by Gary Jonas
“Sometimes.”
“Then what are you bitching about, Brett?”
“Someone’s living in my house.”
She shook her head. “Wasn’t your house.”
“But I was living there.”
“You can get another place.”
“But I liked that house. I had some cool shit in that house. Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to all my stuff.”
“Check with Sabrina.”
“I want my friends back.”
Her eyes went wide. “You had friends?”
“Very funny.”
Lakesha put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. “What’s Chuck’s wife’s name?”
I stood there in silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
“That wasn’t a fair question. I don’t go to Chuck’s house, and his wife has never been to one of the shows.”
“Yes she has.”
“Well, Chuck didn’t introduce me.”
“Fine,” she said. “Where does Teddy live?”
I gave her more silence.
“Mmm hmm,” she said. “Name Michael’s favorite band.”
“Lacuna Coil?”
“Wrong.”
“Black Sabbath.”
“You only get one shot,” she said.
“Oh, come on.”
“When is my birthday?”
“How should I know?”
“Fine. What’s my sign?”
“Wet paint,” I said.
“The truth is you care only about yourself.”
“I know Demetrius likes comic books.”
“Most kids do. You haven’t taken an interest in anyone around you. That’s why everyone likes the other Brett so much better. He asks us about our lives. He remembers what we say. He cares enough to give birthday presents, and to help out when someone has a problem.”
“That was a lot of words,” I said.
“And that proves my point, child. You’ve learned a few magic tricks, but you aren’t a real friend to anyone. Even now, you came in here and didn’t ask me about my day or how I’ve been. You didn’t notice my hair.”
“I noticed that you still have hair.”
“But you didn’t notice the new style.”
“Oh, I love what you’ve done to your hair,” I said.
“I didn’t change my hair, Brett.”
“So you’re trying to pull a fast one.”
“I’m making a point. You’re just a spoiled little rich kid, and while I don’t think you’re going to turn to sand the way the other Brett says you will, I don’t think you bring anything of value to any of your so-called friends.”
“How do you really feel?”
“I’m getting over a cold, actually.”
“You don’t have a spell for that?”
“I do, but it takes a few days to kick in.”
“Well, I hope you feel better soon,” I said.
She grinned. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
“You aren’t getting over a cold, are you?”
“No, but at least you reacted like a real person for a change.”
“And you’re still not going to help me.”
“I just did.”
“Somehow I missed it. Can you enlighten me?”
“I’ll spell it out for you, Brett. If you care about others, they’re more likely to care about you. Life is about the connections we make with other people.”
“Great,” I said. “I get the motivational pep talk nonsense. Just what I needed.”
“You probably need a Dale Carnegie class, but you’d sleep through it.”
“Classes are too much like school.”
“I’m going to close up. A gentleman friend is taking me to dinner tonight.”
“Lucky you,” I said.
“Lucky him,” she said. “Get on out of here, Brett.”
“So what is Michael’s favorite band?”
“I don’t know.”
“So for all you know, I was right.”
“I doubt that. Get your ass out of here.”
I walked to the door, pushed it open, then turned back toward her.
“One more question,” I said. “When is your birthday?”
“None of your business,” she said, but at least she smiled.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next evening, I stepped out of the hotel, and Gideon drove up in his limo. He rolled down the passenger side window.
“Get in,” he said.
“I don’t get the star treatment?” I asked.
“Get in the car, Brett.”
“Rude much?” I asked, but I opened my own door and climbed into the back seat.
Gideon started driving before I’d even closed the door.
“Dude,” I said. “You could at least let me get into the car before you take off.”
“You’re late. I have to make up for lost time.”
I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the seat separating us. The window between the back and front was open. “Yeah, you were supposed to keep me in line, right?”
He glanced at me in the rearview.
I smiled. “If only you could have remained closer to me,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“I still have your ring.” I didn’t tell him it was now on the dresser in my hotel room.
“I don’t need it,” he said.
“I thought you wanted to stay within ninety feet of me.”
“Not anymore. And for the record, it was ninety-four feet.”
“What do you mean, not anymore?”
“Sit back in your seat, Brett. I’m driving and I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I’m all geared up for a conversation. You work for my twin.”
He pushed a button and the window between the back and front started to close.
“Hey,” I said, moving my arms away.
“I’ll have you at the restaurant in ten,” he said and the window clicked into place.
I knocked on it. “Open up.”
He flipped me off.
Charming.
Was it worth blood to continue the conversation? Not really. I didn’t bother to magic the window open. Instead, I leaned back, and adjusted my collar. I’d chosen a navy blazer to go with my white shirt, and tan slacks. I wasn’t big on dressing up for dinner, but the other me had reservations for dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf over on the harbor, and I knew he wouldn’t go for a casual look. I wanted people to wonder which of us was which.
