FIC: The Art of Parenting (3/4)
“The Art of Parenting”
Author: DJ_the_Writer
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Charles/OFC
Characters: Charles, Dethklok, OCs
Warnings: Not much, actually
Summary: Charles spends quality time with his nephew, or tries to.
This is technically a sequel to “In Strange Eons” but is not very mythology-heavy, though it references previous events. Go to my journal for all of the archived stories.
Wikdsushi did some betaing on the earlier chapters.
Chapter 3
It was morning somewhere. Just not in Mordland. Angela’s body didn’t care a whole lot about things like time zones and wake-sleep cycles at the moment, because it was 10 pm and she still couldn’t keep food down. She also couldn’t take Mordhaus’s most preferred nausea drug because she needed to work and the polite nurse told her that smoking was bad for her. She really hoped Charles didn’t call again, because she wasn’t sure she had the brain cells left for a conversation that was all about not saying anything important.
The band was at an in-house party, and her job ended after checking the flown-in crowd of fresh sluts for waivers, STDs, and any genetic relation for Skiwsgaar (the scientists cooked up a test for it that worked faster than the test for strep). The normal handlers could manage the usually filthy details of the band in the actual house. Night-training runs began on schedule. Most of Dethklok’s English-speaking business contacts were finishing or done with work and the European and Near Eastern ones were just beginning their day. She managed her way through a business meeting with Dethklok Tokyo mostly by bringing the legal eagles who loved to talk in teleconferences, then wondered how often Charles used that trick when he was tired.
But she didn’t want to back to Charles’s apartments and just be alone and miserable. She wanted to work until she face-planted somewhere, not leaving any time to lie awake in bed, when the worst kind of thoughts popped up. When all the work was actually done, and she could busy herself no longer, she ordered up a six-pack of root beer (because it would be nice to drink from a bottle, or a lot of bottles) and texted 82.
3201: Story time.
82: Im in weapons check
3201: Story time NOW.
Since 82 responded well to orders and was there in ten minutes, staring hesitantly at her from across Charles’s living room. “This is not a good story for either of us.”
“Charles seemed OK with you telling it when I asked.”
“He couldn’t speak!”
Angela shrugged. “Look, I’ve either had the best or shittiest day of my life and I haven’t decided which it is yet, so just do this for me.”
82 sighed and removed his hood.
***************************************
Many Years Ago
The job sucked. Andrew had his share of bad clients - any bodyguard did - but this singer the worst. The absolute fucking worst. Not only was she under the unfortunately common assumption that he was also her valet for the night, sending him for water, she didn’t make his job any easier by pissing off everyone in her radius with her self-important attitude. Andrew hoped she would at least have some composure and act like a class act during her act.
The audience didn’t make it any easier. It wasn’t a dive, but it was far from Carnegie Hall. The apparent regulars were there, made obvious by the way they were molded into their seats and their regular drinks served to them without ordering. It was a nice enough place not to have a chicken wire-shrouded stage, which honestly would have made his job a lot easier, but he still believed that her ex-boyfriend’s threats were not substantiated claims and Andrew’s presence was not required. Still, a job was a job.
When the singer, whose stage name was Lucy, got in the right mood, she could be pretty good. She was no show stopper but she didn’t detract from the atmosphere, at least at first. After the second song ended and she launched into her third, a crowd showed up that made the bartenders flinch. Not an unfamiliar crowd, but not necessarily a friendly one. They were wearing preppy clothing - adult preppy clothing - and some of them were in sweated-out gym clothing and carrying long duffle bags not stuffed with clothing. Considering Lucy wasn’t the target of any massive hit, Andrew let down his guard only until he saw the ‘GSU Alumni Fencing Club’ insignia on one of the bags and noticed it in smaller version on a lot of the blazers.
They were a problem before they even start drinking.
Very few of them hold their liquor. They were preppies, they were destructive, dangerous preppies, and they weren’t not kids. They were more dangerous with each passing minute and they stayed for an hour. And they don’t like Lucy. She didn’t sing their requests because they shout them so drunkenly she couldn’t make them out, but she also couldn’t take heckling. She never did.
Andrew knew about the fight before it started. He saw the swing an hour ago and twelve beers ago, from the bulky guy who matched him in weight only because of a growing beer gut, but also in height. This guy was not happy with Lucy, not happy with the service, and generally unhappy in a playful sort of way with his pals and a mean sort of way with other people. So he lobbed one in Andrew’s direction when the bodyguard told him to back away from the stage.
Andrew caught it it. He could have broken the man’s fingers but it would take too much time and energy and he was on the job. So he just shoved him away, and the man stumbled and slid halfway across the room.
Lucy shrieked and ran ... upstairs. Like a pro, that one. A real head on her shoulders. Andrew could have followed her but he didn’t want to expose his back to anyone with a blade, and by now several of them had them out, heedless of anti-weapon carry laws in the state. The points were dulled and padded but it’s still a metal weapon. Andrew just dodged the first guy and punched the lights out of the second.
A third emerged, seemingly from the shadows, and he looked down at his fallen comrades before directing his steely gaze, made more sinister from the way his glasses reflected the lights and made his eyes impossible to see. This one was too fast. Andrew caught the blade, but that didn’t stop it, only slowed it down. He didn’t feel the rest of the cut and thought for a moment maybe the guy had missed him. Either way, it was time to go and get back to his mark.
