Like he was listening, which Pat was always afraid of, Ian’s phone went off as they were pulling away from the jogging trail. When he looked at the screen, he told Pat, “It’s him. It’s my father.”
“Answer it, Ian.”
He did and while it wasn’t a long conversation, it seemed to give Ian more confusion, and he set the phone on the seat between them when the call was finished. “He wants to see me this afternoon. Then there’s a meeting tomorrow.”
“A Grail meeting.”
“I’m assuming, but he won’t say that over the phone. You know, discretion.”
Pat nodded, already deep in thought, and worry. “Ian, be careful. Never reveal too much to him, even if you think he’s on your side in all this.”
“I’m not stupid, Pat, do I have to keep reminding you?”
Pat grinned at his consternation. “Ian, there’s not a second I think you’re stupid, but on the other side of that, there’s not a single second I won’t worry about you. That’s just something you’ll have to deal with.”
That shut him up for a while. With his head turned to the passenger window, he didn’t realize that Pat could see his wistful smile in the reflection there.
To Javi’s new hideout with the weird instructions that Pat knew were simply to keep anyone possibly following them confused. The problem was, it confused him as well. Up a street, then turn right, then right again, going up the same street again, only to turn right, then straight for a block, turning back and going up the same street for a third time before he was allowed to continue on to repeat the process another few blocks away.
No matter how many times he told Javi they could be tracking them from a satellite, and all the subterfuge of driving the way he’d instructed was a waste of time, he’d smile and proclaim himself old school paranoid.
The house this time was a three-story monstrosity that saw its best days thirty years before. The lawn was nothing but tall weeds, and the paint, what there was of it was peeling. It was supposed to be a Victorian, but someone had tried to remodel it, making it more modern. Sliding windows, round metal rails around the porch.
That made him look to see Ian’s reaction, and it was about what he thought it would be. He got out of the car and stared up at the home, hands in fists at his side. Pat went to him, trying to calm him, but that wasn’t happening.
“Who the fuck lets a house like this turn to shit? Who the fuck took off the original wood for that cheap aluminum railing? Where are the cornices? The stained glass? What the fuck?”
Pat loved that it made him so passionate. Still they couldn’t draw attention. “Let’s go inside for now, honey.”
“I can’t wait to see how they fucked up the inside,” he mumbled as he took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the ugly front door. Pat chuckled all the way in, hiding it when Ian glared over at him, as if daring Pat to make fun of his revulsion.
Pat wouldn’t dare. Javi came in from the hallway by the staircase, another remodel nightmare with more metal railing set at different levels. Javi was munching on a sandwich and before he swallowed, asked Ian, “’at’s ‘ong?”
“What’s wrong? This house! Who owns it?”
Javi gulped his bite and shrugged one shoulder. “A couple of kids bought it from some old guy.”
“Where are they? Are they going to fix this mess?”
Javi looked to him to ask, “What’s with him?”
“He wants to restore old homes, Javi. Whoever tried to make this one modern looking did a terrible job and it’s pissing him off.”
“Oh! Right, right, the house thing. Yeah, this one sucks. Glad I’ll be out of here later. They painted the floor in the kitchen probably twenty years ago, some burgundy color that looks like there was a bloody massacre in there.”
Ian took off down the hall Javi had just emerged from and Pat chuckled to Javi, confiding, “He’s going to strangle those people who did this, if he ever finds them.”
“He’s cute, huh?”
Pat nodded but didn’t elaborate. “So, what’s the plan today? He’s over the shooting lessons, Javi. His father called too, wants to meet up later and there’s a Grail thing tomorrow. I was going to suggest we stick around here instead of heading out to shoot, you know, coach him through what to say and do tomorrow, but he’d be distracted in this place.”
“Nah, the whole house isn’t bad. One bedroom is like old timey and shit. Maybe there, get him on the bed and work him over,” Javi teased, his brows wriggling.
“Shut up, Javi, it’s hard enough for me to keep from tearing his fucking clothes off.”
“I don’t see how you guys are doing it. Anyone with eyes can see you are crazy about each other.”
“Right now, I’m moving day by day.”
Ian coming from the hall, green with how sick he was over the destruction of the home, and Pat glanced at Javi, warning in the look to stop with the conversation.
“Fucking tragedy, man. Let’s go, get out of here.”
“Mijo, there’s a room upstairs that won’t piss you off so much. Let’s go up there and talk over some things, skip the shooting today.”
“Talk? About?”
While his eyes moved from Javi to Pat and back, he was waiting for them to drop some bomb on them. Pat pointed out to him, “You said they want you in a meeting tomorrow. We want to walk you through things again, make sure you take in every detail.”
He could tell Ian was frustrated, and he no longer thought it was about the house they were in. Javi waved them to follow, telling Ian, “I know, it’s repetitive, but necessary. You’ll have three days off when you take your last finals, so let us get some torture in while we can.”
For that, Javi got a smile, and Pat’s jealousy gave a hard tug in the middle of his chest. Javier and Ian were getting to be friends, but he worried that it could become more. Ian’s naturally passionate personality, Javi’s heat, and he’d be on the outside looking in, wondering how he’d managed to lose them both.
