C.O.T.V.H. (Book 2): Judgment

by Palmer, Dustin J.

  "Seriously!” Jake agreed. “Ever since the attack I’m scared to death to come out of my room at night. And it’s got nothing to do with the vampires! I can't even get up to use the bathroom without him jumping up waving a gun in my face. It’s a miracle one of us hasn’t been shot!"

  John grabbed his stomach laughing then wiped the already half-frozen tears from his eyes. He turned and knocked three times on the red oak door. A large African American man, standing just over six feet tall and weighing well over three hundred pounds opened the door. He wore a heavy green sweater with blue jeans and had a head full of salt and pepper hair. "Sorry we're late Billy," John said, still laughing.

  "I thought I heard voices out here!” Billy said, with a warm hearty laugh of his own. “Something about Cort in his underwear?”

  “It’s a long story.” John grasped Billy’s hand then embraced him in a tight hug with sharp pats on the back.

  “Hell I was partnered with the man for more than thirty years!” Billy shuddered. “I’ve seen him in his jockeys with a pistol tucked into the band enough times to turn my skin whiter than yours, John!” he laughed. “Well, come in, come in, and get out of the cold!" he stepped out of the way.

  Jake stepped inside, basking in the warmth of the house.

  "This must be Jake," Billy said, shutting the door behind them and placing both of his massive hands on Jake’s shoulders.

  "This is him," John said, with a wink in Jake’s direction.

  "Spitting image of his old man." Billy said, in a deep throaty voice. He ruffled Jake’s hair with one of his massive hands. "Let's just hope your head is a little thicker."

  Billy had kind gray eyes, surrounded by tiny wrinkles and big bushy gray eyebrows. He had a warm, friendly demeanor. Jake smiled and reached up to shake Billy's hand.

  Billy gripped his hand and pulled him into a giant bear hug. Jake was amazed by his strength as he slapped Jake on the back. “Damn good to see you, Jake! It’s been a long, long time! Hell you were barely out of diapers last time I tossed you over my shoulder.”

  “Uh thanks,” Jake said into the big man’s shoulder.

  “Here, let me take your coats,” Billy said releasing his grip. “John, son, why don’t you take Jake around the room and introduce him to his family.”

  John shrugged out of his heavy coat then helped Jake do the same. He handed them to Billy. "Jake. These are some of my oldest friends," John said, leading him out of the entryway and into a large cozy living room full of dark blue leather couches and chairs with people sitting on them watching the Cowboys/Vikings game on a big-screen TV. Most of them stood as John and Jake entered the room. “John!” A thin man about half the size of John, with wire frame glasses rose from one of the couches and embraced him like a brother.

  Jake couldn’t help but smile. After Julia’s disappearance, when John had been at his darkest point, he had cut ties with all but one of his friends. They hadn’t approved of the methods he and Turner were using to obtain their intelligence.

  It had taken some time, but fences had been mended and everyone had once again embraced John with open arms. Ben Morris had been the first to do so.

  "Jake, this is Ben Morris," John said, introducing him. “And his son, Chris." He motioned to a teenage boy standing directly to Ben’s left.

  "Good to see you again, Jake," Ben said, shaking his hand with both of his own. "You couldn’t have been more than three last time I saw you. Nice of your old man to finally bring you around."

  "How's it going?" Chris said, with a thin smile and a nod. Chris was almost the spitting image of Ben. Like his dad, his brown eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses.

  “Nice to meet you both.” Jake smiled.

  "Ben and I were like brothers growing up,” John said squeezing his old friend’s shoulder. “Sure he's short enough to be an extra in The Wizard of Oz, but there's no one better when it comes to gathering information for a hunt."

  "Now John Bishop, you leave my husband alone," the beautiful Hispanic woman to Ben’s right, with long black hair streaming down past her shoulders, said with a touch of a Spanish accent. "We can't all live at the top of magic beanstalks."

  "This lovely lady is Catherine Morris," John said, leaning down and giving her a peck on the cheek.

  "I’m sure Jake remembers his favorite Aunt," she smiled, pushing a strand of hair behind her left ear. "I changed your diapers more than a few times.”