He turned and ran up the same stairs, pausing only to drop the thing in his fist, which he recognized to be a taped piece of foam and metal. The tip of the fencing rapier must have broken off in his hand, making it a real weapon.
When he reached the hysterical Lucy on the third floor, something was covering his eye. Blood was pouring into his eye and mouth, but he still didn’t feel the cut. It was just that clean. Knowing he would feel it soon, he ignored her horrified screams, picks her up, and stormed through the last available door.
Inside the room was only a window with a fire escape. Bingo. With the people climbing up the stairs in a noisy fashion, he only had once choice. He pulled it open and Lucy tore out onto the fire escape without really realizing what it was, before he could grab her.
Before the shitty, rusted fire escape that was not up to code gave out entirely.
Fuck.
With his last inch of professionalism, Andrew grabbed her hand and held her as they plummeted to their deaths. Or would have, if his other arm wasn’t caught by someone with incredible strength. Andrew only had one eye to look up now - and the wound was seriously burning - but he could see the guy holding onto him with both arms. That fucker with glasses. Maybe he benched, too.
“Hold on,” his former attacker said, and in the glint of his glasses Andrew could see the blues and reds of ambulances and police cars arriving. Somehow the guy held onto them long enough for the police to get a ladder up and both of them down.
Lucy fired him on the way to the ambulance - understandable - and gave him an earful about getting blood on her dress. Andrew just took it in but he couldn’t really hear her with the buzzing in his ears from adrenalin and also pain. The EMTs said something about sutures and the hospital, but they gave him a shot of morphine and patched him up enough to bring the blood loss to a reasonable amount before dealing with other bar patrons who were emerging. Never a fan of being on his back when something was happening, Andrew climbed out and sat on the back of the ambulance, holding a hand to his cheek to stop the blood flow.
He wasn’t alone. The guy was there, the glasses guy. After the EMTs cleaned him up, Andrew regained the use of both eyes, which were thankfully unharmed, but blood was quickly soaking the bandages and making one unusable again.
“You saved my life,” he said in no uncertain terms. Because he had.
“I also did that,” the fencer replied with undiminished candor. “I’m sorry about that. It was unprofessional of me. But you took my sparring partner down and I ... reacted.” He added, “I’ll, ah, pay whatever medical expenses you have.”
Andrew didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he would take him up on the offer. Seemed mean to fine the guy. “I know you from somewhere.”
“Possible. Did you use to work for Dethklok?”
Now that familiar, nasal tone fell into place. “Fuck-Offdensen!” He said it before realizing that was only what they called him behind his back. But it was two years ago, so how was he to remember?
Instead, his former employer chuckled. “Yes, people did use to call me that.”
“I’m sorry - I just don’t know your real name.”
“Charles Ofdensen. So some creativity went into my nickname. Now it’s not approved of.” Charles shook his finger at him. “Your name is Andrew. You were our bouncer.”
“Right. That was some awesome music, man.”
“And we couldn’t pay you,” Charles said. “This may seem like an odd time to say it, but I felt it was a shame to let such a valuable, ah, employee go.”
Andrew looked over - or tried to look over - at Lucy in the other van. “Not everyone feels the same way about me.”
“In need of a job? Dethklok is hiring people - especially people with your talents.” Charles inadvertently looked at Andrew’s marine tattoo, which he must have seen at some point before, but was just making a note of now. “And we can pay you real money. Not beer tickets.”
“How’s that going?”
“The band just finished their first album after the label contract so they’re doing just fine, in their respective drinking holes. So I came in for a brief visit with old friends. I remember them tolerating their alcohol better.”
Andrew nodded, which hurt. That cut went deep, and it seemed to be everywhere on his face. “Look, I know you saved my life out there, so you don’t owe me anything.”
“I don’t give people jobs because I owe them things,” Charles said, adding with a dangerous grin, “especially not for the sort of job I’m looking for.”
***************************************
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Angela said with a smile.
82 didn’t directly respond. He looked his tiring superior over. “Are you going to be OK?”
“I don’t know. Eventually. Just not today. Not until I tell Charles - and then, I have no idea.”
“He’ll do the right thing,” 82 said. “He might be a little surprised, or not how to react, but he’ll do the right thing. He loves you.” This time, at least, he didn’t mince words. “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”
“There’s only one thing I want to do, and I can’t leave Mordhaus. Even if I could get away with it, I promised Charles. But when he gets back, if I can have a day off ...”
“When he gets back,” 82 said, “he better damn well give you whatever you want.”
***************************************
This isn’t too bad, Charles thought to himself. And it really wasn’t. The Stern house was full of rooms with plush leather couches on which to drink what was clearly Josh’s favorite expensive liquor that he had stored up for a special occasion, even if it was only wine. Most of his job seemed to be texting now, which was definitely an improvement over the old days of standing over a fax machine waiting for a contract. And he could do it with one eye on the various news magazine programs on TV that he needed or just wanted to sue for libel. It was still a good ten degrees too warm for him, but at least the sun was down on another day in LA that was over and he would never have to endure again.
“Sir, do you want us to shoot at the helicopter circling the zone?”
He barely looked up at the Klokateer with the assault rifle. “The one with the Falconback insignia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s it been, an hour? Give it another twenty minutes.” It never made sense to him that the Tribunal would go so far out to monitor his activity and then skimp on the gas bill. They were almost always gone in an hour. And getting into a match would them would be a whole ... thing. “We need to let them get far out enough to not alert the coast guard before we blow them out of the sky.” Which would be done a lot more easily with his stealth bomber, not a security guard. That would be mostly a waste of bullets. Plus Sarah said not to spook the neighbors, blah blah blah...
