Chapter 49 - South Beach - Packages Delivered

Downtown - North Metro


Gabe strapped up the boxes, hauled them down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk where he stood over them for a moment, mentally reviewing what he’d packed. This was everything. Documents. Contacts. Everything important.

He kneeled down and inspected the tape one more time; he’d run short and had been forced to skimp, but they looked all right. His last kiss, killer kiss, best damned kiss he'd ever delivered. Pretty damned fucking funny if you didn't look at it too closely. Whether his cousin was up to taking it further… nothing he could do about that.

He dumped them off in Chang’s along with the rest of the shit going out in the mail tomorrow, mixing them up, and headed down the sidewalk toward the rear of the building. The back entrance was safer. Should he have sent them? The man had a family and that bitch had a mean bite. She bit him first, Gabe reminded himself, and he can bite back. If anyone in the family could do it, would do it, it would be his cousin. May as well try to take her down; he had never wasted opportunities, and there was no reason to start now.

The alley behind the restaurant was narrow and dimly lit but so far it had been safe. Rounding the corner, thinking about his next move, whether he should get out tonight or if he could wait until tomorrow morning, Gabe looked past the line of trashcans and saw him. No, tomorrow morning was going to be too late. From behind the broken palette, he said smoothly, “Hello, Gabe.”

Gabe glanced at the dumpster. He would probably be occupying it in the next few minutes, but he took a long look at the man, recognizing him. They'd outsourced the problem. This one wasn't local. And might not know what he was dealing with - always a chance to pull it out and he wasn't giving up. He had an advantage here, already saw it. He strode casually past the dumpster, boots crunching on broken glass, shifted his weight to his right leg, and smiled. “Took you long enough – good thing I waited up for you.”

University – Stanfield and Mitchell Residence


Rafe waited a week after he got the call from Jason Mitchell, a call he didn’t understand and had been inclined to ignore. He was busy; Marc was Tony’s problem, not his; and nothing about the situation seemed urgent. Only a distant and uneasy memory finally got him out there. This time he drove Gayl’s car – if he did end up taking Marc somewhere, he wasn’t going to attempt to do it with his bike.

Big place, he thought idly, strolling past three levels of dark stone and glass. He could see guitars and amps lying around a room on the second floor and wondered if Stanfield would build his kid a stage and an arena if he wanted one.

Jason and Jett Mitchell were waiting for him next to the front door, and before he had a chance to even ask what was going on, they started in on him. Both of them. At the same time. “Thanks for coming,” Jett began, “you know something’s wrong with your brother. Man something is seriously wrong with him.” “You need to do something about Marc,” Jason interrupted. “My girlfriend can’t go out of the damned house! He’s fucking crazy! He’s dangerous!”

Eying both of them, silent, Rafe wondered whether this was really about some girl they both wanted. If they’d dragged him all the way out here to get in the middle of something like that… “I don’t want to talk about it out here,” he told them flatly. “You can explain inside.”

They both got quiet immediately, opened the door and trailed after him down a short foyer and into a wide living area overlooking a park to the rear. More guitars, Rafe noted, and, staring at two girls on the sofa, his cousin Kestral. This was the girlfriend? Jason had flown her out for that last Mercury Rising performance, so it made sense. Uneasy, he started to remember Marc’s strange phone call about Kestral and her brother. Maybe there was something wrong.

Cooper’s sister Ericca leaped off the couch and started right into it. “Marc got sacked 10 times last week and 6 times the week before! He has a concussion! He’s not dangerous!” Rafe tried to tune her out, turning to Kestral. “Kes, can you tell me what’s going on?” “Have you seen his place?” Jett challenged, standing behind him but evidently talking to Ericca. “He’s got everything going but the tinfoil hat!”

Jason stepped past Kestral, who so far hadn’t said a word, and got up next to Ericca. “A concussion? There’s more going on than a concussion and you know it! You shouldn’t be hanging out there with that guy by yourself, E!” “Yeah, he might think you want to eat his brain,” Jett added. Frustrated, Rafe tried again. “Kes?” She cast an unhappy look at Ericca and in a very quiet voice responded, “Maybe it is a concussion, but something is wrong. He acts like he’s scared.”

