Pompous

(Catch up, here)

Grampy puts Barrett's cell phone on speaker. Gene's voice is more high-pitched than I imagined. Almost whiny. Pompous.

"Knew it was only a matter of time before I heard from you," Gene says, nasally.

"Yeah, well…" Grampy trails off.

"Heard you retired."

"News to me. Listen—"

"You need my help, I know. That's the only time anyone ever calls me." He sounds a bit bitter, I note. "Look, the word on the street is that your little granddaughter was sent to bring you in. She there with you?"

"I'm here," I growl. I don't like where he's going with this.

"Listen, Gene," Barrett says. "Everything's out in the open on this end, so it won't do you any good to try and stir up trouble." His protective stance surprises me.

"Of course not," he says. "Wouldn't dream of it. The point I'm trying to get across is that the organization knows she's there with you. She's half-way done with her assignment, and they're getting' nervous that she hasn't checked in yet. If they start to think she's gone rogue, bad things are gonna happen."

He's right, dang it, and I don't like it. "I'm not due to check in until tomorrow," I say.

"Only if you haven't found Abel by then. But they know you have. Once an assignment's been completed, there are new rules. You may be new to the organization, but you know the rules as well as your grand-pappy does."

"I really don't like this guy," I say in a stage whisper.

"Join the club," Gene says. "I think they meet on Tuesday's."

"It's Wednesday's now, we changed the day. Conflicted with bridge."

"Ha ha ha, very funny."

Grampy winks at me.

"From what I understand," Barrett says, crossing his arms across his chest; they double in size. "You have to help us and can't notify the organization that you've been in contact with us, correct?"

There's a pause before he answers. "Yes." He doesn't sound happy about it. I want to know what would stop him. It's almost like there's a spell or something. But I know that can't be the case. Anyway, now's not the time to start opening a new can of worms.

"Then how are you going to help us?" Barrett asks.

"You mean, how is June going to help us?"

"What?" I sputter.

"This is only going to work if June takes care of this. This is your problem to begin with. They're only going to back off if you're the one to meet them."

"Meet them?!" Grampy roars. "Out of the question. Absolutely not."

"And it has to be alone," Gene says.

"Alone?" Ruthy says. "That's not a smart—"

"I'll do it," I say over the clamor that's erupted. Everyone silences. "I made the mess, I'll clean it up."

"That's right," Gene says.

Grampy doesn't argue, but I know him well enough to see that he's upset with my choice.

"What do I have to do?"

"Call them. Set up a time to meet them. Tell them you're having difficulty locating Abel, that he got a decent head start on you, but that you think your getting close. Updating them in person will give them more confidence that you're not trying to pull one over on them."

"And what if it doesn't?" Grampy asks.

I imagine myself as a strong, lone tower in the middle of a snowfield. Everything is silent and cold. If things go wrong, I'll be all alone.

Offense

(Catch up, here)

I never thought I'd have to call Gene. He was always sort of an outcast of the organization. A slimy necessity.

"When's he supposed to call?" Junebug asks. I hate seein' her this worried, but it's time she grew up. See the world for what it really is.

"Oh, I dunno. Not too long, I suspect," I say. She doesn't seem happy with my response. "We have an advantage over the organization."

She sits up a little straighter. "We do?"

"'Course we do. This here's our territory. I was sent here as their liaison back in the day so they could stay at home in Ireland. They haven't had much experience here, so this here's our territory."

"We know it better than they do," Barrett says. He's been awful quiet this whole time. Thinkin' about everythin'. "Make sure we're on the offense."

"Correct," I say. I turn to Junebug. "This place, it's like a giant forest to them. Strange and foreign. It can be a little unnerving. Especially in a situation like this."

"And we're the forest natives that know all the ins and outs of the forest?"

"We're the Great White sharks swimming among the trees, looking for things to eat." I ignore her confused look, but am pleased when the ends of her mouth turn up into a faint smile. She's starting to relax a little.

"So how's this Gene guy connected to the organization?"

"He's the one who cleans up messes," Ruthy says, bringing in a fresh pot of tea.

"But, if he works for the organization, isn't it dangerous to go to him for help?" Barrett asks.

"The organization has a don't ask, don't tell policy when it comes to using Gene. It was originally put in place so employees could clean up mistakes without getting the higher-ups involved. It sort of added to the morale of the job."

Junebug give a cynical laugh.

"I know, morbid idea. But they didn't predict the loophole of people like yours truly using his services."

"But you're inactive," Junebug says. "You can't use him.

"I've never been retired," I say. "Not officially, anyway." I wink at her. I've always admired her strength.

