“Who are you talking to?”
Nick felt his face go hot at Morty’s question. “Still in the kitchen, aren’t I? Guess I need to keep walking. Oh, look! Yonder is the door, which I’m going to make use of right now.” He quickly made his exit.
The small group he’d left earlier had dispersed. No one was there except the two bartenders who’d gone back to restocking behind the bar.
Nick paused beside them. “Where’s my mom?”
Before they could answer, she came out of the restroom area dressed in a black Sanctuary T-shirt that matched Aimee’s. Thankfully, hers was on the large side and kept her completely covered. Her face lit up the moment she saw him. She practically danced her way over to him.
“Hey, boo!”
He started to ask her if he was forgiven for getting her fired, but decided that might not be in his best interest. “You look happy.”
“Oh, baby, I am. They are so nice here. All of them.” She slid her gaze to the door. “Well, Rémi’s a little distant, but I’ll take that any day over some of the people I worked with at the club. They’re even going to give me a day schedule so that I can be home with you at night. And, best of all, they feed me free while I work and you, too, and not just scraps. We could eat steak if we wanted to.”
“I’ll settle for the cookies.”
“Yeah, I know you would.” She squeezed his cheek. “I’m technically on the clock already. I should have left you at Mr. Hunter’s.”
“I tried to tell you that.”
“Don’t sass me.” She let out a sigh. “I know you’ll be bored here. I mean, they have things to do.” She glanced over to the game area. “But it’s probably best not to press our luck the first day.”
“I can go hang at Bubba’s. It’s just down the street.”
All the joy evaporated off her face. “That is one name I never want to hear again. I swear, that man and his antics … He’s ridiculous.”
He’d also saved both their lives last night. But for Bubba and his epic fighting and driving skills, they’d be dead today.
That thought made him glance past his mother’s shoulder to where Grim watched them with a bemused expression. He tapped his watch.
“Bubba’s all right, Mom. He was trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, for his own personal safety, you better keep him away from me—or you’ll have two parents in prison for murder.” As soon as those words were out of her mouth, she slapped her hand over her lips and looked around frightfully. “Let’s not talk about that here, okay?” she whispered.
“I don’t talk about that man’s unfortunate and eternal incarceration to anyone. Ever.” No offense, but he hated the sperm donor who’d spawned him. Speaking of people he didn’t want to talk about, his father was a cold-blooded killer who’d knocked them both around the few weeks he’d been out of jail. If Nick never saw him again, it’d be too soon.
“Go stay with Bubba. I’ll check with you later.”
“All right. Do you have my new cell number?” That’d sounded infinitely better in his head than it did coming out of his mouth, as it invoked an image of him in prison orange, sitting on a bench doing time in Angola like his dad.
“Not with me.” She pulled a pad and pen from her pocket and handed it to him.
He jotted his number down and gave it back to her. “If you need me, shout.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Be safe. Be good.”
“Always.” Nick turned around and headed for the door. Luckily Grim didn’t speak to him again until they were on the street and away from Rémi.
“Aww, Nicky, that’s so sweet. Your mama loves you so.”
Nick froze instantly. “You don’t mock my mother. You don’t speak of her in anything but the most reverent of tones. I don’t care if you are Death, I will open a can of Cajun whup-ass all over you, boy.”
Grim arched one brow as his two companions took a step back, as if giving him space to beat Nick into a bleeding pulp. “Normally, I’d be handing you the can opener and daring you to go for it. Be glad I owe a debt that precludes me from killing you right now. But don’t push it. While you have a predetermined death, your own free will decisions can override that. Put that in the bank and think about it before you try to make a withdrawal.”
Nick frowned at him. “What do you mean I have a predetermined death?”
“Did I stutter?”
“No.”
“Do I look like Webster’s?”
Nick frowned. “No.”
“Then you should understand what I said, since I didn’t speak in code. Every mortal creature is born with an expiration date. Some immortals, too. Set by the big clockmaker. But excessive stupidity and moronic tendencies can shorten it. Pissing me off is one really good way to cut yours down to three seconds from now.”
The ice in his voice as he spoke went a long way in making Nick back down. Not that he made a habit of that. Far from it. His mom often called him Snapper after the snapping turtle. Because anytime you sink your teeth into something, you won’t let ago until lightning strikes you. It was sadly true.
However, his survival instinct won out. “So what are we doing, anyway?”
Grim gave him a droll stare. “We’re going to Bubba’s. Isn’t that what you told your mom?”
“Yeah, but I thought—”
“For the first lesson, I can train you anywhere. Just remember, I won’t be seen. You will be.”
Nick considered that. “Bubba’s it is.” He was the one person who wouldn’t even bat an eyelash that Nick was talking to an “imaginary” friend. Heck, he’d probably bring one of his own out to play, too.
“So who sent you to train me, anyway?”
Grim grinned. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Then how do I know I can trust you?”
“You’re still breathing, right? If an MOD comes to you and you see them and you live through it, obviously we’re here for your good and not your demise.”
“MOD?”
“Messenger of Death.” The moment Grim spoke those words, Nick saw an image of him standing with his wings extended, his eyes flashing red, and his face a glowing purple skeleton.