His phone rang. Actually rang. That meant he had to pick it up. “What is it?” The ID said 42948, which it took even him to remember was one of the Dethklok OC operatives.
“There’s an undercover narcotics officer here about to call in a raid,” 42948 said. The party was loud enough that background noise was audible even though it sounded like he was calling from outside the building. “Should I extract SOS?”
“Is he doing any drugs?”
“Only some very week chronic, sir. I think it may just be hemp.”
Charles looked up at the ceiling and waved the armed Klokateer away. “Is he drunk?”
“I don’t think he would pass a breathalyzer, sir.”
Charles debated his options. “Call the guy we’ve got undercover in the police department. Make sure he gets on the raid, he arrests Sam, and then just have him drive him here. In the cop car.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was time for the security Gears to scramble back into the bushes for the rest of the night. He tried not to worry too much about the situation, since 42948 knew his life was on the line, and it was just a police raid of a party. As if no one in the OC could pay for their kids to get off with some community service and an expunged record. It might even be good for them.
But he would have to answer to Sarah if that happened, since he was the parent in this situation or something, so that wasn’t going to happen to Sam. This time.
Charles smoked a cigarette near the infinity pool while he waited. It wasn’t good for him, but there was very little reason to not do whatever the hell he wanted with his body right now. Plus it was easier than finishing off Josh’s entire OPUS 1 collection in such a short span of time, even with him giving it his all.
It was really only when the doorbell rang that he realized he had no fucking clue how to deal with this situation. Act mad, he supposed. He was mad, but how angry could he really be at a kid for acting like a kid?
He didn’t know the Klokatter’s number (no hood) so he didn’t address him when he showed up with Sam, still handcuffed. “Hey, Uncle Charlie.”
Charles just folded his arms while the undercover Gear uncuffed him and pushed him inside. “His alcohol level is .04, which is four points below legal limit, but he’s under 21, so it wouldn’t have mattered. If they did a further drug test he could be looking at a serious charge,” the cop said. He was also a real cop. “His friend is going to time for having that much cocaine around. That’s intention to sell as well as possession. It’ll be juvie, but his parents will have to pay a fortune to get it off his record.”
“You can get him off, right?” Sam said. “Please say you can get him off. He can’t go to prison.”
The cop looked at Sam, then at Charles. “The kid had like half a brick of cocaine. It looked cut, but still. What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Uncle - “
“Not now,” he snarled at Sam. “I might decide to call the judge. But maybe not. Either way, don’t worry about it.”
“Anything else, My Lord?”
He really hated when people called him that. “Just get back before it’s suspicious.” He slammed the door on the saluting officer and turned to his nephew. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know. Do you control everyone in Orange County?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Enough of them. And that’s to protect you and your parents. Not to get you a free ride!” Charles was a little annoyed at how well Sam was taking this. Maybe because he was still drunk, or high, or whatever. “Do you know what would have happened if I didn’t have someone at that party? And didn’t know the police force? I would be bailing you out of the drunk tank four hours from now after they finally got around to giving you your phone call, and you would be spending your summer doing community service for what, one beer? Two beers?”
“And you would have been in big trouble with Mom and Dad.”
“I can handle Sarah. And I can definitely handle your dad. I would have felt bad that it happened under my watch, which is why it didn’t. Do you realize how bad this would have been if I hadn’t been there to protect you? Because I’m not always going to be. And the problem isn’t always going to be just the police. Did you have any coke?”
“No!” Finally he was defensive about something. “But like half the class - “
“Cocaine is really bad for you. It’s not meth but it’s really bad. And why am I having this conversation with someone who’s barely fourteen? Do you know what I was doing at fourteen? I was scared of cigarettes! I thought they would kill me!”
Sam swallowed. “So are we not gonna tell my parents about this? Please? It would make you the coolest uncle ever.”
“I don’t fucking care about being the coolest uncle ever!” Charles said, and actually saw Sam shiver a bit. Well, good for him. “You’re thirteen and you’re drunk, you think you’re high when you’ve been lighting industrial hemp on fire and breathing in the fumes, and you think cocaine is no big deal. Cocaine is a big deal. It’s a very big fucking deal!”
The last lien hung in the air. He must have been shouting; he couldn’t remember the last time he was shouting outside of a recording studio and in his own voice.
“Christ. I knew Dethklok doesn’t set a good example, but I assumed you were smart enough not to take them seriously. Or what they do seriously. Because they’re messes, all of them. Their bodies are barely holding together. They’d all be dead in a gutter if it wasn’t for me.” That was only mostly true, as they had other forces behind them, but he couldn’t say that. “Look, cocaine destroys whatever it touches. So stay away from it. And I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
Sam sunk lower into the chair he’d fallen into. “I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t acting like it.”
“I am! And I know you like, pulled strings or whatever to get me out of there. That was a cool thing to do.”
“I didn’t do it because it was cool. I did it to protect you. You’re supposed to be a kid! And I just want you to know that I debated not doing anything and letting you get arrested so you would understand that there are consequences to your actions. Because honestly I don’t know how else you’re going to learn that. Next time you’re at a party that gets too wild, I’m not going to be there and your parents aren’t going to have a magic number to call to get you out of trouble.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Sam had to think about it. “If you don’t tell them, I guess they’re going to find out eventually. I mean, I can’t really expect you to - “
“If they’re not going to find out from me when they come home tomorrow they’re never going to find out.”