  “I’m sorry . . . no,” Jake stammered uncomfortably.

  “No? Well then, we’ll have to remedy that. Call me Cat.” She hugged him tight. “You know, I was good friends with your mother. She was a wonderful lady. I can't tell you how sad I was to hear about her passing."

  "Thank you," Jake said, quietly. John seemed to ignore her last comment, not out of rudeness but out of a complete inability to talk about it. Jake still had doubts that he’d dealt with her death.

  "The big scary man over there by the fireplace is Talon Parker. Best tracker in the business. He can teach you things about tracking that you've never even dreamed of." John said motioning his hand to a tall Native American man, with long black hair braided down his back.

  It’s true! There’s the leather pouch. Jake thought trying not to stare. He had heard countless stories about Talon and his father, Bear Claw, from Cort. The Parkers were legends. They were descendants of Quanah Parker, one of the greatest Comanche War Chiefs too ever live. He gave Jake a stiff, but friendly nod then shook his and John’s hands. His grip was tremendously strong. It took everything Jake had to keep the big man from crushing his hand.

  "And this ugly looking sucker over here, that’s too uppity to get off the couch and say hello is Wes Turner and this is his son Buck." He motioned to the two sitting on a couch near a large bay window.

  So that’s Bloody Wes Turner, Jake thought to himself. He’s smaller than I imagined. He was a bit surprised to see him here. From what his grandpa had told him, Turner was a bit of an outsider, even with Billy and Talon, especially with Ben. Many of the other Hunter groups didn’t care much for his methods either. He had grudgingly been allowed to join the Coalition under Billy’s team, but his group of outlaw bikers, The Slayers, had not.

  Three of the larger groups had refused to join entirely unless The Slayers were denied entry. A couple of others almost walked away after Turner was allowed to stay. John had fought for him tooth and nail out of loyalty and the two group leaders had eventually caved. John walked over and took Turner’s hand in a firm grip. "Wesley and I go way back. Pop even took him in for a while, back in the 70's, after his dad passed."

  His head was completely shaved with tattoos running down his neck and covering his arms. His blue eyes were cold and hard.

  Jake stared into those eyes and felt an intense sense of unease. He’s got the eyes of a killer.

  Maybe it was how badly Cort had spoken of him, or maybe it was just his overall appearance. Whatever the reason, there was something very unsettling about Bloody Wes Turner. Jake had half expected the devil himself or at the very least Charles Manson. Strangely, he didn’t feel that either description was that farfetched.

  "How's it going?" Wes said, barely giving Jake a glance.

  "What's up?" Buck said, outstretching his hand. He had his dad's face but with long blond hair tied back into a ponytail. He was about the same height as Jake, but with much more bulk in his arms and chest. Jake shook his hand. Buck squeezed as tight as he could, doing his best to crush Jake’s hand. Jake smiled and squeezed back matching his strength. A fire lit in Buck’s eyes challenging him.

  "Damn, Buck," John said, breaking their moment as he reached for Buck’s hand. Buck's grip released and he shook John’s hand. "I haven't seen you since you were born! You've grown up kid. How old are you now? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

  "Fifteen," Buck said, his eyes never leaving Jake’s.

  What’s this guy’s problem? Jake thought.

  "So, Buck, this is your first year training too?" John asked.


  "Officially yeah,” Buck replied. “But Dad has had me training with The Slayers off and on since I was six."

  "Six? Damn Wes. You don't think that's a little early?"

  "Nah, it does the boy good. Makes him into a real man.”

  "What's his mother think about that?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Who cares what she thinks,” Wes said, crossing his own. “I sure as hell don't. She up and left me with the boy about two years back."

  "Damn Wes, I'm sorry," John said uncrossing his arms and looking genuinely concerned for his old friend.

  Turner blew off his concern. "I'm not; she was about as worthless as a bitch could be."

  John raised his eyebrows then cleared his throat. “We’ll talk later, Wes. I’ve got to introduce Jake to the others.” Wes just stared back at him. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, John spoke up. "Say where's Sandra and the kids at?" he said loudly, looking around the large living room.

