Elliott

by I D Johnson

  Elliott always had to be aware of who was coming in the front door and who was coming in the back door. The latter usually wasn’t a problem, but as he lined up his shot, two guys walked in the front, and even though he’d never seen either one of them before, he instantly knew who one of them was. “These guys always travel in pairs,” he thought to himself and sunk the four ball into the side pocket. He moved to the next shot as Tony made a sound like a wounded puppy.

  A few weeks after Jordan Findley died, Elliott had telephoned Janette, just to tell her he was sorry for her loss. She was a strong gal, that Janette, and even in the midst of her grief, she’d given him a sales pitch, trying to tell him that he really should consider coming to Kansas City, that he’d like it there. That he’d be happy for once. He’d laughed, knowing that was never going to be the case, not long term, anyhow.

  She’d mentioned a new Leader, said Jordan had handpicked this guy to take over after he retired, and now he was going to step in a little early. While his track record sounded impressive the way that Janette talked about him, it wasn’t enough to make Elliott want to join their group. He’d gotten a better handle on the gambling recently, even though he still had plenty of people looking for him who didn’t realize yet that the pool player and the guy making the shady bets also ran the city’s most popular used car lot. While he was closer to thinking about it than he had ever been before, he had yet to pick up the phone and call her.

  And when two members of the Tulsa team had stopped by his house a few weeks ago, he’d told them to go to hell, too. Even if they did seem to think Aaron McReynolds was the best thing since sliced bread. With butter. And jam.

  This was him, Elliott was sure of it, though he really didn’t know why. This guy looked like a pro, maybe that was the reason. He didn’t look like some punk Guardian wandering in off of the streets, that’s for sure.

  The girls immediately noticed. If a hunky male model had fallen out of one of their Vogue magazines onto the barroom floor, there couldn’t be a more attractive man at the establishment. Even from across the room, Elliott could make that assessment. Just his piercing blue eyes alone would have all of these girls shifting their allegiance in a half second if he didn’t get back to telling his story soon. He missed the shot so he could hold their attention as Mr. Gorgeous and his friend, who also wasn’t horrible looking, though Elliott had no idea who he was, closed in on him, ready to pounce as soon as he gave them a chance to speak.

  He went back to his story about Vinny as many of the girls tried to listen but kept turning to look at the new arrivals. The second guy looked a little green, like this place wasn’t good enough for him, and Elliott decided he should draw the story out even longer just to see if he might throw up. Unfortunately, Tony missed another shot, and Elliott had to miss one, too, so he could finish up the story without losing too many of his adoring fans. The blonde with the boobs had moved on, and Elliott narrowed his eyes slightly at his opponent, even though he thought both guys were doing a really good job of sending out signals that they weren’t interested. Again, he thought if he talked long enough, maybe they’d take to holding hands or something to let the girls know they didn’t swing that way.

  The thought made him chuckle, which seemed to make the guy he was sure was McReynolds think it was time to speak up. He slid between two of the women who seemed to have no problems letting him through if it meant they could rub up on him a little and quietly asked, “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  It was Elliott’s shot, and he was pretty sure he could finish this game right here. “That depends. You play?” he asked. He took the next shot, sinking a ball into the side pocket and then another into the corner in one swoop.

  He looked over at the newcomer, who looked very uneasy. “Not well.” A glance behind him showed his friend standing with his hands in his pockets, an expression of boredom on his face, though he thought that might be for the lady’s sake. “But I can try.”

  Elliott chuckled. He had a feeling he’d pick it up real quick. He took the next shot and stood up to survey what he needed to do next as Tony cursed under his breath.

  “I’m Aaron McReynolds.”

  So this was the famed Guardian Leader. Elliott had to smile at his own ability to call ’em as he saw ’em. He glanced at the hand the man had extended and then back at his face before finally taking it and saying, “I know that. What I don’t know is why you’re here.” He moved around the pool table and lined up his next shot, people moving out of his way automatically. Aaron stayed behind him. “I told those last people no thanks. I’ll tell you the same thing.” He made the shot, leaving just one more ball. Tony looked like he might burst into tears at any moment.