“Why do you keep talking like that?”
“Like what? Someone who’s deeply disappointed in you?”
“Like you’re going to die soon. Do you have cancer?”
Charles sighed. And he didn’t say anything for a conspicuously long time. Sam was a dumb metalhead, but he was actually a pretty smart kid. It shouldn’t have been so surprising. They were related. “OK. So maybe we each have something not to tell your parents.”
Sam went really pale. Almost Charles’s own skin color. “You have cancer?”
“No, it’s not cancer. It’s ... really complicated.” And he really didn’t want Sam to find out. Not like this. Or ever, somehow. “There’s a Dethklok show coming up in two months, and I’m going to die there.” Wow, that actually was pretty simple. “I can’t explain why. You wouldn’t believe it anyway. It will all make sense afterwards. I can promise you that.” If Sam survived. If the world survived.
“And you didn’t tell Mom?” Sam’s voice still had a tendency to squeak when he raised his voice. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t think she would believe me. And I haven’t ah, gotten around to it. I haven’t told anyone.” He added, “Except Angela. But she just has to know for corporate reasons. So she’s known for a couple months. Before that, I knew, but I didn’t know when it was coming. I just knew I had a year or two left.” Jesus Christ, that seemed like so long ago. A year? He wasn’t sure he could even make it a year now. He was so wound up and exhausted at the same time. He couldn’t see himself doing what he was doing at Mordhaus now in another twelve months. “This is just the way things have to be. It’s OK. I’ve been legally dead twice now. I’m prepared.”
That part was, he was slowly realizing over the course of this conversation, a huge lie.
“I’m going to tell your mom,” he assured Sam. “I’m just not ready yet.”
“What about, um, Andrea - “
“Angela. She understands. She’s not happy about it, but she understands.” That was one thing he could count on. There was at least one person in the universe who wasn’t an old bearded cultist who understood why he had to do what he had to do - and why he wanted to do it. “I know you think this rockstar life is really glamorous, and I wasn’t kidding about the band being in terrible shape. And I guess you think my life is awesome, because I get to shot people and control the police and other things I won’t admit to and then go on to win awards. But it’s not. I’m really tired, Sam. I can’t begin to explain how tired I am. If I wasn’t already going to die, this job would kill me sooner or later, and it’s all I can really do. So stop looking up to me or anyone else around you except your mom and your dad. And don’t quote me on the bit about your dad until after I’m dead.”
“You know Dad actually kind of likes you, right?”
“He’s not going to like me much after he finds out the damage I did to his liquor cabinet, but yes, I am aware of that. It’s just the way it is. You would understand if you had a younger sister. Someone you thought you needed to take care of, even if you didn’t because she was fine on her own. She’s always been fine.”
He needed another smoke.
“You’re really going to die?”
“Yes.” He answered quickly enough stamp out any hint of insincerity.
“How?”
“I’m going to throw a fight,” he said. “I don’t know the details of it yet.” Charles wasn’t sure he wanted to know them. “Sometimes these things just have to happen. People have to die for Dethklok.”
And Sam just sat there, somehow getting seemingly lower in his seat, like he was devolving. It made Charles feel really terrible about telling him. Maybe it was a mistake. Sam was still a kid even if he was almost in adult trouble that night. Charles could have told Sarah, and she would have told Sam. But that would have been kind a shitty thing for him to do?
Fuck, he didn’t know.
He must have been kind of lost inside that sinking feeling in himself, because otherwise he would have jumped at being touched, but Sam was hugging him and he wasn’t freaking out about it. Wow, he’d really gotten tall. A bit over Charles’s shoulder. Definitely the Stern side. “Ah, it’s going to be OK.” Even though it was sort of not going to do that. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t mean to make Sam cry. And it was probably best not to point that out. Instead he hugged back.
A very long time after that, one smoke’s worth so he could stop his hands from shaking and say something about nicotine being bad simultaneously, Charles got it together and so did Sam, who asked, “What’s death like?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah.”
He stubbed the cigarette out on the lawn. “Until you get where you’re going, it kind of sucks.”
***************************************
“I heard something about a party?” Sarah asked at the airport. It was practically her opening line.
“Really? How?” About this he was actually a little curious.
“What, only kids can text each other?” She waved her non-Dethphone at him. “I think half the PTA is freaking out.” She patted Sam on the head, a motion he did not necessarily appreciate. “But you seem fine. And not in jail.”
“I guess you just must have raised him right,” Charles said, and did not wink conspiratorially at Sam, because that would have been a dumb thing to do.
“That may be the most suspicious thing you’ve ever said,” Josh replied, but he grimaced from the pain of frowning. While he normally carried a normal surfer’s tan, he was downright red and already peeling a little. “What? What are you looking at? I wasn’t going to sit in the hotel all day.”
“It’s not really that bad,” Sarah added. “You should see all the dermatologists who were there for the skin cancer conference. And apparently, to get skin cancer. So much for taking your own advice. Did you guys behave yourselves?”
“It was, ah, fifty-fifty.” They would find out about the wine rack sooner or later. “Your neighbor doesn’t know where the real property line is. Or he didn’t. He’s going to make some noise about his dog being tranquilized with a dart, but he was a good five feet over the line. And the dog’s fine so whatever.”
Sarah kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for taking care of Sam. Now go back to your flying castle. I’m sure you’ve been missed.”
Charles cringed. Yes, there was that.