"It's been a couple of hours. Shouldn't we be doing something more than just sitting here, waiting? I mean, it's like we're sitting ducks with a big target painted on each of our backs."

"June—"

There's a buzzin' that comes from Barrett's pocket. He reaches in and pulls out his phone, looks down. "Restricted," he says.

I nod once and step forward to take the phone. He taps a button on the face of the phone and hands it to me.

"Hello, Gene," I say.

"Good to hear your voice again, Abel," he says.

Just Read...

Rebel Fire
Andrew Lane

A well-written, young Sherlock Holmes book, but not one of my favorites. BR to come soon.

--Me

Nothing

(Catch up, here)

"Why does this not surprise me?" Grampy says between laughs.

"You're not surprised to see all this?" Grampy shakes his head. I rummage carefully between the lethal contents of the chest and pull out a knife bigger than my arm and yank it from its sheath. It's a buoy knife of death. "Not even this?"

Grampy takes it from my hands and turns it over. "I gave this to Ruthy for our one year anniversary."

"True love," I mutter.

The chest is filled with weapons of every sort. Strapped to the inside of the lid are knives of every size and shape. Some of them look more designed for cooking and slicing and filleting than killing a person. I let that thought sink in and try to suppress a shiver.

Barrett's muscled arm reaches in past mine and pulls out something black. It looks like the skeleton of a gun folded in on itself. He makes some quick movements and with a few snaps, the metal is unfolded and has extended into a nasty looking weapon. He puts the butt of the gun up against his shoulder and looks down the line of the gun as he points it to the ceiling.

"A gun man, huh?" Grampy asks. He's studying him closely.

"I grew up around them." Barrett brings the weapon down and slides something back while looking down a hole of something else, and then lets something snap into place. It's all too loud and makes me jump. He hands the gun across the space to Grampy's waiting hands.

"You seem pretty familiar with assault rifles." A leading question.

"My dad was a gun nut." Barrett shrugs.

I study the contents of the chest more as I speak. "What about this to-do list, Ruthy?"

Hand guns, boxes of bullets, money, passports, maps, papers in languages that are completely foreign to me, bundles of what look like surveillance photos of men. My heart stops when I see one of my direct supervisor. I bury the stack at the bottom of the chest and try not to think about it.

"Well," Ruthy says. "I happen to have started one sixty-some-odd years ago." She smiles and unsnaps the lining of the trunk lid. The knives fold away, revealing a hidden compartment with a manila envelope.

She un-sticks it and lays the contents carefully on the table. Inside is a stack of twenties, two passports, a folded piece of paper and a gun so small, it could fit in the front pocket of my skinny jeans and be hardly noticeable.

Ruthy unfolds the scrap of paper and smoothes it against the wood.

Gene

555-6297

That's all it says.

"I don't get it. I thought you said there was a to-do list?" My heart starts to speed up. That guy in the photograph is lethal. We needed a plan if we're going to escape, and if all we have is a name and a phone number? We're royally screwed.

"Gene is the list," Ruthy says.

"Barrett, give me your phone," Grampy says.

Barrett hands it over without any questions. Grampy dials the number. I can hear it ring. There's a beep, like an answering machine's picked up. Grampy punches some buttons and hangs up.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a panic. "If this guy's our list, don't you think you should at least talk to him?"

"I did," he says. "It's a code. By dialing that number and leaving the message I did, Gene knows the situation and what he needs to do."

"But he doesn't know you left the message. He doesn't know where we are!"

"Junebug?"

I stare at the man I've known my entire life, and suddenly, I don't think he can make everything better like I once used to.

"Things will be okay."

I take a few breaths. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing."

Mistakes

(Catch up, here)

Sorry about the previous post, folks, and all that weird code. I didn't notice it until just now. Here's a more readable version. :)

Barrett and I each sit in a chair, me at the edge of the cushion, him comfortably reclining. I hold the tea cup, perched on my knee, watching Grampy and Ruthy as they carry on a hushed conversation on the sofa across from us. It's kind of funny how natural they look together.

Ruthy says something Grampy doesn't agree with and he starts arguing. Then she says something else that makes him snap his mouth closed. They twist their bodies around to face us.

Here it is. The truth he's about to divulge is the white elephant in the room. Only, in our case, it's something more obvious and awkward. A giant blue frog, five stories tall, perhaps.

"I have somethin' the organization wants," Grampy says.

Fear grips me. What the organization wants, they get. At any cost. "But they told me they only wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Lesson one, Junebug, the organization will lie if it means gettin' what they want."