In the bedroom on the next floor up, Pat understood what Javi had meant. The room looked as if it hadn’t been used for decades and had the dust to prove it. The bed was covered in an emerald green spread with gold tassels, the same material used for the canopy over it. The posts were elaborately carved with roses, lilies and dragonflies.
The moment Ian saw it, he was enraptured. “This is beautiful,” he breathed. “Just…beautiful.”
What was beautiful, Pat thought, was the look on Ian’s face. Wonderous surprise and appreciation were there, the upcurve of his lips and his eyes blinking with the amazement.
“Pretty, huh?”
Ian didn’t grant Javi so much as a glance. “Pretty? Do you realize someone did this with their hands? A couple of hand tools and their love and imagination?”
Pat set a hand on Javi’s shoulder when he saw Javi was about to say something stupid. It was Ian’s time, he loved the work that men and women had done with their hands, making things that were in the homes of others, making that home comfortable and beautiful.
Warm woods, elaborate windows, notched floors, where each board was laid to fit into the others around it. Pat thought that was possibly what drove Ian toward this dream. Things fit together, things were placed somewhere, and they stayed there, to give joy to anyone who saw them. Things that lasted.
“See, nowadays, this kind of thing is done with machines, if they’re done at all. A piece of furniture now is just a thing, something to sit on or lie on, or eat on. Back then, they cared. Each piece was placed to give more than comfort or sustenance.”
“I’ve seen some expensive, nice furniture before, mijo.”
“Yes, like in my parents’ house, sure. Each piece is there to compliment another, or the house itself, but this? This is to bring the person who owns it pleasure. To those who see it. Done on beds like this, they were supposed to promote nice dreams, you know, keep away the nightmares. There was purpose in everything.”
Javi whispered, “I n
ever saw anyone like a piece of furniture so much.”
“It’s not furniture to him, Javi. It’s art. Like him.”
Javi turned his head to Pat, nodding to him as he said, “Yeah. He is.”
Ian seemed to come out of his trance and faced them. “We have to win this, or something. This is what I want to do, give these homes this kind of love.”
Pat took his hand and led him to the chair in the corner, every bit as dusty as everything else. Ian didn’t seem to mind and rubbed his hand over the velvet upholstery. “This too. I know this fabric is gross but look at the wood here. Look at the tacks. Even the tacks are ornate.”
“Ian, let’s get on this, and I swear, mijo, I’ll let you stay here a week if you want.”
“I’d be in this room alone. The rest of the place…”
Javi ignored that and started to sit on the bottom of the bed, rubbing his hands together, signaling it was time to work. “Okay, mijo, when you go to your dad’s, keep up the pretense that you’re into this shit. You know that. Still, be as casual as you can be, and keep the dirty looks to a minimum.”
“He’d know for sure I was lying. I’ve been angry at him for longer than the Grail came into it.”
“Fine, fine, but still, don’t push it. We want him to trust you. He has the secrets of the Grail. Him and the other thirty-threes, man, they’re the key. If they were the ones who knew about the live ammo, if they knew at all, then they keep things close to the vest. They’d have to.”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine how it would be within the Grail if the others knew.”
Pat shook his head, knowing where Javi and Ian were going with that train of thought, and he wanted to kill it before it stuck. “Maybe. You have got to remember, it’s the money and power that keep them there. Most have other kids, and I truly think that most of them think their kids are expendable as long as they have the Grail and all it offers.”
“True, yeah, Ian. He’s right. Money and power are drugs. Once people get a little taste, they’re hooked.”
“But there are over sixty families involved with the Grail, then who knows how many others that work for them, have had generations long loyalty to them. Out of all of them, no one thinks like I do?”
“I’m sure there are, but to find them, you’d have to reveal yourself.”
Ian saw how serious he was, and once that sunk in, how he’d have to let members of the evil cabal know he wasn’t truly a part of them, he understood that would be suicide.
“I wish there was some way to know, but you’re right.”
Pat’s heart broke for him. That feeling of being alone in a crowd, and his was truer than most. A crowd of men gathered for their Grail meetings, and he couldn’t be sure if any of them hated it as much as he did. “If you get the hint that one might be, don’t approach him. Let Javi and me check them out first.”
“For sure, yeah. They’re obviously great liars, and paranoid. Well, let’s get this finished so I can meet with my father, and hate him, but not too much.”
Chapter Nineteen
His mother greeted him soon after he came into the house, with her perfunctory kiss to each cheek, and her bodyguard hanging in the corner of the room, as always. “How are you? You’re pale! You should really get some sun.”
“Sun’s bad for you, haven’t you heard?”
She scowled at him, then her face smoothed once more. She probably worried she’d have to run for another Botox treatment if she showed emotion. “Are you here to see your father?”
“Yes. Is he in the study?”
She smiled, but it was sour and unflattering. Her blonde hair was curled and laying just over her shoulders, makeup perfect, and he saw why, her team was making their way down the stairs with their equipment in hand.
“Mother, are you having a party or something?”
