Chapter 46: JACKSON'S AUTO PARTS AND REPAIR, LLC
New
Z2H
Junior Trainer
Chapter 46
JACKSON'S AUTO PARTS AND REPAIR, LLC
JACKSON'S AUTO PARTS AND REPAIR, LLC
Worn rubber wheels squealed against glossy concrete, one uselessly spinning about, occasionally halting all movement. He scoffed and gave it a kick of his boot as he pushed the large metal cart forward.
Sparks flew all around like exploding fireworks, dying by his feet. Shrieks and loud bangs of metal on metal - he passed through a hallway of gray, swinging the cart over to a section marked by yellow perimeter tape. His baggy, sunken eyes narrowed at what he saw.
The battered old boombox on a plastic table drowned out the racket of active equipment with harsh rock music. He saw a thin man in a black tank top seated by the table, more invested in the distorted tunes than the scattered papers and other documents surrounding him.
He wheeled the cart over to the man before promptly yanking the cord of the boombox out of the wall outlet. "The fuck, man?" he said, turning to his bemused colleague. "Y'all know we're supposed to get these out by midnight."
"I'm on break, Miles - can't ya see?" the other man responded.
"Your break ended fifteen minutes ago, didn't it?"
The man laughed in his face. "And what are you - the fuckin' boss now? He ain't here yet, and them boys from the harbor ain't gonna pick it up till midnight like ya said."
"Boss put me in charge until he's back, and that means my ass is on the line if these cars don't go, Tucker."
Tucker shook his head in dismay, sighing as he stood up and took his cigarette from the ashtray. He took a long drag, blowing smoke into Miles' face, "You've become a real teacher's pet since your promotion, haven't ya?" he said.
Miles waved the smoke away, stifling a cough. "And you've become a real lazy piece of shit." He gave a toothy smirk. "Guess that's why I'm handin' out orders instead of you."
"Yeah, yeah whatever. Let's get this over with."
Miles returned to pushing the cart as Tucker followed behind. On the other side of the room were vehicles of various sizes, colors, and models. They were laid bare - steel and aluminum panels removed to reveal parts of the chassis framework. Miles stopped as he slid open the small doors of the cart and wiggled a wooden board out of place, revealing its true contents.
Firearms - painted an obsidian black and expertly assembled from what he could infer. They ranged from handguns to SMGs, shotguns, assault rifles, and even a few grenade launchers. Other components and accessories lined the shelving above the sleek, deadly arsenal.
Tucker whistled behind him. "Looks like a big shipment. Where's it going?"
"Some place in Europe - east, I reckon," Miles responded, slipping on a pair of leather gloves.
They each grabbed a firearm, wrapping them up in black cellophane and bringing them over to the door, with the other side panels leaning against support columns. They packed the firearms into the styrofoam padding nestled inside, before sealing the hidden departments with more foam. Some weapons had to be disassembled, separated across the chassis, and wedged in unseen places.
"Europeans…" Tucker sounded out as he stuffed a sawed-off shotgun into a door panel. "What they know 'bout this firepower?"
"Hell if I know," Miles said. "They make them good cheese and chocolates, though."
"With a belly as big as yours, no doubt you'd know."
"Shut your damn mouth and load up the stuff."
The two men resumed their work, taking more pieces off the skeletons of the vehicles. Miles followed Tucker close behind as he worked, checking off and scribbling the discrete locations onto a fake manual. For each complete vehicle, he placed its belonging manual into the glove compartment.
"Be careful with how ya place 'em," Miles warned as Tucker slid himself underneath a car on a creeper. "Last time those immigrants at the dock spotted a barrel pokin' out through a panel some idiot left without a screw."
Tucker rolled back out to glare at him. "And ya think that idiot was me?"
"Alls I'm sayin'… Boss got real angry 'cause of it. Lotta money and effort spent makin' sure no one saw a thing."
"Boss probably knows who, and it's why all them down by the waterfront live in them waters now, heh."
The sound of double doors being thrown open alerted Miles as he snapped his head to the source of the noise. "Well shit, speak of the devil." He saw three men enter the warehouse, striding toward the offices on the opposite side of the room.
Tucker hastily got up, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and concealing it out of sight. "Two hours before he usually arrives, too," he grumbled.
"And look at that…" Miles pointed at one of the men with short brown hair and a troubled expression. "The fuckin' cop - I don't believe it."
Tucker shook his head. "And bringin' him here, too."
"If we all go down, at least we know who did it…"
It was like entering the belly of the beast.
Robert's eyes were constantly snapping around the room, scanning and surveying all of the activities taking place. Legal to illegal, bodywork being done on expensive cars to scores of elite weapons being stuffed into chassis laid bare and stripped of essentials. The shower of a thousand sparks and the cacophony of power tools buzzing and humming in his ear.