To Be Continued...
Author: DJ_the_Writer
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Charles/OFC
Characters: Charles, Dethklok, OCs
Warnings: Not much, actually
Summary: Charles spends quality time with his nephew, or tries to.
This is technically a sequel to “In Strange Eons” but is not very mythology-heavy, though it references previous events. Go to my journal for all of the archived stories.
Wikdsushi did some betaing on the earlier chapters.
Chapter 3
It was morning somewhere. Just not in Mordland. Angela’s body didn’t care a whole lot about things like time zones and wake-sleep cycles at the moment, because it was 10 pm and she still couldn’t keep food down. She also couldn’t take Mordhaus’s most preferred nausea drug because she needed to work and the polite nurse told her that smoking was bad for her. She really hoped Charles didn’t call again, because she wasn’t sure she had the brain cells left for a conversation that was all about not saying anything important.
The band was at an in-house party, and her job ended after checking the flown-in crowd of fresh sluts for waivers, STDs, and any genetic relation for Skiwsgaar (the scientists cooked up a test for it that worked faster than the test for strep). The normal handlers could manage the usually filthy details of the band in the actual house. Night-training runs began on schedule. Most of Dethklok’s English-speaking business contacts were finishing or done with work and the European and Near Eastern ones were just beginning their day. She managed her way through a business meeting with Dethklok Tokyo mostly by bringing the legal eagles who loved to talk in teleconferences, then wondered how often Charles used that trick when he was tired.
But she didn’t want to back to Charles’s apartments and just be alone and miserable. She wanted to work until she face-planted somewhere, not leaving any time to lie awake in bed, when the worst kind of thoughts popped up. When all the work was actually done, and she could busy herself no longer, she ordered up a six-pack of root beer (because it would be nice to drink from a bottle, or a lot of bottles) and texted 82.
3201: Story time.
82: Im in weapons check
3201: Story time NOW.
Since 82 responded well to orders and was there in ten minutes, staring hesitantly at her from across Charles’s living room. “This is not a good story for either of us.”
“Charles seemed OK with you telling it when I asked.”
“He couldn’t speak!”
Angela shrugged. “Look, I’ve either had the best or shittiest day of my life and I haven’t decided which it is yet, so just do this for me.”
82 sighed and removed his hood.
***************************************
Many Years Ago
The job sucked. Andrew had his share of bad clients - any bodyguard did - but this singer the worst. The absolute fucking worst. Not only was she under the unfortunately common assumption that he was also her valet for the night, sending him for water, she didn’t make his job any easier by pissing off everyone in her radius with her self-important attitude. Andrew hoped she would at least have some composure and act like a class act during her act.
The audience didn’t make it any easier. It wasn’t a dive, but it was far from Carnegie Hall. The apparent regulars were there, made obvious by the way they were molded into their seats and their regular drinks served to them without ordering. It was a nice enough place not to have a chicken wire-shrouded stage, which honestly would have made his job a lot easier, but he still believed that her ex-boyfriend’s threats were not substantiated claims and Andrew’s presence was not required. Still, a job was a job.
When the singer, whose stage name was Lucy, got in the right mood, she could be pretty good. She was no show stopper but she didn’t detract from the atmosphere, at least at first. After the second song ended and she launched into her third, a crowd showed up that made the bartenders flinch. Not an unfamiliar crowd, but not necessarily a friendly one. They were wearing preppy clothing - adult preppy clothing - and some of them were in sweated-out gym clothing and carrying long duffle bags not stuffed with clothing. Considering Lucy wasn’t the target of any massive hit, Andrew let down his guard only until he saw the ‘GSU Alumni Fencing Club’ insignia on one of the bags and noticed it in smaller version on a lot of the blazers.
They were a problem before they even start drinking.
Very few of them hold their liquor. They were preppies, they were destructive, dangerous preppies, and they weren’t not kids. They were more dangerous with each passing minute and they stayed for an hour. And they don’t like Lucy. She didn’t sing their requests because they shout them so drunkenly she couldn’t make them out, but she also couldn’t take heckling. She never did.
Andrew knew about the fight before it started. He saw the swing an hour ago and twelve beers ago, from the bulky guy who matched him in weight only because of a growing beer gut, but also in height. This guy was not happy with Lucy, not happy with the service, and generally unhappy in a playful sort of way with his pals and a mean sort of way with other people. So he lobbed one in Andrew’s direction when the bodyguard told him to back away from the stage.
Andrew caught it it. He could have broken the man’s fingers but it would take too much time and energy and he was on the job. So he just shoved him away, and the man stumbled and slid halfway across the room.
Lucy shrieked and ran ... upstairs. Like a pro, that one. A real head on her shoulders. Andrew could have followed her but he didn’t want to expose his back to anyone with a blade, and by now several of them had them out, heedless of anti-weapon carry laws in the state. The points were dulled and padded but it’s still a metal weapon. Andrew just dodged the first guy and punched the lights out of the second.
A third emerged, seemingly from the shadows, and he looked down at his fallen comrades before directing his steely gaze, made more sinister from the way his glasses reflected the lights and made his eyes impossible to see. This one was too fast. Andrew caught the blade, but that didn’t stop it, only slowed it down. He didn’t feel the rest of the cut and thought for a moment maybe the guy had missed him. Either way, it was time to go and get back to his mark.
He turned and ran up the same stairs, pausing only to drop the thing in his fist, which he recognized to be a taped piece of foam and metal. The tip of the fencing rapier must have broken off in his hand, making it a real weapon.