“He’s not scared!” Ericca insisted. “He got hurt and he didn’t take care of himself!” “Then let Rafe take care of him!” Jason shouted. “Yeah,” Jett chimed in. “Before he goes after someone who takes care of the problem for him.” Kestral didn’t say another word.

“All right,” Rafe broke in, wondering how they ever managed to solve anything. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Relieved just to get out of there, Rafe walked with Jason down to the curb. Wyatt strolled up, nodded briefly as he walked by. Rafe looked at him but his attention was focused now. Out of the lot of them, Jason was the one Rafe trusted to use some damned common sense.

“He’s really that bad?” he asked. “He really is,” Jason assured him quietly. “Go find out for yourself.”

University – Marc’s Residence


As soon as Rafe pulled up at Marc’s rental and carefully walked through unlocked doors, calling his name, he saw it. The furniture was gone. An old TV aerial in the foyer and a ladder...a ladder? What the hell? “Marc?” he called out.

The smell caught him by the throat. Trash. And more than trash. Was that urine he smelled? The old memory pressed him harder.

“Marc?” he repeated uneasily. His brother was stretched out on an old sofa staring intently at a TV with no picture.

When Marc still didn’t respond, Rafe planted himself between his brother and the TV, stared down at him intently and demanded, “Look at me! What the hell is going on?”

Marc stirred and struggled to sit up. Rafe had anticipated too much alcohol, partying gone too far, something he could easily deal with. Not this. He tried to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stench, not successfully, and wondered how Cooper Stanfield’s sister had forced herself to even walk into this pit. “Rafe?” Marc responded. “How did you get here?”

Jesus, Rafe thought, horrified. He dragged his hand through his hair – what was he supposed to do with this? “In a car, Marc. Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

His brother got to his feet. Standing in the light, he looked even worse. Deep shadows under his eyes, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in a week. “Do you hear that?” Marc looked over his shoulder back toward the front door. “I put something over there to keep them out, but they still get in.”

The crash. Rafe turned away, overwhelmed with the memory. He’d fallen hard, so hard and so fast and so far he would not have made it if Gayl hadn’t hauled him out, hallucinations, everything, but it had been his mother haunting him, not things he could have blocked out with an old TV aerial. The smell. It was the same smell. It rose up in his throat and stung his eyes. “Don’t you hear them?” Marc shouted.

He drew a deep, shaking breath, turned and gripped Marc’s shoulders firmly. “I’ve heard them, Marc. But I don’t anymore. We’re getting out of here. I’m taking you away from this.”

Marc searched his face, and he seemed calmer. Maybe the acknowledgement that whatever was after him, he wasn’t alone with it. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Rafe told him gently. “We’re going home.”

Bay View – Tony’s residence


“You should have called me. You never did let me help you. But thanks for bringing him here, Rafe. I’ll get him away from here for a while and get some help for him.”

Rafe stood outside his father’s house in Bay View, breathing in the scent of grass and Oleander, the sunlight warm on his bare arms. He hadn’t spoken to Tony in a long time, although he knew his father had been over to the house to see Nic and Randi, just not when he was there. Maybe it was time to give all that up. “I know I didn’t,” he admitted. “And this is the right place for him. He needs the help. I needed it.”

Rafe looked past Tony at Marc, who was walking into the house with MJ. MJ?

“MJ’s here?” he remarked. It was sure no secret that MJ had hung in there, always, through two wives and the whole deal with Beth and she was still here. Still Tony’s girl. Looking pretty good too.

“People do change,” Tony replied obliquely, watching his son and the tall redhead enter the house. “Or change their minds.”

“Yeah…she never changed hers though.” He smiled. “Good luck with that. You deserve it, Dad. A little luck.”

Bay View – Taylor Residence



“How is he?” Gayl asked softly.

Rafe sighed. “Not good. It brought back…bad memories I guess. I got him out of there and took him to Tony. He’ll take care of him. My father’s good at that if you give him a chance.”


“Some packages arrived for you today,” she told him as they walked into the house. “I didn’t recognize the return address.”

He wanted a shower and some time alone with her, but that was strange. “I didn’t order anything. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

Rafe gave the boxes a cursory glance, then froze. The return address; he didn’t even read the return address. He didn’t have to. Scrawled across what was undoubtedly a bogus address was a set of familiar initials written in a long, bold hand in heavy black ink. GL.

Gabe.

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NEXT CHAPTER: South Beach 50