  "Where else?!" A woman's voice yelled from inside the kitchen followed by a laugh. Glad to be away from Wes and Buck Turner, Jake followed his dad into the kitchen to find an older, yet still quite beautiful woman, with graying hair, cooking over a very large stove. "Cheri!" she said, wiping her hands on her apron before rushing to John.

  "Mom!" John said happily, enveloping the much smaller woman in a hug and lifting her completely off the ground.

  John had been telling Jake about Sandra and her cooking almost the entire drive down. She'd been like a second mother to him after his own mom had left when John was just a child. She was Haitian by birth and still had a touch of an accent in her voice.

  "How's my Johnny doing?" she said, gripping both of his cheeks in her hands. "And why has it taken you so long to come visit your family?"

  "I know Sandra, I know. I'm sorry about that. Things have just been intense since Julia . . .” John’s eyes looked down at the floor. “Jake and I have been doing our best to pull things back together."

  "Well you are here now. That is all that matters," she lovingly patted his arm. "And who is this strapping young lad? Is this young Jake?"

  "Hello," Jake said, quietly.

  "Well hello to you too young man!" she embraced him warmly as if he were one of her own children. "I'm glad Johnny finally brought you up here to see us all. I was really sad to hear about your mother’s passing. Julia was an amazing woman." A tear glistened in her eye. “I loved her like a daughter and remember her in my prayers.” She caressed the silver crucifix hanging around her neck.

  "Thank you," was all Jake could manage to get out. Talk about his mom was stirred up emotions he had tried hard to suppress. The last time he had cried over her was the night of the attack. He didn’t remember much of that night due to the concussion, but he could not shake the feeling that he had actually seen his mother’s green eyes again.

  "Welcome, welcome, both of you," she said holding both of Jake’s hands in her own.

  "Thank you for having us," Jake said. "Your house is amazing! Way bigger than Grandpa's. Plus there aren’t any bars on the windows."

  "Cort always was a little tight with his money," she joked. "As for the bars, well . . . I never liked them much. Makes it feel like you are living in prison, I prefer to be free."

  Jake nodded his agreement. "Do you guys live here all the time?"

  "Oh no sweetie, our main home is in Dallas, this is just what we call our Vacation Home. Everyone comes and meets down here a few times a year. Mostly for holidays and vacations. We’ve got a large pond with a dock for fishing and swimming and a few hundred acres for you to get lost on a warm summer night. A shame you won’t get to enjoy it much though. I doubt your trainers will leave much time for fishing or swimming.”

  “Thank you for having us, Sandra,” John said. “It’s been a long time, too long since I’ve been back.”

  Sandra smiled. “Billy and I are so happy you boys made it." She turned and stirred something on the stove. "Now you two go make yourselves at home. I am fixing us a big Thanksgiving supper tonight. It has been a long, long time since the family has all been together under one roof."

  "That sounds great!" Jake said, with a big grin. The food smelled delicious. "I haven't had a good home cooked meal in years. Well other than Grandpa's bacon sandwiches that is."

  "Ugh, Cort and those sandwiches!" Sandra laughed. "Don't worry then, you will eat well tonight."

  John reached around Sandra and grabbed a hot piece of fried plantain off a plate. Sandra slapped his hand away. "Wait for dinner!" she laughed.

  John shoved the piece into his mouth burning his tongue. "HOT!" he yelled out.

  "That's what you get!" Sandra slapped him hard on the hand. "Now get out of my kitchen."

  John headed back to the living room. Jake went to follow but was stopped by Sandra’s hand on his arm. "Jake, honey, there's someone I would like you to meet."

  Taking his hand, she led him down the hall into a large game room that looked like it had once been a garage. Inside was another big screen TV, several more leather couches with three teenage girls on them watching Titanic. In the middle of the room sat a Brunswick Pool Table with a red felt top with a kid that looked very much like John’s old friend Terry, playing on it.

  Jake had never met Terry personally, as he had died when Jake was barely three years old, but he had seen plenty of pictures of him hanging on Cort’s walls. This young man could only be his son.