Gideon turned on the radio and piped some music in for me. Tracy Chapman sang about a “Fast Car,” but Gideon wasn’t able to go that fast because of a traffic snarl on 25th Street.
I listened to the music, and relaxed. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to the other Brett. How much of this had he orchestrated, and how much was my old man?
Gideon took Avenue H to 24th and turned left to get around the traffic. I gazed down Winnie Street back to 25th. Emergency lights flashed round and round. Must have been an accident.
We made another left on Church to get back to 25th for easier passage, but when Gideon looked back to check traffic before turning right, a man stepped off the curb and aimed a gun at my window.
“Holy shit!” I said as the man opened fire.
I threw myself down on the seat. The first shot left a bullet hole and pulverized the glass around it, spider-webbing outward. The second shot shattered the window. Bits of safety glass rained down on me. He kept firing.
Getting shot wasn’t on my itinerary, so I bit my cheek, drew blood, and threw up a force field.
Gideon stomped on the gas. Tires squealed. The man kept firing and blew holes in the back window.
I chanced a glance, but couldn’t see much through the webbed glass. Streetlights made the white lines glow even more, so I looked to the side.
Headlights raced at me.
“Uh oh,” I said.
The car that tried to ram us smashed into cars heading the other direction, but another car screeched away from the curb as we passed, and raced up beside us.
I still had my magic, but I was focused on keeping a protective shield around me. I wasn’t sure how effective it would be if I pushed it outward. Would it still stop a bullet?
“We have company!” I shouted.
Gideon didn’t respond.
The chase car swerved over and crashed into the rear quarter panel on the passenger side of the limo. Physics took over. The limo spun out of control. I didn’t even have time to scream. Fortunately, the limo was low to the ground, so we didn’t roll. Instead we did a one-eighty and faced the wrong way. The chase car accelerated toward us.
Gideon threw the limo into reverse and stomped on the accelerator.
We darted backward. He opened the partition window to try and see better out the broken back window.
“Brett, push the glass out of the back window. I can’t see through the cracks and the bullet holes are too small.”
I threw my magic energy at the back window, knocked it out. It slid off the trunk and fell to the road with a loud crash.
Gideon shook his head. “There’s going to be too much traffic on Harborside. Hang on!”
“To what?”
He stomped the brake, spun the steering wheel, and executed what I call the Rockford Files maneuver. Inertia threw me against the passenger door. My father and I used to watch the old TV show starring James Garner on cable when I was a kid. A limo doesn’t spin as well as a Firebird, but Gideon didn’t have too much trouble righting us. I was glad I hadn’t eaten yet because otherwise, I’d have puked all over myself.
The chase car tried to come around for another attempt to spin us out, but I was sitting up now, and I still had magic, and I wasn’t about to put up with any more shit.
“Get a little closer, asshole,” I said.
I shifted from shielding myself, and as soon as the chase car pulled up beside us, I blasted it with everything I had. The side of the car crumpled and the vehicle hit the curb, bounded over into the parking lot of a bank. I blasted the car again and flipped it up and spun it around so it crashed through the bank building.
I didn’t see the result, but I figured that guy was out of commission.
Gideon raced down the street, turned into a parking garage right before Harborside, and skidded to a stop.
“Get out,” he said. “If anyone’s following, I’ll lead them away.”
“Who are they?”
“Just get out before they catch up!”
It seemed like a good idea at the time, so I hopped out of the car and ducked between a Jeep Wrangler and an old Datsun. Gideon raced away. Two cars turned into the parking garage and hurried after him.
I kept biting my cheek to keep my magic at the ready, but as fast as it all started, it ended. Gideon led them away, and I sat down on the pavement, trying to get my heart rate under control. It took only a moment. On the one hand, I knew I could have been killed, but on the other, I survived, so there was no reason to fret about it.
I got up, brushed a few stray bits of rounded glass off my blazer and pants, then began the three block journey over to the restaurant.
I was late, of course, but that was the most normal part of the evening.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fisherman’s Wharf has been around since the 1940s. It sat beside the Galveston Cruise Terminal and the Texas Seaport Museum, which featured the Tall Ship Elissa. I’d been in Galveston for about a year now, and I still hadn’t toured the ship. It was closed at this hour, so I knew I wouldn’t be going there tonight. Some other time.
If I lived long enough.
The walk over left me in a melancholy mood. People kept trying to kill me. That’s a fast way to fuck up your day. If my father wanted me dead, he could just snap his fingers and liquefy me without a blender. Maybe this was another damn test. Maybe the test wasn’t for me specifically, but for the other Brett. If my twin wanted me dead, he could have had Gideon kill me at any point. Gideon had got me out of the danger zone.