“You like to freak people out, don’t you?”
Death grinned. “Absolutely. I love the sounds of fear they make. Music to my ears.”
And on that note, Nick decided it would be best to continue on. No, he wasn’t sure he could trust Grim, but …
It wasn’t worth angering him. So he turned down Royal and made his way to the Triple B—the only computer and gun store in the world—at least that Nick knew about. And that said it all about Bubba, whose logo was him standing over a shot, smoking computer with a gun slung over his shoulder.
1-888-CA-BUBBA
IF I CAN’T TAKE CARE OF YOUR COMPUTER PROBLEMS ONE WAY …
I’LL TAKE CARE OF THEM ANOTHA’
Yeah, Nick knew all kinds of people.
“Triple B?” Grim asked as they approached the sign that hung above the door. “What’s that stand for?”
Nick scratched the back of his neck. “There’s some debate on that. Some think it’s for Big Bubba Burdette. Others believe it stands for Big Balls and Brains.”
“What does Bubba say?”
“He changes it every time someone asks.”
Grim smiled. “I like him already.”
Nick slowed as he saw the damage from the night before. The main window had duct tape over the broken panes. The front door, which had been blasted off its hinges, had been chained in place, and there was soot from the flamethrower all over it.
Yeah, last night had been fun. It was a wonder they weren’t all in jail.
Grim crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the mess. “Reminds me of the apocalypse. Shame I missed whatever went down here.”
“It was a zombie invasion, and we barely escaped with our lives.”
Grim scoffed. “What are you? Arthritic? Zombies don’t move fast enough to
be a threat to anyone. They do, however, make great targets when you’re bored.”
“These weren’t undead zombies … at least not all of them. There was a group of Mortent demons after me. They found a video game that a friend of mine made that could reprogram the human brain and turn a person into a mindless killing machine. They were using my football team to come after us, and trust me, them boys can move and move fast. We didn’t want to kill them, because it wasn’t their fault.”
Grim screwed his face up as if Nick’s words caused him pain. “Let me give you free advice, kid. Whenever something is coming for you, snap its neck or double tap. Never, ever hesitate. It’s infinitely better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.”
He had a point, but Nick wasn’t his father and he didn’t want to take anyone’s life. Especially not one of his classmates’. He was pariah enough without adding that to his résumé.
Grim pulled against the padlocked chain that was holding the unhinged doors across the storefront. “Any way in?”
Nick pulled out his phone and dialed Bubba’s number.
“Yell-oh?” Because of Bubba’s thick Southern drawl, most people thought he was stupid when they first met him. But Bubba was a summa cum laude graduate from MIT and was without a doubt the smartest man Nick had ever met.
A little … no, a lot crazy, but highly intelligent.
“Hey, Bubba, it’s Nick. My mom started a new job at Sanctuary and wanted me to lie low until she gets off work. Since you’re the reason she got fired, I was wondering if I could work in the shop today?”
“Oh, hell yeah, get your Cajun hide around to the back door pronto.”
“I’m right outside.” Nick scooted around to the rear door that was usually reserved for deliveries.
Bubba already had it open as he eyed him. “How you doing?”
“I’m alive, so no complaints.”
“Wish Mark thought that way. Boy ain’t done nothing but cry like a girl all morning long.”
“I’m not crying. I’m in pain, you heartless Cro-Mag.”
At six-four and with a full black beard and short black hair, Bubba was the epitome of what most people would call a redneck. But the one thing Nick had learned in his short life was that people seldom fit whatever stereotype others wanted to give them. Case in point, while Bubba loved his truck, his mom, and his guns and flannel shirts, he was also a huge horror movie fan and a sucker for foreign girl movies. In fact, Bubba’s favorite show was Oprah, and he watched it faithfully every single day. Woe or, more to the point, death to anyone who came between Bubba and his TV at four. His music of choice was punk or alternative, and he was never caught with a pair of Doc Marten’s boots.
Just like Bubba, Mark Fingerman wasn’t what he seemed either. Yes, he wore a lot of camouflage, but that was to keep the zombies from seeing him.
Don’t ask.
Mark believed in all paranormal creatures. Even the tooth fairy.
Again, don’t ask.
Mark could try the patience of Gandhi.
Only a handful of years older than Nick, Mark was Bubba’s sidekick. With shaggy brown hair and bright eyes, Mark stood in the store with a mop and bucket. Currently, he was choking said mop and kicking the bucket so much, it sloshed water onto the floor.
Nick scowled at them. “What’s going on?”
Mark came forward to hand him the mop he so obviously hated. “Clean up, my friend. Welcome to the party. I’m so glad you could make it.”
Groaning, Nick took the mop. He’d argue, but Bubba might shoot him—as he’d done the last four computers that had irritated him. The guts of the most recent one were still spread out over Bubba’s worktable in back.
“Look.” Mark held up his hands for Nick’s inspection. “They’re all pruny and wet. I’ll never have my soft sweet hands again.”
Nick snorted. “You’re not right, are you?”
“Oh, please. If I were right in the head, do you think I’d be working for Bubba? Especially given what the cheap bastard pays. How hard did you hit your noggin last night?”