When he reached the hysterical Lucy on the third floor, something was covering his eye. Blood was pouring into his eye and mouth, but he still didn’t feel the cut. It was just that clean. Knowing he would feel it soon, he ignored her horrified screams, picks her up, and stormed through the last available door.
Inside the room was only a window with a fire escape. Bingo. With the people climbing up the stairs in a noisy fashion, he only had once choice. He pulled it open and Lucy tore out onto the fire escape without really realizing what it was, before he could grab her.
Before the shitty, rusted fire escape that was not up to code gave out entirely.
Fuck.
With his last inch of professionalism, Andrew grabbed her hand and held her as they plummeted to their deaths. Or would have, if his other arm wasn’t caught by someone with incredible strength. Andrew only had one eye to look up now - and the wound was seriously burning - but he could see the guy holding onto him with both arms. That fucker with glasses. Maybe he benched, too.
“Hold on,” his former attacker said, and in the glint of his glasses Andrew could see the blues and reds of ambulances and police cars arriving. Somehow the guy held onto them long enough for the police to get a ladder up and both of them down.
Lucy fired him on the way to the ambulance - understandable - and gave him an earful about getting blood on her dress. Andrew just took it in but he couldn’t really hear her with the buzzing in his ears from adrenalin and also pain. The EMTs said something about sutures and the hospital, but they gave him a shot of morphine and patched him up enough to bring the blood loss to a reasonable amount before dealing with other bar patrons who were emerging. Never a fan of being on his back when something was happening, Andrew climbed out and sat on the back of the ambulance, holding a hand to his cheek to stop the blood flow.
He wasn’t alone. The guy was there, the glasses guy. After the EMTs cleaned him up, Andrew regained the use of both eyes, which were thankfully unharmed, but blood was quickly soaking the bandages and making one unusable again.
“You saved my life,” he said in no uncertain terms. Because he had.
“I also did that,” the fencer replied with undiminished candor. “I’m sorry about that. It was unprofessional of me. But you took my sparring partner down and I ... reacted.” He added, “I’ll, ah, pay whatever medical expenses you have.”
Andrew didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he would take him up on the offer. Seemed mean to fine the guy. “I know you from somewhere.”
“Possible. Did you use to work for Dethklok?”
Now that familiar, nasal tone fell into place. “Fuck-Offdensen!” He said it before realizing that was only what they called him behind his back. But it was two years ago, so how was he to remember?
Instead, his former employer chuckled. “Yes, people did use to call me that.”
“I’m sorry - I just don’t know your real name.”
“Charles Ofdensen. So some creativity went into my nickname. Now it’s not approved of.” Charles shook his finger at him. “Your name is Andrew. You were our bouncer.”
“Right. That was some awesome music, man.”
“And we couldn’t pay you,” Charles said. “This may seem like an odd time to say it, but I felt it was a shame to let such a valuable, ah, employee go.”
Andrew looked over - or tried to look over - at Lucy in the other van. “Not everyone feels the same way about me.”
“In need of a job? Dethklok is hiring people - especially people with your talents.” Charles inadvertently looked at Andrew’s marine tattoo, which he must have seen at some point before, but was just making a note of now. “And we can pay you real money. Not beer tickets.”
“How’s that going?”
“The band just finished their first album after the label contract so they’re doing just fine, in their respective drinking holes. So I came in for a brief visit with old friends. I remember them tolerating their alcohol better.”
Andrew nodded, which hurt. That cut went deep, and it seemed to be everywhere on his face. “Look, I know you saved my life out there, so you don’t owe me anything.”
“I don’t give people jobs because I owe them things,” Charles said, adding with a dangerous grin, “especially not for the sort of job I’m looking for.”
***************************************
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Angela said with a smile.
82 didn’t directly respond. He looked his tiring superior over. “Are you going to be OK?”
“I don’t know. Eventually. Just not today. Not until I tell Charles - and then, I have no idea.”
“He’ll do the right thing,” 82 said. “He might be a little surprised, or not how to react, but he’ll do the right thing. He loves you.” This time, at least, he didn’t mince words. “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”
“There’s only one thing I want to do, and I can’t leave Mordhaus. Even if I could get away with it, I promised Charles. But when he gets back, if I can have a day off ...”
“When he gets back,” 82 said, “he better damn well give you whatever you want.”
***************************************
This isn’t too bad, Charles thought to himself. And it really wasn’t. The Stern house was full of rooms with plush leather couches on which to drink what was clearly Josh’s favorite expensive liquor that he had stored up for a special occasion, even if it was only wine. Most of his job seemed to be texting now, which was definitely an improvement over the old days of standing over a fax machine waiting for a contract. And he could do it with one eye on the various news magazine programs on TV that he needed or just wanted to sue for libel. It was still a good ten degrees too warm for him, but at least the sun was down on another day in LA that was over and he would never have to endure again.
“Sir, do you want us to shoot at the helicopter circling the zone?”
He barely looked up at the Klokateer with the assault rifle. “The one with the Falconback insignia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s it been, an hour? Give it another twenty minutes.” It never made sense to him that the Tribunal would go so far out to monitor his activity and then skimp on the gas bill. They were almost always gone in an hour. And getting into a match would them would be a whole ... thing. “We need to let them get far out enough to not alert the coast guard before we blow them out of the sky.” Which would be done a lot more easily with his stealth bomber, not a security guard. That would be mostly a waste of bullets. Plus Sarah said not to spook the neighbors, blah blah blah...