That cast doubt on the whole thing.
Could it be the Council?
Maybe the Ringo Twins were royally pissed and hired goons to kill me.
Not likely.
I strolled into the restaurant, and the hostess looked at me strangely.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m meeting my twin brother.”
“Yes, sir. He’s already been seated.” She squinted at me. “Is that glass in your hair?”
I started to turn, but she reached out and plucked a piece of the window from my flowing locks.
“It certainly is,” she said.
I leaned my head back and gave it a quick shake. A few more pieces of glass clattered on the tiled floor.
“Sorry,” I said.
“That’s all right, sir. We’ll sweep it up. Are you okay?”
“There’s no blood on the floor, so I can’t complain.”
She gave me a polite smile. “Right this way, sir.”
And she led me through the crowded restaurant to a table overlooking the bay. Lights from distant ships glowed across the water. The other me was studying the menu when we approached. He already had a fruity drink and it was half-gone.
“Hello, other me,” I said when the hostess left.
He lowered the menu and looked me up and down. “Even when you dress up, you look like a bum,” he said.
“You’re a riot,” I said, and pulled out a chair so I could sit.
“Waitress will be here in a minute,” he said. “Menu’s on the table.”
I didn’t look at the menu. “What’s your deal?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got your fruity little drink, and your impeccably tailored suit. Not sure why you went with my hairstyle, though.”
“Father insisted on the hair,” he said. “I would prefer to get it cut, and once I take the Council’s test, I’ll do just that.”
“What the hell are you drinking?”
“It’s called a White Sand-Gria. It has Moscato, peach, strawberry, and ginger-ale. It’s absolutely divine. Would you like one?”
“I have a penis, so I’ll pass.”
The waitress approached before he could come up with a response. “Welcome, sir,” she said to me. “Can I start you off with a drink?”
“I’ll take a Stella,” I said.
“Very good, sir. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”
She sauntered off and I opened the menu. “Tell me, oh great and wonderful twin,” I said. “Have you had an exciting day?”
“I have indeed,” he said. “I practiced my craft and concentration in preparation for the test, and I had a wonderful massage at the spa. Then I sat in the hot tub for a while. And you?”
“Not really,” I said, and stared at him over the menu to gauge his reaction.
He shrugged. “Perhaps Father is giving us some time to catch up before the test.”
“And he still hasn’t said when the test will take place?”
“Not yet.”
“Any chance it’s already started?”
“Only if it includes how to accept a massage.”
“Have you heard from Gideon?” I asked.
“No, and he was supposed to text me when he dropped you off.”
“Must have slipped his mind.”
The waitress returned with my beer. “Are you ready to order?”
We told her what we wanted to eat, and she moved off to relay that to the kitchen.
“Did you do something to Gideon?” my double asked.
“Why would I do something to him?”
“Hmm,” he said, studying me.
“What s
hall we talk about?” I asked.
“Hang on,” he said and dug in his coat pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Text just came through.” He nodded and his thumbs tapped out a response. He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Where were we?” he asked.
“You were telling me more about Gideon, Dad, and the Council’s plan.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“You were about to,” I said.
He shook his head. “I was going to ask how you’re feeling. You look tired, like you’re about ready to crumble to sand and wash out to sea.”
“I just need another nap,” I said.
“You and your naps,” he said. “Father explained those to me. He says you nap so much because you don’t have enough energy to get through a day. More proof your time is about up. We can walk you down to the bay right now if you’re ready to go.”
“Lot of words in there,” I said.
“You followed them. Surprisingly.”
We were interrupted when the salads arrived. We ate. I tried a few times to prod him for information, but he just wanted to talk about the salad dressing.
Then the main meal arrived. I will say this. Fisherman’s Wharf has some of the best seafood I’ve ever eaten. My doppelgänger was impressed, too. He paid the bill and gave the waitress a generous tip.
He leaned back, dabbed his lips with his napkin, and gave me a smile. “Hold on,” he said and took out his phone again. “Another text.”
“You’d better answer.”
As he typed a reply, he said, “Would you care to join me for a drink over on the Strand?”
“As long as you’re buying.”
He put his phone away, tossed the napkin on his plate, and rose. “Then let’s get going. I’ll want to make a pit stop at the little boy’s room first, though.”
We walked over to the restroom, where I waited outside watching waiters and waitresses taking and delivering orders while busboys cleared tables.
After a while, I sighed. I entered the restroom and called out, “Did you fall in?”
No response.
The restroom was empty.
The son of a bitch ditched me.
Typical.
I turned to leave and two large men blocked the exit. They had sharp teeth, and liked to display them. Mako Clansmen. I hated these guys.
“Howdy, fellas,” I said. “Let me get out of your way.”