Chapter 3
John
“Insiders have suggested major insurance firms have made as much as a billion dollars in the wake of superstorm Wendy. Janet Wallace investigates this shocking corruption at the core of America’s busi—”
“Jesus.” Colt shook his lump of basecoat wax at John. “We’re on vacation; I’m trying to have fun, not cry manly tears of despair. Turn that shit off.”
John flicked the radio off. “It’s good to know things about the world, Stone.”
Colt snorted. “Here’s what you need to know; everyone’s screwing everyone else. The end.”
“Nice. What’d you study at college again? Alcohol poisoning?”
“Pussy.”
John shook his head, but couldn’t help grinning. “You’re an idiot. Anyway, we’re not on fuckin’ vacation, we’re on the job.”
“Waiting for a job to start,” Colt corrected. “Until the VIP gets here we’re just two guys getting paid to sit on some asshole’s porch and drink. I think we can round that up to a holiday.”
“Thought you hated California.” John tossed an empty beer can into the trash with a satisfying clang. “Seem to recall you saying it was full of happy assholes and vaccine-preventable diseases.”
“And I stand by that, but the surf….” Colt gave his new board the kind of soppy romantic look that belonged on a soap opera. “Biggest advantage this gig has. Hell, this state has.”
John jerked a thumb at the three-story mansion behind them. “Biggest advantage?”
“You know what I mean. The people are assholes, the Lakers suck, and there’s mosquitos everywhere. You can’t pour a glass of water without a million of the fuckers showing up.”
He slapped his arm pointedly and John rolled his eyes. Apparently, a side effect of growing up in Boston was preferring your balls freezing and your people rude as fuck. “You don’t remember squatting in the sun wearing fifty pounds of gear? Desert sucking all the wet out of your mouth? Quit bitching.”
“Oh come on, you hate it here too, you’re just happy ‘cause you’re drunk.”
John pointed at the empties surrounding Colt like shotgun shells. “And you’re not?”
“I’m bigger’n you. Takes longer.”
He had a point, but John wasn’t going to feed his ego and say so. Colt was already too proud of his height, looks, sharpshooting abilities and oversized dick to deserve compliments. Fuck knew he got enough from women. The girl they’d hooked up with on their first night in Santa Monica had been texting him every hour since.
“When’s Seb getting here?” Colt drained his beer and tossed his empty can at the trash. It hit the rim and bounced off, landing on the grass.
John grinned. “He texted me from the airport an hour ago; should be here soon.”
“Good,” Colt said, resolutely ignoring his can. “I miss that little guy.”
John cracked open another can of Bud light and drained nearly half of it. Despite the sea breeze, it felt like every swallow of beer was coming up through his skin ten minutes later. “I’m sure you’ll tell him so when he gets here.”
“’Course I will.”
He and Colt had left the kid in New York while they got set up in Santa Monica. Superficially it was to tie up loose ends, but really they’d wanted to go out without Seb’s whole wheat vibe throwing them off. It had worked too. For all his complaining Colt had absolutely no objection to Californian women.
“Hey, Blackwood.” Colt pointed at the house behind them. “Who do you think the person they’re bringing here is? Can’t be a criminal or they’d be in jail, right? But then why’s the house sealed up tighter than a duck’s asshole?”
“Extra security?” John shrugged. “Contract just said the VIP’s a person of interest. We’ll find out more when he gets here.”
Truthfully, he still had misgivings about the job but it was easier to ignore them when you were half drunk and well laid. Colt didn’t want to listen to NPR, he didn’t want to talk about the fucking contract.
“Yeah, maybe.” Colt glanced up from where he was kneeling on the deck. “What’s your gut saying?”
John’s face and neck prickled with heat as he avoided Colt’s gaze. “Not sure man but stop thinking on it. Marty signed off on the job, and he’s the most cynical bastard on earth. We’ll just watch this prick for six weeks, then walk away three hundred grand richer.”
“True.”
Colt resumed waxing his board like it was one of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders and John kept drinking, but the atmosphere wasn’t quite as comfortable as it had been before. He could stop replaying what Colt asked over and over ‘what’s your gut saying?’ They’d had one conversation about his ‘gift’ nine years ago and while they never talked about it his friend apparently hadn’t forgotten. The idea did not sit well with him.
“Hey, is that Seb?” Colt asked, pointing to the battered blue Ford pulling up in front of the wrought iron gates.