He eventually snapped out of his stupor as Jackson led them around the warehouse, sweeping his arms and smiling as if he were touring a house. "… and this is where the magic is made," he said. "Five vehicles a day at the minimum go through here. My product goes in - it gets delivered locally, across the state lines, and even internationally. Every month?" Jackson stopped in his tracks, turning to grin. "Roughly five hundred firearms and other goodies bein' sent out to my customers."
Robert's jaw almost dropped. "Five hundred… a month?" His previous estimates were way off. "How long has this operation been in order?"
Jackson resumed leading them through the worksite. "This whole gig? Took three years to get it up and running, and it's only gonna expand from here on out - once we take care of this SPMC business."
A popping noise scattered Robert's thoughts as he turned to glare at Rorke, who was loudly chewing his gum and looking around - visibly bored. "So why am I being given the tour with the cop when I know this place like the back of my hand?" the young man questioned.
"'Cause if you wanna earn that number two position and make the money of a number two, I expect you to learn how I do things."
Rorke blew another bubble. "Number two? I think number one suits me more."
Jackson ignored the comment, looking at Robert. "This ain't the only shop I got. Few more across Charleston do work like this with a skeleton crew during closing hours. I also own a few car washes where most of the generated cash gets washed - no pun intended."
"The one on Lavender Hill, you own that?" Robert received a nod. "I've been there a few times."
"Nice place, ain't it? Clean, mostly legal and I employ only civilians there."
It was mind-boggling to think that even without knowing, he had entered Jackson's turf; participated in his schemes well before he sank deep into them. It unnerved him knowing just how reach and growth this man had in the city, and how ambitious he was about it.
"You're gonna tell the cop everything about this business?" Rorke jeered. "Why don't you just record it all for him to take back to police headquarters?" He tapped Robert's chest and leaned in. "Maybe they're already listening… What's up, guys!" he yelled into an imaginary microphone.
Robert shoved the young man away. "Watch it, kid. I'm not wearin' a damn wire, and I'm not a mole."
"And I'm supposed to trust you suddenly?"
"I don't give a shit about your trust. Next time ya touch me, you won't be so lucky."
"Oooh - good cop and now bad cop! Jack, I think I like him better than Miles and Tucker already."
Jackson laughed as he led them through another set of doorways. The sounds of banging metal and droning machinery were replaced by shuffling papers, mouse clicks, and their muffled footsteps on the off-white, shaggy carpet. "I see you two are gettin' along swimmingly. We're almost at my office."
Robert scanned this new office environment, spotting mostly empty cubicles and empty desks. Those who were occupied barely acknowledged their swift presence besides a few sets of shifting eyes before they resumed their mysterious work. He wanted to stop and ask them questions, but he quickly stopped that train of thought. That type of life was behind him now, and there was no going back.
A scarlet-haired woman in a casual olive green dress intercepted them in the hallway. She wore a wide smile that he could only describe as cold and corporate. "Mr. Lachaise! It's nice to see you this morning," she said in a saccharine tone. "Mr. Banks called earlier about a meeting; I told him to call back in an hour."
"Thank ya kindly, sweetheart," Jackson responded, brushing past her. "I've got to break in some new guys, though. Send a few coffees into my office, will ya?"
"Of course, sir."
Robert briefly pondered the woman's background as she walked away. Was she aware of the true nature of the business she was in? Was she just a civilian secretary like the employees at the car wash? The click of an opening door halted these thoughts as Jackson stood before a walled-off section in the corner of the offices.
"Shut the door behind ya."
Robert waited for Rorke to enter before he did just that. It was a spacious room, reeking of smoke. A grandfather clock was ticking away beside a window drenching office equipment and piles of paper in sunlight. Jackson lit up a cigarette as he walked over to a nearby desk, leaning on it as he smirked madly. "Now onto brass tacks," he said, "You've seen how my business operates; what I've got at stake here from the SPMC."
"You're an arms dealer, clearly. Wouldn't it have been beneficial for you to work with the mercenaries?" Robert suggested.
"Manufacturer, actually. My product is assembled in good ole Charleston. And yeah, it would be a sweet deal to supply the SPMC - and that's because I did. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself." Jackson tapped the whiteboard behind, gaze darting to Rorke wandering the room. "Listen up and listen well, kid. This is for you, and I ain't gonna repeat this shit again."
"Huh?" Rorke quickly set down a potted white wallflower he picked up. "Yeah, go ahead - I'm listening."
Smoke billowed out of Jackson's lips. "Let's flashback to two years ago. Laws were being passed in the South reformin' police, bolsterin' the rights of some companies and emergin' markets - yada, yada. A bunch of bureaucratic bullshit to try and kickstart the economy of this swampland, known as the SEIA."
