke into his garage where he was starving the poor thing in a cage. Total bullshit. Why steal an animal from your ex and not take care of it?” He lowers his shirt with a headshake. “What was your question again?” there’s a pause, “oh, the gun. Yeah, I took it from his hotel room.” He sprints up the stairs and I’m left to question yet another strange conversation with my son.
“Was that another lie? Hey, did that really happen wit
h the tat? And where’d you get the gun? Is that the truth? Stop being such a Jameson and give me a straight answer!”
He glares at me from the landing, looking smug with his shoulders back, a tight mouth, and his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for staying by my side today. The truth is, I love you,” he asserts before vanishing into the bedroom.
“You damn well better!” I shout.
It sucks that he’s making me wonder if he met Abram a year ago in Philly. I guess even if he did, what does it matter now?
“You’re an ass.”
“Fuck!” I do a quick U-turn, hearing Sophia’s voice jetting from the dark living room.
“I’m glad Jack’s home,” she says, turning on the lamp next to the sofa. “That means things went well at the station.”
“One of the easiest interactions I’ve had with the cops.” I walk to my liquor, down a shot, and set my hands on the counter. “I was hoping for a breather tonight... looks like I’m shit outta luck. So you want to tell me why I’m an ass this time?”
“Don’t act dumb. What the fuck, Mark? Cove told me everything about Abram.”
“Of course he did.”
“You could’ve let me talk to him. I didn’t even have a chance to meet him. He was my grandfather! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Goddammit!” I collapse in a chair next to her, setting my fingers on my forehead. “If Cove told you everything, then there’s no need to even discuss this.”
“Wrong!”
“Don’t be so upset with me, the man was worse than Paul.”
“I’m not denying that.” Her arms cross and she leans back, squinting her eyes until I catch on to the real issue. She’s upset about our relationship. “It’s not fair that these things keep happening to us. I thought we were growing closer. You and I, we’re... aren’t you upset we’re not brother and sister?”
“I’m still Elizabeth Jameson’s son, which makes us brother and sister.”
“No, you’re Abram’s son, which makes you my uncle.”