  Aaron let out a sigh as Elliott moved to position himself to sink the last ball. “Fair enough,” he said, across the table. “I’m here as a favor to a friend. She seems to think you might be able to help us out. Maybe we can help you, too. But if you don’t think that’s the case, that’s fine by me.”

  Elliot took his final shot and the onlookers broke into a round of applause. Tony reluctantly handed over the money, and Elliott shoved into the pocket of his jean jacket before turning back to Aaron. “Tell you what. Why don’t you let me take some of your money first, and then we’ll see?” He had no intention of leaving here with the Guardian Leader, but he may as well line his pockets with his hard earned cash if he could.

  “Fine,” Aaron agreed and walked off toward the back of the room where the pool sticks were kept.

  “Hey, we got next on this table.”

  Elliott turned to see a pair of lanky looking guys he’d never met before staring up at him. One of them had a mullet and the other was nearly bald with just a fringe of hair above his ears.

  “Is that so?” Elliott asked, his tone friendly, though he wasn’t about to give up his lucky table. “Why don’t the two of you take on my friend and I?” Elliott asked as Aaron returned.

  The two guys looked at each other and shrugged as if they were considering it.

  Putting his arm around Aaron’s shoulders like they were long last pals, he continued. “In fact, do you care to make it interesting? How about we place a little wager. How does a hundred bucks sound?”

  “A hundred bucks?” Mullet asked. “I don’t know. That’s kinda steep.”

  “No, it’s not. You’ve got the money,” Elliott replied, looking him right in the eye. “In fact,” he continued, shifting to Baldy, “I think we should make it a hundred bucks per person.”

  “Yeah, okay,” they both agreed within a nanosecond of Elliott completing the suggestion. They began to ready their sticks, and Elliott felt his new buddy tugging on his arm.

  “I’m not a very good billiards player,” Aaron whispered sharply.

  Elliott pulled away from him, and shaking his head said, “This is Oklahoma. It’s called pool.” He thought he detected some sort of accent when he said “billiards” but he had no idea whether it was British, Scottish, or something else entirely. Stepping around the nervous Guardian, he said, “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ve got this.” He wanted to laugh a little bit. He had an idea this guy had probably ripped the heads off of a couple thousand Vampires, but he seemed scared to shoot some pool. He thought maybe he could learn to like the guy—if he had any intent at all in joining his band of superheroes—which he didn’t.

  Mullet broke, and it turned out the pair wasn’t too bad. Aaron, on the other hand, was terrible. He missed two easy shots early on, and Elliott ducked in to give him a few pointers while the other guys were shooting. The Leader learned quickly, though, and by his third shot, he was doing much better. Once he scratched, and Baldy moved to the table, Elliott asked him, “Who’s that other guy?”

  Aaron looked back over his shoulder at his friend who was sitting at a table near a woman who appeared to be talking to him, though his eyes were locked on the game. “That’s Jamie Joplin,” Aaron replied in a hushed tone, like he was afraid the other man might know they
were talking about him. “He’s our Healer.”

  “What’s a Healer?” He remembered Janette mentioning that at one point, but he didn’t really know what it was, unless of course, it was a person who healed people. Seemed obvious enough.

  “He puts broken Hunters and Guardians back together. He’s also a surgeon.”

  “Oh. Is that why he’s afraid of germs?”

  Aaron laughed. “I don’t know. I’m not a surgeon, and this place is killing me.”

  “Huh. Couldn’t tell,” Elliott mused, folding his arms.

  “That’s because Janette is really important to me, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Well, I’d hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re gonna have to tell the old lady you tried your best but no cigar.” It was Elliott’s shot now, and he moved away from Aaron before he could say anything else. He managed to clear the table this time, much to Baldy and Mullet’s displeasure, but when he turned back to them to take the money, his wide smile and friendly eyes wiped away their angst. “You’re happy to give me your dough, now ain’t ya boys?”