His phone rang. Actually rang. That meant he had to pick it up. “What is it?” The ID said 42948, which it took even him to remember was one of the Dethklok OC operatives.
“There’s an undercover narcotics officer here about to call in a raid,” 42948 said. The party was loud enough that background noise was audible even though it sounded like he was calling from outside the building. “Should I extract SOS?”
“Is he doing any drugs?”
“Only some very week chronic, sir. I think it may just be hemp.”
Charles looked up at the ceiling and waved the armed Klokateer away. “Is he drunk?”
“I don’t think he would pass a breathalyzer, sir.”
Charles debated his options. “Call the guy we’ve got undercover in the police department. Make sure he gets on the raid, he arrests Sam, and then just have him drive him here. In the cop car.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was time for the security Gears to scramble back into the bushes for the rest of the night. He tried not to worry too much about the situation, since 42948 knew his life was on the line, and it was just a police raid of a party. As if no one in the OC could pay for their kids to get off with some community service and an expunged record. It might even be good for them.
But he would have to answer to Sarah if that happened, since he was the parent in this situation or something, so that wasn’t going to happen to Sam. This time.
Charles smoked a cigarette near the infinity pool while he waited. It wasn’t good for him, but there was very little reason to not do whatever the hell he wanted with his body right now. Plus it was easier than finishing off Josh’s entire OPUS 1 collection in such a short span of time, even with him giving it his all.
It was really only when the doorbell rang that he realized he had no fucking clue how to deal with this situation. Act mad, he supposed. He was mad, but how angry could he really be at a kid for acting like a kid?
He didn’t know the Klokatter’s number (no hood) so he didn’t address him when he showed up with Sam, still handcuffed. “Hey, Uncle Charlie.”
Charles just folded his arms while the undercover Gear uncuffed him and pushed him inside. “His alcohol level is .04, which is four points below legal limit, but he’s under 21, so it wouldn’t have mattered. If they did a further drug test he could be looking at a serious charge,” the cop said. He was also a real cop. “His friend is going to time for having that much cocaine around. That’s intention to sell as well as possession. It’ll be juvie, but his parents will have to pay a fortune to get it off his record.”
“You can get him off, right?” Sam said. “Please say you can get him off. He can’t go to prison.”
The cop looked at Sam, then at Charles. “The kid had like half a brick of cocaine. It looked cut, but still. What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Uncle - “
“Not now,” he snarled at Sam. “I might decide to call the judge. But maybe not. Either way, don’t worry about it.”
“Anything else, My Lord?”
He really hated when people called him that. “Just get back before it’s suspicious.” He slammed the door on the saluting officer and turned to his nephew. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know. Do you control everyone in Orange County?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Enough of them. And that’s to protect you and your parents. Not to get you a free ride!” Charles was a little annoyed at how well Sam was taking this. Maybe because he was still drunk, or high, or whatever. “Do you know what would have happened if I didn’t have someone at that party? And didn’t know the police force? I would be bailing you out of the drunk tank four hours from now after they finally got around to giving you your phone call, and you would be spending your summer doing community service for what, one beer? Two beers?”
“And you would have been in big trouble with Mom and Dad.”
“I can handle Sarah. And I can definitely handle your dad. I would have felt bad that it happened under my watch, which is why it didn’t. Do you realize how bad this would have been if I hadn’t been there to protect you? Because I’m not always going to be. And the problem isn’t always going to be just the police. Did you have any coke?”
“No!” Finally he was defensive about something. “But like half the class - “
“Cocaine is really bad for you. It’s not meth but it’s really bad. And why am I having this conversation with someone who’s barely fourteen? Do you know what I was doing at fourteen? I was scared of cigarettes! I thought they would kill me!”
Sam swallowed. “So are we not gonna tell my parents about this? Please? It would make you the coolest uncle ever.”
“I don’t fucking care about being the coolest uncle ever!” Charles said, and actually saw Sam shiver a bit. Well, good for him. “You’re thirteen and you’re drunk, you think you’re high when you’ve been lighting industrial hemp on fire and breathing in the fumes, and you think cocaine is no big deal. Cocaine is a big deal. It’s a very big fucking deal!”
The last lien hung in the air. He must have been shouting; he couldn’t remember the last time he was shouting outside of a recording studio and in his own voice.
“Christ. I knew Dethklok doesn’t set a good example, but I assumed you were smart enough not to take them seriously. Or what they do seriously. Because they’re messes, all of them. Their bodies are barely holding together. They’d all be dead in a gutter if it wasn’t for me.” That was only mostly true, as they had other forces behind them, but he couldn’t say that. “Look, cocaine destroys whatever it touches. So stay away from it. And I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
Sam sunk lower into the chair he’d fallen into. “I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t acting like it.”
“I am! And I know you like, pulled strings or whatever to get me out of there. That was a cool thing to do.”
“I didn’t do it because it was cool. I did it to protect you. You’re supposed to be a kid! And I just want you to know that I debated not doing anything and letting you get arrested so you would understand that there are consequences to your actions. Because honestly I don’t know how else you’re going to learn that. Next time you’re at a party that gets too wild, I’m not going to be there and your parents aren’t going to have a magic number to call to get you out of trouble.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Sam had to think about it. “If you don’t tell them, I guess they’re going to find out eventually. I mean, I can’t really expect you to - “
“If they’re not going to find out from me when they come home tomorrow they’re never going to find out.”
