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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 Gavin Pierson?”
The voice is sardonic and the voice is right, this is too early for me.
“Who is this?”
“Pulse. 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 10.”
“I can be there in 20. 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.
Hannah 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, and I say, “I’ll get you back, Hannah. I swear on my life, I’ll get you back.”
###
EVEN BEFORE I GET INTO Denny’s, Pulse is easy to find. He’s the skeleton at the booth by the window, waving at me gaily.
“Hiya, Gavy,” he calls as soon as I’m through the door.
I wave back, trying not to let how jarring I find him 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 Pulse: 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,” Pulse says, angling up his arm to show me a little snarling monster of a kitten on his elbow.
“Cool,” I say.
He grins, 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 Jaws 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 Pulse.
“Pulse here was just about to tell me about my sister.”
Pulse nods.
“Hey, nice shirt man,” he tells Jaws, his gaze flicking to the snarling tiger that looks like it’s barreling out of Jaws’ abdomen.
Jaws pats it fondly.
“Yeah, thanks, man. Tinsley 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.”
Jaws stretches his teeth into another wide metallic smile, that, seeing the expression on my face, falls.
He picks up his napkin and says, “Yeah, so about Hannah, yeah?”
Pulse 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 Rebel Saints. Or that guy’s son. The big Piccolo head – but not him. His son. Carl of Carson or something. You got me?”
I unclench my hands, the knuckles now pink.
Before I was pretty sure that that Carlos 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 inhale, then exhale, lowering my voice – “You’re telling me the Piccolos have my sister. That they took her.”
Pulse 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 Pulse and, at his direction, me.
“Right, I think this guy wants beans too,” Pulse says, flicking his thumb at Jaws, who gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Great, another bowl of beans coming right up!”
“Ah and wait one second-” Pulse says.
“Yes?” the redhead says, her blue eyes widening in concern.
“Can I just say something?” Pulse asks, spreading his arms on the booth.
Jaws and I exchange a look. Here we go again.
“Of course,” she says, 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 blushes to the roots of her hair.
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much for that.”
She pauses, then sweeps away, Pulse’s close-set gaze on her ass as she leaves.
“Pulse, my man...” Jaws says.
Pulse shrugs, runs a finger over the bird on his tattooed lower lip.
“Women want what they fear.”
Jaws and I burst out laughing.
Maybe there’s something to that. I mean, take Torrie 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,” Jaws says, still laughing, “Probably right. But definitely fucking crazy.”
Smirking like a smug son-of-a-bitch, Pulse puts his snake-skin fingers around his cup and, lifting it in a toast, says, “To women.”
“To women,” Jaws and I chorus, and then I add, “To Hannah. I’m going to find her and put those Piccolo fuckers down. They messed with the wrong family.”
After we drink, Jaws slams his glass down on the table and, eyes glinting with excitement, asks, “So plan on?”
I slam my own glass down, nod.
“Plan on. Plan more than on. We’re going to blow the Piccolos 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 Jaws’ and Pulse’s turn to laugh at me.
Then, in an impressed whisper, Pulse says, “Seriously Boss, you have a way with words. I’ve got chills.”
Jaws 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 in my mouth, swallow, then say, “Plan is, we intercept their shipment, just to throw them off track. We get at that Carlos bastard, find out where Hannah is and get her out of there. Then we demolish them so they can’t cause any more trouble ever again.”
I thought Jaws’ 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 Hannah and we’re going to punish the Piccolos for what they’ve done.
At some point, Jaws’ bowl of beans is set in front of him, while Pulse 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 Piccolos aren’t sorry now, but they will be.
*