  Both men reached into their wallets and took out enough bills to cover the bet, handing them over to Elliott with glee, and he wished them both a good night before turning back to the Guardian at his shoulder. “You know, you and I make a pretty damn good team.” He smacked Aaron on the arm and then looked around for his next victim.

  “You’re right, we do,” he agreed. “So why don’t you come back to KC with us, and we’ll talk about that?”

  Elliott laughed. This guy just wouldn’t give up. “Are you kidding? And leave all this? Thanks, but no thanks, boss man.” He noticed Aaron’s eyebrows raise at the impromptu nickname and was just about to say something a little snarkier when movement at the front of the club near the door caught his attention. “Shit!”

  Bikers. Lots of them. And none of them friendly. They filed through the door with scowls on their faces interrupted only by the look of recognition that tugged at the corners of their mouths when they saw him. “And that’s my cue to call it a night,” Elliott muttered, turning to make a hasty exit out the back door.

  Unfortunately, the situation wasn’t any better back there. At least as many bikers had the back door covered as well, including the guy who’d lost his money, and something told Elliott he wasn’t going to settle for having the cash back now. Charming his way out of this situation probably wasn’t going to work either.

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Aaron said quietly. “They can’t hurt you, you know.”

  Elliott snickered, wondering when was the last time this guy fought with humans. “Nah, they can’t kill me. But I’m not much for having my face punched into a bloody pulp right now either.”

  The biker who’d lost his money shouted out, “Hey, Sanderson!” and the rest of the gang started to move forward in force. The rest of the patrons went scrambling, hiding under tables or wherever they could find a place to get out of the way.

  Elliott looked at Aaron in desperation. The only way he was getting out of this situation without giving himself away as something un-human was if he had a little help. The Guardian Leader shrugged and picked up his pool stick from where he’d laid it on the table. “What the hell?” He looked at his friend, the surgeon, and though he was shaking his head like he thought this was a bad idea, he was the only other person in the bar who wasn’t cowering. He stood and readied himself at about the same time as the bikers charged.

  The Guardians didn’t hold anything back as the large leather-clad men descended upon them. Aaron wielded the pool stick like a staff, and Elliott wondered if he’d done this before, though he didn’t have much time to think about it when his fists began to fly. Blood splattered across the pool table as his left hook connected with the bulbous nose of an overweight biker dude with long red hair and a nasty smile.

  Women screamed as tables came crashing to the floor. Elliott didn’t have much of a chance to check on his two companions as he dodged one assailant to take on another. At one point, one of the assholes landed a cheap shot in his kidneys that hurt like hell. That guy got a nose full of elbow and fell backward into a barstool and didn’t get up right away, so Elliott moved on, taking a few shots to the nose that made him think he might need plastic surgery to put his face back together.

  It would’ve been easy to start twisting necks, but these guys weren’t Vampires, and their deaths weren’t as excusable. He noticed the other two on his side were under the same impression. Hit to hurt, but not to kill. The doctor wasn’t exactly a big guy, but he was a scrapper, and Elliott was impressed that he didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. Or maybe that was part of being a Healer.

  About ten minutes into the fight when the bikers wouldn’t stay down, Elliott realized they needed to get out of there before they were forced to escalate matters, something he didn’t want to do. He caught Aaron’s eye for a moment and saw the slight nod. The next thing he knew, Jamie was sliding underneath the pool table. An object went flying through the air so quickly, Elliott couldn’t quite make out what it was Aaron had tossed him, but when the doctor flew to the front door faster than a streak of lightning, he imagined that must’ve been the car keys.

  Once they were outside, Elliott knew he had a better chance of getting into his own Caddy and taking off. There wouldn’t be anything the Guardians could do about it. He’d left the car doors unlocked, just in case he needed to retreat, and his car was parked so that he could pull out quickly. But they needed a diversion.