Nick dodged Mark’s hand as he tried to touch his hair. “Dude, don’t do that.” He glanced over to Grim, who rolled his eyes.
“I know this clown,” Grim said in an evil tone. “He keeps teasing me with these near death experiences. One day, I’m going to take his butt down even when I’m not supposed to. You can’t keep knocking on my door and then slamming it in my face. It’s just not right.”
“Nick?” Bubba called. “Why don’t you clean the front of the store while Mark and I pick up back here?”
“All right.” As he left the back room and headed to the store area, he realized how much the two of them had already done. All the debris was picked up and most of the shattered glass. They must have been cleaning for hours.
For a full minute, Nick saw the events of last night play through his head. It’d been horrible. But the one good thing had been the fact that they’d accidentally found a way to fix the human zombies and return them to normal.
The other kind …
Those had just been gross and nasty to take out.
Grim wandered around looking at the shelves of computers and laptops, as well as peripherals and accessories that were set in the middle of the floor. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with one of the largest gun selections in the Southeast. Glass cases separated the guns from anyone who might wander in and pick one up.
Bubba’s first rule.
No one handles a gun in my store without direct supervision.
Nick’s gaze involuntarily went to the picture of Bubba’s mama that hung on the wall. A portrait that had a huge gunshot in it, right between her eyes. His stomach slid to his feet. Yeah, that had been a close call.
“So what are you going to teach me?” he asked Grim in an effort to avoid thinking about how he’d shot Bubba’s mama in the head. He was lucky he was still breathing after that.
“How to open your mind and pay attention. The universe is always speaking to us. Sometimes the signs are in our faces, and other times, they’re very, very subtle.”
“Subtle how?”
Grim pointed to the picture of Bubba’s mama. “Let’s use that for an example. When you look at that, you see nothing but a hole in a painting. When I look at it, I can tell exactly when and how you’re going to die, and I don’t mean Bubba coming after you in anger over defacing his mother’s image. It shows an integral part of your future … and its end.”
CHAPTER 4
Nick’s throat tightened as he walked to the picture that hung about three feet over his head on the wall. He stared at the powder burn marks and hole. While there was a Rorschach-esque quality to it, it didn’t look like much. Tilting his head, he squinted and treated it like a Where’s Waldo? puzzle.
That showed the date of his death? Forget meth was death. Death was on meth. It just looked like a big mess to him.
He scowled at Grim. “You’re pulling at me, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll have to play with me for a while to see.”
Nick wasn’t sure he liked the way Grim phrased that. “Why is it when you say things like that, I feel like I’m gambling with my life?”
“Probably because you are. I never gamble for anything less.”
Now, that just made him feel all warm and fluffy inside. “Oh, goody.”
“Did you say something?” Mark stuck his head through the curtain that separated the front of the store from the back room.
“Uh, yeah. I said, ‘Oh, goody.’ As in I get to clean this mess up.”
Mark gave an evil laugh. “I had that same reaction. I even tried to quit when I showed up this morning, but Bubba wouldn’t let me. Told me if I tried to leave, he’d shoot my butt full of buckshot. He’s the only SOB I know who’s crazy enough to actually do that. So here I am. Ticked off, but alive. It’s a good day.” He vanished behind the curtain to return to whatever he and Bubba were working on.
Nick went back
to Grim. “Don’t you have any friends you could hang with?”
“I do. But the problem is when I hang out with my friends, it usually gets ugly for the rest of you. Especially when we’re bored. Nothing entertains us more than plagues, famine, war, and bloody massacres.”
“You play D&D, too, huh? Who’s your DM?”
Grim tsked at him. “The difference between my group and yours … our toys are real.” All of a sudden, the horse ran out of his pocket and up his arm to rest on his shoulder.
Neat trick. Creepy, but neat.
“So … that’s like your pet monkey?”
The tiny horse snorted flames and whinnied at him.
“Easy, girl.” Grim stroked her mane to calm her down. “You’d do well to show her respect. She can understand you, and she doesn’t take well to insults.”
“Sorry, Flicka. Didn’t mean to rattle your bridle.” Nick started straightening.
Grim dogged his steps. “The key to what I have to teach is that the universe and its beings speak to you constantly. But much like the little book you received last night, they seldom speak overtly. You have to figure it out on your own and hopefully before it’s too late. The power of divination is a way for you to listen to the warnings the universe gives.”
Nick stiffened as a chill went down his spine. “How do you know about my grimoire?”
Grim snapped his fingers, and the book appeared in his hand. Small and black with a funky red symbol on the front that was supposed to be Nick’s personal emblem, it contained riddles that had helped Nick survive the attacks from the night before. All he had to do was ask it a question and release three drops of blood on it—something he still thought was gross, but … His blood would circle and move to form words and pictures on the page and give him clues.
That being said, the book was a snarky little slug. It didn’t like answering questions anymore than Nick did, and it answered them with a venom Nick wished he could get away with and not stay grounded for life.
Narrowing his eyes on the book, Nick slapped at his back pockets to see if the book in Grim’s hand was a duplicate.
It wasn’t.
Chronicles of Nick 02 - Invincible Page 4