Jax
I wake up happy and get up annoyed. She left. Again.
I’m always the one who leaves first, who sneaks out in the wee hours. Who feels like enough is enough. Would having had breakfast together been the worst thing in the world? Yet, as I storm to the bathroom, I see it. Another note:
Let’s do this again. Call me.
I smile at the neat fancy handwriting. Maybe she isn’t as through with me as I thought.
My phone rings.
“You’re up at this time? The famous Jax Forester?” The voice is sardonic, and the voice is right, this is too early for me.
“Who is this?”
“Brax. I’ve got some information on that sister of yours you may find interesting. Meet at Denny’s?”
I glance out the window. Sure enough, across the street is the promising yellow and red hexagon of a Denny’s sign.
“The one on Clair Creek? I can be there in ten.”
“I can be there in twenty. See ya.”
As soon as I hang up, I curse myself. Why didn’t I just ask him right then what he knew? His voice didn’t sound sad or ominous, but what did he care if my sister was enslaved or worse?
I race around the room, throwing on crumpled clothes and shoving belongings I’m pretty sure are mine into my messenger bag. Then I sit on my bed and stare at the bag. It’s a Visconti oil tan classic. The leather was distressed already, so the stains I’ve accrued of the dirt, grease, and the less-than-legal things I’ve done over the years look natural.
Sarah bought it for me years ago. I don’t think she ever really grasped the full extent of what I do, but she knew it wasn’t good. And yet she accepted me, supported me, loved me. She knew this bag was just the thing I needed – some fine leather already battle-worn and ready for some more action.
I look at the bag, at all I have left of my sister now. “I’ll get you back, Sarah. I swear on my life, I’ll get you back.”
###
Even before I get into Denny’s, Brax is easy to find; he’s the skeleton at the booth by the window, waving at me gaily.
“Hiya, Jaxy,” he calls as soon as I’m through the door.
I wave back, trying not to let how jarring I find his show. Odds are I’ll never get used to the high-pitched nasally tone or its bizarre owner.
As I sit down, I allow myself one quick once-over of Brax: his skeleton-tattooed face, his black and pink pinstriped T-shirt showing a sliver of a very tattooed chest, his chest’s swirl of faces, clawed hands, shapes, and shades, all of which somehow mesh together into an Escher-esque optical mindfuck.
“I got a kitty,” Brax says, angling up his arm to show me a little snarling monster of a kitten on his elbow.
“Cool,” I say.
He grins and puts both hands, palms-down, on the table.
“You like beans? I ordered us beans.”
“Yeah, man, I—”
“Right, your sister, of course, sorry.”
Just then Whitey comes in, smiling apologetically. “Sorry I’m late boys,” he says as he sits down.
“It’s fine,” I say, my gaze immediately switching back to Brax.
“Brax here was just about to tell me about my sister.”
Brax nods. “Hey, nice shirt, man,” he tells Whitey, his gaze flicking to the snarling tiger that looks like it’s barreling out of Whitey’s abdomen.
Whitey pats it fondly. “Yeah, thanks, man. Alexa found it on the Internet. One of those Chinese eBay outfits that have everything but take at least forty business days to send anything. When I wear it, she just goes wild.” Whitey stretches his teeth into another wide metallic smile. He picks up his napkin and adds, “Yeah, so about Sarah, yeah?”
Brax nods. “Right. So, I have some contacts, okay – a contact – who will remain anonymous. Anyway she – I mean they, right, they – might have seen your sister around the Russos. Or that guy’s son. The big Russo head – but not him. His son. Emilio or something. You got me?”
I unclench my hands, the knuckles now pink. Before I was pretty sure that that Emilio bastard was involved, but now that I know for sure? Oh, there’s going to be hell to pay.
“So, you’re telling me—” I take a breath and lower my voice. “You’re telling me the Russos have my sister? That they took her?”
Brax gives his head a sideways wave, the snake on his neck pulsing up then down. “Right – Well, nah. I’m telling you, according to the contact, they probably may have something to do with your sister. Or right, okay, maybe they even took her. Right, you could say that.”
“Here are your beans!” a cheery redhead says, putting a bowl in front of Brax.
“Right, I think this guy wants beans too,” Brax says, flicking his thumb at Whitey, who gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Great, another bowl of beans coming right up!”
“Ah, and wait one second,” Brax says.
“Yes?” the redhead asks, her blue eyes widening in concern.
“Can I just say something?” Brax spreads out his arms on the booth.
Whitey and I exchange a look. Here we go again.
“Of course,” she replies, nodding out the vehemence of her statement.
“I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve gone to Denny’s now, and can I just say that the service you’ve provided here today, the out-of-this-world speed and – Damn, just that smile of yours. I mean, what I wanna say is, it’s really something. It really is something.”
The redhead appears to blush to the roots of her hair. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much for that.” She pauses, then sweeps away, Brax’s close-set gaze on her ass as she leaves.
“Brax, my man…” Whitey says.
Brax shrugs and runs a finger over the bird on his tattooed lower lip. “Women want what they fear.”
Whitey and I burst out laughing. Maybe there’s something to that. I mean, take Bella for instance. The excitement flares in her eyes like no other when she doesn’t know what I’m going to do next.
“You’re fucking crazy, man,” Whitey says, still laughing, “Probably right. But definitely fucking crazy.”
Smirking like a smug son-of-a-bitch, Brax puts his snake-skin fingers around his cup and, lifting it in a toast, says, “To women.”
“To women,” Whitey and I chorus, and then I add, “To Sarah. I’m going to find her and put those Russo fuckers down. They messed with the wrong family.”
After we drink, Whitey slams his glass down on the table and, eyes glinting with excitement, asks, “So plan on?”
I slam my own glass down and nod. “Plan on. Plan more than on. We’re going to blow the Russos and their house back to hell where they belong. We’re not just going to cut them off at the legs, we’re going to gut them inside-out.”
A passing pigtailed girl ogles me with saucer eyes, while her mother pulling her along shoots me a glare.
Now it’s Whitey’s and Brax’s turn to laugh at me.
Then, in an impressed whisper, Brax says, “Seriously, boss, you have a way with words. I’ve got chills.”
Whitey is still smiling like he won the lottery. I shovel some of the beans in my mouth, and he says, “So what exactly is the plan though?”
I shovel another spoonful into my mouth, swallow, then reply, “Plan is, we intercept their shipment, just to throw them offtrack. We get at that Emilio bastard, find out where Sarah is and get her out of there. Then we demolish them so they can’t cause any more trouble ever again.”
I thought Whitey’s smile couldn’t get any bigger, but at my words, it takes over his whole face. “Something tells me, this next month is going to be the best month of my life.”
I shovel another spoonful of beans in my mouth, then another. It’s going to be okay. Now, I have a plan. We’re going to find Sarah, and we’re going to punish the Russos for what they’ve done.
At some point, Whitey’s bowl of beans is set in front of him, while Brax continues seducing our ginger waitress. I glance at my beans. I’ve mashed them into a paste. I scoop it up and eat it anyway.
The Russos aren’t sorry now, but they will be.