"I made a mistake," I say. I drag my eyes up from the weak black of the tea up to Grampy's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. At least we caught it before it was too late."

"What we need to do now," Ruthy says, "is come up with a game plan."

"What do you have in mind?" Barrett asks, tone smooth and calm. Like he's been through this hundreds of times. I'm impressed with the about face his attitude has taken.

"First, we need to get out of this town. Somebody's already been here looking for him. I didn't open the door, but they'll come back. With reinforcements." She gets up from the couch and walks to the wall, squatting in front of a large vent in the wall, about two feet square. She digs her nails around the edges and starts to pull.

Barrett sets his tea down and walks over to help her. When the grate's gone, Ruth reaches in and starts to tug. With a grunt, the object starts to emerge. At first, all I see is the leather handle she's pulling on. Then, slowly, a large chest comes sliding out of its hiding spot.

Barrett lifts it without being asked and brings it over to our grouping. The top is layered in dust. Ruthy wipes it away. "I put this together right after I made Abel leave. I knew it was only a matter of time before I saw him again. And I knew the circumstances wouldn't be ideal."

A large gold padlock secures the contents hidden in its bowels. Ruthy reaches down the neck of her dress and pulls out a small chain. At the end is a key. She licks her lips, looking a bit regretful, and twists the lock open.

It falls aside with a dull thud against the carpet. Her deft hands run along the edges of the lid and she gently lifts it, letting it fall back against the hinges.

I bring my hand up to my mouth as I gasp. Barrett's knuckles turn white as he grips the arms of the chair. And Grampy?

Grampy laughs.

Lonley

(Catch up, here)

Barrett busts through the door first, to protect me, even though I told him it wasn't necessary. The little kid we met downstairs said something about three being a lucky number and I knew. When I was faced with the real possibility that Grampy might be dead, I was swallowed by the most suffocating sense of loneliness in existence. A world without Grampy would be colder than a dark hole.

"Barrett!" Grampy barks with the door is busted in. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this your grandson?" a woman behind him asks. Ruthy. Grampy's ears turn pink.

"I'm his nurse, ma'am."

"Nurse?"

"I'm June." I step out from behind Barrett's bulky frame. "His granddaughter." I extend my hand.

Ruthy takes it in hers, strong and cool. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"What are you doing here?" Grampy asks, such a contrast to Ruthy's soft words.

"I came to bring you home. Running away like this is one of the stupidest things you've done." I'm trying to hold it together. I was so afraid I wouldn't see him agaon, and the relief that he's here—safe—pricks my eyes with tears.

"Coming after me is the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"Abel," Ruthy says, clearly disappointed.

I can't help it. I think it's the guilt, but I start to cry. A disgusting wet, snotty mess of a cry. I cover my face with my hands.

Grampy's fingers gently bring them down. His eyes are soft, apologetic, almost. But I know him. He's never sorry for anything. Not really.

"You're stronger than this," he says. It's supposed to be an encouragement. And in a way, it helps.

"Coming after you isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done." I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve.

"You're teen years don't count," he says with a smile.

"They sent me to find you," I blurt.

In chorus, the entire room says, "What?"

"The organization. They sent me to come find you."

"Why would they do that? They knew nothing about you and Jack."

I twist my fingers together and unwind them. "Because I'm a member. Have been for a few years now."

The rage that crosses Grampy's face is like none I've ever seen before. His jowls shakes with his anger and the vein in his temple starts to throb. I take a step back. Barrett puts his hand on my back to keep me standing.

"Why. Would you. Do that?" Grampy asks.

I give a meek shrug. Right now, my reasons seem small and worthless. "They told me you were in danger. They said I needed to go and find you, bring you back safe. I was only trying to protect you."

"Abel," Ruthy says, a hand on his shoulder. "Try to remember when you were a part of the organization. How eager to change things we were. "

"I am. That's what makes me so mad. Why, Junebug? Why would you do something like this?"

"Because of that nickname! Because I was trying to prove myself to you. To show you that I was worth something."

"The nickname?" He wrinkles his forehead in confusion.

"I heard you tell someone once that you thought I was obnoxious, just like a June bug."

He looks confused for a moment. Then he nods. "You didn't hear the other half of that conversation. I told him I called you after my favorite thing in nature. June bugs are beautiful, just like you. As well as resilient and tough."

"You think I'm tough?"

"You joined the organization to protect me, didn't you?"

I smile. "I guess."

"Why don't I make some tea?" Ruthy says. "I have a feeling it's time for Abel to clear the air of secrets."

"I agree," I say.