  About the same time as the thought entered his mind, Aaron shouted his name gestured at the exit. Even though Elliott was tied up with two of the biggest bikers, he decided to take things up a notch. He grabbed the barstool the other guy had gotten to know intimately a few moments ago and swung it around his head, hitting both of the bikers in the skull. They both went down in a heap on the ground.

  Elliott was impressed when Aaron thought to rip one of the round table tops off of its base and hurl it across the room at the reforming line of bikers. It took them out like a bowling ball hitting pins, clearing the way to the door. Both Guardians took off, leaping over fallen bodies and sprinting to the parking lot.

  As soon as the fresh air hit him, Elliott shouted, “See ya around, boss man,” but then, turning to his car, he realized that wasn’t going to happen. He would’ve ran right over the motorcycles lined up in front and back of it, if it weren’t for the fact that all four of his tires were stacked on the hood and trunk. “Well, shit,” he muttered.

  The doctor was behind the wheel of a Buick Somerset, yelling for him to get in, and while he knew it was against his better judgment to take any more help from these guys, he thought he had little choice. Aaron was shoving him toward the back seat, so he jumped in just as the bikers hit the front exit.

  A plume of dust filled the air as Jamie pulled out of the parking lot, barely giving Aaron a chance to close the front door. Elliott turned to watch out the back glass as the bikers scrambled to their bikes, but they were growing more and more distant with each second, and he realized this car must be souped-up. After a few minutes, he turned around and relaxed, thinking there was little chance they’d ever catch up.

  His nose began to protest, and he though it must be broken. He didn’t dare look in the rearview mirror to see, though. Sometimes it was better not to know. That didn’t stop him from laughing when he realized Aaron had received a few blows to the face as well. One of his eyes was swollen and turning blue and his bottom lip was cut and swollen. The Guardian didn’t seem to think his laughter was very funny, but Elliott couldn’t help but proclaim, “The man ain’t pretty no more!”

  Shaking his head, Aaron responded with, “Me? You’re one to talk!”

  He imagined that was true. He probably looked a lot worse. Still, he replied, “Well, I wasn’t exactly pretty to begin with.”

  The doctor caught his eye in the rearview mirror and shook his head, and Elliott realized there
still wasn’t a mark on the guy. It seemed very unfair. Then, to top it off, he reached over and put his hand on Aaron’s face, and a few seconds later, it was back to normal. Jamie yawned like the process was a bit draining but waved off Aaron’s offer to drive.

  “Son of a bitch,” Elliott muttered. “That ain’t fair. I wanna be pretty again, too.”

  Jamie caught his eye again and with a straight face replied, “I’m sorry, my powers aren’t that strong.”

  Aaron laughed, a sound Elliott was pretty sure he hadn’t heard before, and he was sort of surprised the guy even knew how. He seemed like a bit of tight ass, even if he wasn’t a half bad guy. He shook his head at Jamie, who also seemed pretty okay, and said, “So the Healer’s a wiseass? Nice. But seriously, my face hurts, too. Can you fix it?”

  He saw an exchange of glances between the two men in the front seat before Aaron said, “I’ll let Jamie pull over and fix your face under one condition. You’ve got to promise not to take off like you tried to do back there at the club. And… you have to come back to headquarters with us and at least hear us out.”

  Elliott’s mouth dropped open—which hurt, and he realized his lip was split, too—so he shut it for a second before asking, “You think I’m gonna go all the way to KC with you two? I have a job, you know? I have a life.”

  Aaron was shaking his head incredulously. “Why in the world would you want to keep selling cars for a living when there’s so much more you can do?” He looked flabbergasted.

  Feeling defensiveness rising, Elliott replied, “I already told you. I know what y’all do, and it ain’t for me.”

  Not giving up, Aaron responded, “I understand that, but I was asked to bring you in and show you what we do. Once you get there, if you decide you don’t like it, fine. You can leave. But at least hear us out? All right?”

  Something told him this guy wasn’t used to losing. With a deep breath, he said, “Fine, I’ll go. But I can tell you right now there’s no way in hell I’m actually going to stay.”