“No, no, I’m going shopping for a new car with a couple of my friends. We’re making a day of it, and possibly flying to New York for a show this evening. Olga hasn’t been pleasing me lately, so I fired her and until I get someone reliable, I’m afraid the team has to come in and do my daily routine.”
Her daily routine. That was a running joke in the house. She woke at nine, coffee served exactly as she sat up in bed, precisely one teaspoon of honey and also precisely one-half teaspoon of cream.
After drinking her coffee for exactly fifteen minutes while reading the morning news on her tablet, her valet, the now-dismissed Olga, would prepare her shower. Poor dismissed Olga would stand with a thermometer to check for the water to be one-hundred eight degrees before his mother would step into it, taking forty minutes inside the stall with the ten showerheads.
Once out, Olga handed her a heated towel and her robe. Another cup of coffee would be taken on her balcony, if the weather permitted, or in the sitting room of her suite if it did not. Dressing took hours, first choosing then changing her mind about her wardrobe for the day. Another three hours for her makeup and hair, and she was ready for the day.
“I’m so sorry, Mother, what an inconvenience for you,” he said dryly, with enough sarcasm to wake the dead, but she didn’t hear it.
“Thank you, dear, it has been trying. Go speak to your father, Ian. He’s been in a foul mood. Maybe you can change that.”
“Doubt it,” he mumbled as she hurried past him, and he headed to the study.
Inside the study, his father gestured to the chair for Ian to sit, and once he did, Ian Junior went to the doors and closed and locked them. “Ian, as you know, tomorrow is your first official meeting as a Grail.”
Ian was about to comment, but his words died on his tongue. He simply nodded and waited for his father to continue.
When he did, he went toward his chair, as if he was going to sit, but instead, he turned to the shelves behind it, and reverently took his grail from the its place. He set it on his desk, staring down on it, but what Ian saw wasn’t love. It wasn’t respect or the reverence he’d shown it seconds ago.
Gone as quickly as it had come, the look of derision was probably his imagination. It was most likely his own projection of the way he felt about the gaudy symbol of greed.
“This meeting is traditional and very somber. You’ll wear black, black suit and tie, no flashy colors.”
Ian interrupted, drawling, “I’m not that kind of fag, Father, so don’t worry.”
Ian’s father glared at him, declaring, “You are so smart, but you insist on being stupid. You’re flaunting around with that man, and you don’t understand a thing.”
A thousand retorts came to mind, but again, he wanted to see where his father was going with the lecture.
“It’s somber because it’s the memoriam for Cameron Kent.”
Ian’s entire body began buzzing with anxiety and he felt like choking out a sob. “Cam-Cameron. It’s a memoriam for someone they…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Ian Junior finally sat and stared over at Ian. He looked old for the first time Ian had ever seen him. Tired, drained of that normal confidence he wore like a badge of honor.
Shoulders slumped, he rang his finger around the rim of the goblet. Ian saw the light from the windows caught the jewels on it, making them shimmer, making the world surreal in that stuffy study.
“Father? Are you…are you all right?”
“Of course, I am,” he said, sitting up and getting his wits about him again. “Now, where was I? Oh, right, it’s a memorial for Mr. Kent and after, we will be breaking off into groups to be given assignments or whatever your group may need to accomplish.”
“Assignments? Like what?”
“That’s for your captains to decide.”
Ian persisted, “Father, you’re one of the highest in the order. You must know everything that goes on inside the Grail.”
For a moment, Ian’s father stared into his eyes, like he was searching for Ian’s true meaning. He seemed to have found it, because his hand moved and under the lip of his desk was a button that slid thin metal plates over the windows, shu
tting off all the light from outside and essentially locking them in the study. The doors locked and a similar metal plate came down from the ceiling to cover that.
It was a panic room as well as a study, Ian knew. When he was younger, he had wild dreams of being locked in there, missing school, having to live there for years, possibly eating his family members to keep from starving. He’d had strange dreams back then, and too wide of an imagination.
Ian Junior rose from the chair and grabbed the grail into his hand. To the left was a painting, an original Lord Frederic Leighton. Icarus and Daedalus. It appealed to him, of course, the beautiful men in the painting, Icarus nearly nude with a strip of fabric seemingly blowing across his genitals.
The story itself was great, Ian remembered asking his father about the painting when he was around ten. His father wistful for the first and only time Ian could remember, recounted the tale of Daedalus and his son, escaping the wrath of a king with wings fashioned of wax.
Ian Junior pulled the painting and it swung to the left, revealing his father’s smaller vault, a two-foot by two-foot titanium safe. He’d only seen it twice in his life, two times he’d had the loss of senses to go into his father’s study without being invited. Those times his father had lost his normally even temper to the point that he’d raised his voice, setting the whole house to scramble to appease him.
What Ian hadn’t noticed those two times was the strange plate on the front that was where other safes had their number pads. This one was flat, and had ridges dug out from it, and in each ridge was a tiny dot.
Ian’s father moved the goblet to the pad and those tiny dots came alive, shining on the jewels there and with a twist, Ian’s father moved the goblet around clockwise. The dots made out the jewels and must have been satisfied because Ian heard a tiny click and the safe came open an inch.
33 Degrees of Separation (Legacy) Page 16