  "I'd like you to meet my grandson Donnie, my granddaughter Amber, and Talon's daughter's Diana and Whisper."

  Donnie, like his father, had Billy’s face and same warm gray eyes. He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen and stood five feet ten inches tall. He was solid muscle from head to toe.

  Talon’s daughters looked to be half Native American and half-white. Diana appeared to be the oldest by no more than a year and while both girls were more than beautiful, it was Amber that really caught his attention.

  She had deep brown eyes, with long dark hair running down the smooth ebony skin of her face, to her shoulders. The way she smiled when Sandra introduced him to her, made Jake's heart beat a thousand beats per minute. She was the most amazingly beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. He was literally speechless.

  "Jake?" Sandra said, breaking him from his trance.

  He'd completely missed what she had just said, “I'm sorry?" he said, closing his mouth and turning back to look at Sandra.

  “I asked if you’d ever played pool?”

  Jake heard the girls giggle, which turned his cheeks a bright red. “Yeah. Um, sorry. Yeah, Dad and I play every once in a while at an old cool hall, I mean pool hall!” he stammered. “A pool hall not far from Grandpa’s house.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” She smiled. “I better get back to the kitchen before John eats all my plantain! Donnie, take it easy on him.”

  “Yes Grandma,” Donnie said not lifting up from taking his shot on the table. Sandra walked out of the room leaving Jake alone with them. He swallowed deep as Amber glanced over at him.

  The balls on the table crashed together with a loud crack as Donnie sunk the six-ball in the corner pocket. "So you're John Bishop's kid?" He said, rising up and covering the tip of his cue with blue chalk.

  "That's me," Jake said, sizing up the muscular kid in front of him.

  "How ‘bout a game?" he asked, tossing his cue to Jake who easily snatched it out of midair. “I’ve never met someone that plays at a cool hall. Might be interesting to see how you play.”

  "Sure," Jake replied his face going red. "Eight ball? Or nine?"

  "Eight. I don't play any other way. You want to break?" Donnie grabbed another cue off the rack.

  "Nah. Your table, your break," Jake said, pulling the triangle hanging under the table and gathering up all the balls. Chris Morris and Buck Turner came walking in just as Donnie slammed the cue ball into the racked balls.

  "Looks like we've got a game on!" Buck said, plopping down on
the couch next to Amber. Chris stood back quietly, leaning against the wall, giving Jake the distinct impression he was a bit of a nerdy kid that probably didn't care much for competitive games.

  Donnie landed two balls on the break, both stripes. "Looks like you got solids," he said, shooting again.

  The game went quickly once Jake’s turn came. Donnie was good but wasn't anywhere near his level. "Eight ball, center pocket," Jake said, calling his final shot. He sunk it flawlessly, winning the game.

  "Not bad, not bad,” Donnie said, laying his stick across the table. “But I've got twenty says you can't do it again."

  And here comes the hustle. Jake thought to himself. “Nah. I'm good,” he said laying the cue next to Donnie's on the red felt.

  "Ah now come on. I'll tell you what, I'll bet fifty against your twenty, against anyone in this room. Your choice."

  "So fifty bucks and I get to pick anyone to play against?" This was too good to be true. Jake was hesitant to accept. There had to be a catch. But fifty dollars was fifty dollars, and he had little doubt he could beat anyone here.

  "That's the deal," Donnie replied leaning forward on the table.

  "So . . . I just gave you a pretty good beating. So why not just choose you?"

  "Oh you could do that. But, what if I was just holding back? Trying to earn a few bucks off you?”

  Jake couldn't help but smile. He'd put on a pretty good game trying to impress Amber. Why not up the ante a notch. "Yeah the thought that I was being hustled did cross my mind. But I’ll tell you what, your table, your choice. You pick someone for me to play. Give me your best shot."

  Jake reached into his pocket pulling a twenty out of his wallet and tossing it on the table. It was the last money he had, but there was little doubt he'd make it back plus an additional fifty.

  "My choice huh? You’re a cocky little sucker aren’t you? Okay then. Chris? You up for a game?"

  Jake laughed. "This guy? Why don't you just give me the money?"