“Why do you keep talking like that?”
“Like what? Someone who’s deeply disappointed in you?”
“Like you’re going to die soon. Do you have cancer?”
Charles sighed. And he didn’t say anything for a conspicuously long time. Sam was a dumb metalhead, but he was actually a pretty smart kid. It shouldn’t have been so surprising. They were related. “OK. So maybe we each have something not to tell your parents.”
Sam went really pale. Almost Charles’s own skin color. “You have cancer?”
“No, it’s not cancer. It’s ... really complicated.” And he really didn’t want Sam to find out. Not like this. Or ever, somehow. “There’s a Dethklok show coming up in two months, and I’m going to die there.” Wow, that actually was pretty simple. “I can’t explain why. You wouldn’t believe it anyway. It will all make sense afterwards. I can promise you that.” If Sam survived. If the world survived.
“And you didn’t tell Mom?” Sam’s voice still had a tendency to squeak when he raised his voice. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t think she would believe me. And I haven’t ah, gotten around to it. I haven’t told anyone.” He added, “Except Angela. But she just has to know for corporate reasons. So she’s known for a couple months. Before that, I knew, but I didn’t know when it was coming. I just knew I had a year or two left.” Jesus Christ, that seemed like so long ago. A year? He wasn’t sure he could even make it a year now. He was so wound up and exhausted at the same time. He couldn’t see himself doing what he was doing at Mordhaus now in another twelve months. “This is just the way things have to be. It’s OK. I’ve been legally dead twice now. I’m prepared.”
That part was, he was slowly realizing over the course of this conversation, a huge lie.
“I’m going to tell your mom,” he assured Sam. “I’m just not ready yet.”
“What about, um, Andrea - “
“Angela. She understands. She’s not happy about it, but she understands.” That was one thing he could count on. There was at least one person in the universe who wasn’t an old bearded cultist who understood why he had to do what he had to do - and why he wanted to do it. “I know you think this rockstar life is really glamorous, and I wasn’t kidding about the band being in terrible shape. And I guess you think my life is awesome, because I get to shot people and control the police and other things I won’t admit to and then go on to win awards. But it’s not. I’m really tired, Sam. I can’t begin to explain how tired I am. If I wasn’t already going to die, this job would kill me sooner or later, and it’s all I can really do. So stop looking up to me or anyone else around you except your mom and your dad. And don’t quote me on the bit about your dad until after I’m dead.”
“You know Dad actually kind of likes you, right?”
“He’s not going to like me much after he finds out the damage I did to his liquor cabinet, but yes, I am aware of that. It’s just the way it is. You would understand if you had a younger sister. Someone you thought you needed to take care of, even if you didn’t because she was fine on her own. She’s always been fine.”
He needed another smoke.
“You’re really going to die?”
“Yes.” He answered quickly enough stamp out any hint of insincerity.
“How?”
“I’m going to throw a fight,” he said. “I don’t know the details of it yet.” Charles wasn’t sure he wanted to know them. “Sometimes these things just have to happen. People have to die for Dethklok.”
And Sam just sat there, somehow getting seemingly lower in his seat, like he was devolving. It made Charles feel really terrible about telling him. Maybe it was a mistake. Sam was still a kid even if he was almost in adult trouble that night. Charles could have told Sarah, and she would have told Sam. But that would have been kind a shitty thing for him to do?
Fuck, he didn’t know.
He must have been kind of lost inside that sinking feeling in himself, because otherwise he would have jumped at being touched, but Sam was hugging him and he wasn’t freaking out about it. Wow, he’d really gotten tall. A bit over Charles’s shoulder. Definitely the Stern side. “Ah, it’s going to be OK.” Even though it was sort of not going to do that. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t mean to make Sam cry. And it was probably best not to point that out. Instead he hugged back.
A very long time after that, one smoke’s worth so he could stop his hands from shaking and say something about nicotine being bad simultaneously, Charles got it together and so did Sam, who asked, “What’s death like?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah.”
He stubbed the cigarette out on the lawn. “Until you get where you’re going, it kind of sucks.”
***************************************
“I heard something about a party?” Sarah asked at the airport. It was practically her opening line.
“Really? How?” About this he was actually a little curious.
“What, only kids can text each other?” She waved her non-Dethphone at him. “I think half the PTA is freaking out.” She patted Sam on the head, a motion he did not necessarily appreciate. “But you seem fine. And not in jail.”
“I guess you just must have raised him right,” Charles said, and did not wink conspiratorially at Sam, because that would have been a dumb thing to do.
“That may be the most suspicious thing you’ve ever said,” Josh replied, but he grimaced from the pain of frowning. While he normally carried a normal surfer’s tan, he was downright red and already peeling a little. “What? What are you looking at? I wasn’t going to sit in the hotel all day.”
“It’s not really that bad,” Sarah added. “You should see all the dermatologists who were there for the skin cancer conference. And apparently, to get skin cancer. So much for taking your own advice. Did you guys behave yourselves?”
“It was, ah, fifty-fifty.” They would find out about the wine rack sooner or later. “Your neighbor doesn’t know where the real property line is. Or he didn’t. He’s going to make some noise about his dog being tranquilized with a dart, but he was a good five feet over the line. And the dog’s fine so whatever.”
Sarah kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for taking care of Sam. Now go back to your flying castle. I’m sure you’ve been missed.”
Charles cringed. Yes, there was that.
To Be Continued...