John squinted. “Think so, I can see his hair.”
When they’d first met Seb his head had been shaved to a fine gold fuzz. Now his straw-colored curls were visible from a half mile away.
“Should we get up?” Colt asked.
“Nah, he’s got the code.”
They watched as instead of getting out of the parked car the kid continued chatting with his driver
“What’s the bet he and Mr. Uber are exchanging numbers?” Colt cupped his hands around his mouth. “Kid! Get your ass up here!”
With a look of irritation Seb finally got out of the car. “Do you have to shout at me?”
“Are we embarrassing you in front of your new friend?”
Seb flipped Colt off as he hauled his pack from the back seat then leaned back through the passenger side to shake hands with his driver.
“I swear that kid could make friends with a trash can,” Colt said, popping the tab on his fourteenth beer. “He’s too nice for his own fuckin’ good.”
“True,” John agreed. Still you couldn’t help but feel a little protective of Seb. He wasn’t weak, far from it, but he had a bone-deep goodness that made you care for him even if you didn’t want to. All the guys in their Unit had felt the same way even if, like Colt, they expressed it mainly through making fun of his accent.
“How are you both?” Seb called as he trudged up the driveway. “I can’t believe this place.”
“Pretty fucking big, huh?” Colt swung his beer can in a wide arc over his head. “Welcome to Castle by the Sea.”
The kid stared up at the house. “Castle by the Sea?”
“Castle by the Sea kid. Pretentious as fuck but you’ve gotta admit it suits the place?”
Seb looked the property over. “You’re right, it’s like somethin’ from Assassins Creed. You guys supposed to be drinkin’ out front like this?
“We’re not on the clock yet,” Colt said, draining his can and crushing it. “How was your flight?”
“Not bad.” Seb slung his backpack to the ground. “You know you can get Wi-Fi up there now? You have to pay for it but still, it hits.”
Colt shoved the kid in the shoulder. “Why the fuck would you pay for Wi-Fi on a four-hour flight?”
“Facetimed with Maddie, she’s worried about me comin’ to California, it bein’ so far away and all.”
Maddie was Seb’s high school sweetheart and John doubted she was worried about his safety as much as his proximity to chicks in thong bikinis but decided not to point that out. He stood up and gave the kid a one-armed hug. “It’ll be worth it, man.”
“I hope so. Maddie was mad enough about me livin’ in New York. Now I’m on the west coast for six weeks she thinks—”
Colt leaped up wrapping an arm around Seb’s neck. Despite his earlier claim to sobriety, he was swaying like a palm tree in the wind. “Shut up and grab a beer, Rhodes, we’re celebrating.”
The kid looked understandably nervous. At six foot four Colt wasn’t a guy you wanted passing out on top of you. “Celebratin’ what, exactly?”
“Money, boy. Fuckloads of beautiful money.” Colt ran a hand through Seb’s hair. “And your beautiful Rapunzel hair.”
Seb shook his head violently. “I swear whenever you drink you’re tryna get a feel. Back off.”
“Can’t help it if you’re pretty as a girl,” Colt said, leaning in as though for a kiss.
Seb’s cheeks and neck went the color of a fire engine and he ducked his head forcing Colt to release him. “We ain’t servin’ anymore. There’s plenty of real girls around for you to chase.”
“None that live at this address. Now c’mere.”
Colt lunged for Seb’s hair and John knew exactly what was about to happen. Sure enough Colt tackled Seb head-on causing them both to topple off the porch. He sat back down, reclaimed his beer and settled in to watch. Dust-ups between Colt and Seb were a bi-weekly occurrence. John put their willingness to scrap down to the fact that neither of them had brothers. He didn’t have brothers either but he could never take a punch without trying to kill the thing that threw it.
When Seb and Colt finally called it a draw John had finished his can and was halfway through another. The two men separated, breathing hard and covered in dirt.
“Have fun?” John asked Colt, who was clutching his side.
“Asshole got me in the kidneys.”
“You asked for it, old boy.” Seb pulled his now-filthy shirt over his head and indicated the white and gold front door. “Can I head inside, John? I need to wash up.”
John laughed. “Wishful thinking, kiddo, we’re not living in the main house, we’ve got a bunker out back.”
Seb’s shoulders slumped. “Bunker? Is it as nice as the house?”
“I think you know the answer to that, kid.” John hauled himself to his feet. “C’mon, I’ll give you a tour.”