"The Southern Economic Incentives Act…" Robert grumbled, a bad taste left in his mouth. "I remember the day it passed. Lotta departments got defunded 'cause of it."
"Right, right." Jackson scowled at Rorke's bored expression, snapping his fingers to get the young man's attention. "It sounded nice on paper, but nestled in between all those good things was a loophole. A loophole strong enough to give legal protection and bigger freedoms to companies lookin' to protect their assets. Any company founded under the SEIA could employ their own personal army without much restrictions, and flash forward two years to now - armed mercenaries patrollin' warehouses and banks at night. Better to rely on trained killers than your local policeman."
Robert scoffed at the notion. "And what's your part in all of this?"
"A lot of mercenary groups started croppin' up to capitalize on a fleetin' opportunity. I also saw one myself, seein' that they needed firepower. For two years I did business with these groups."
And for two years Robert was out on the streets picking up the pieces left behind by out-of-control mercenary groups. Hunting down weapons in the hands of criminals given to them by the man standing before him. He hid his disgust and hatred for this fact behind a well-maintained poker face.
Jackson took a long drag. "I made a lot of money with these mercs… But a lot of good times gotta come to an end." He tapped the whiteboard on the wall behind him. "Not so long into this frenzy did the SPMC form under James Falden, buying up many of the groups and mergin' them into his." Scrawled across the whiteboard was various information about the SPMC. Locations of their headquarters, facilities, and regional territory control. "When the SPMC emerged, I was fine in continuin' business as normal."
"And what changed?"
"The SPMC doesn't operate like any regular merc group. They're not just hired guns - more like a militarized yet still corporate gang. They have their own interests, just like I do. And they'll take over, rob, and do hits on anyone they perceive as a threat." Jackson's stare lingered on Robert. "I think out of everyone here, you know about that."
His teeth gnashed as his hands clenched to fists. "Yeah…"
"Six months ago, some good workers of mine were supposed to sell a few crates to the SPMC. Two of them ended up dead and another in the hospital after fire was exchanged in 'confusion'. Three months later, another incident and a half-hearted apology." Jackson snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray. "I ain't fuckin' stupid; I can see the writin' on the walls they're lookin' to take what's mine. But if they're expectin' little resistance, they're dead wrong."
"Another enemy to smoke? I'm down," Rorke chimed in. "As long as we're making some dough while we're at it."
A weapon manufacturer and a mercenary organization going to war on the streets of Charleston spelled nothing but disaster in Robert's mind. Every rational thought screamed at him that embroiling himself in this was a terrible decision. But the ink had already dried; his die was cast here, beside Jackson. And he could only hope this would lead to peace of mind for himself and his son.
But none for the soul.
"Now that we're done with the history lesson, let's get down to actual business." Jackson tapped the whiteboard again, trailing a finger under a listed name. "Wyatt Banks - sole VP of the SPMC. Manages finance and the whole business section of the company. He's also the main guy I conduct deals with over there. And today happens to be the day he and I meet at the waterfront to discuss the details of our next transaction."
Rorke suddenly clapped. "Sweet! What's it gonna be - kidnapping and ransom? He's kind of a powerful guy, so they'd pay a lot for him, right?"
"I like your spunk, kid, but there's an easier - far more effective and simple way to deliver a message to the SPMC."
While Rorke seemed too eager to jump into the fold, Robert was unsure of what his old friend had planned. But he was in no position to advise against a stubborn man like Jackson, who was now technically his boss - his only voice. It left a bad taste in his mouth.
Jackson slapped his hands on their shoulders, grinning cockily. "I'm countin' on you two; we're the dream team for this."
"I don't know, Jack," Robert said. "It's been a long time steppin' away from this thing. You may be bettin' on the wrong horse here."
"I've seen you in action before, James. Won't be long till you're just the way I remember ya."
"Maybe I can show this old horse a few tricks or two, then," Rorke added.
"Yeah? Is gettin' shot and bleedin' to death one of 'em?" Robert fired back.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Jackson glanced at the clock on the wall. "We've got a few hours till the meetin'. In the meantime, I've got a few more facilities in the area y'all should know about."
The armored truck jostled and rocked, worsening Robert's already churning stomach. An annoying popping noise to his left confirmed Rorke was still chewing his gum the entire drive here. As the vehicle rumbled to a sudden stop, he steeled his nerves for whatever was about to unfold, ensuring his service pistol was secured against his waist.
Jackson glanced back from the driver's seat. He smoothed out his black leather jacket. "Look alive, ladies. Few of my men are already here."
Car doors popped open to a frigid sea breeze as the three men stepped out of the truck. Robert swept an alert and watched gaze around the chipped stone docks. Bright yellow beams of headlights shone across the dark waters crashing into a fine salty mist as the squawks of seabirds clamored overhead. Robert shivered in the nippy weather as he followed Jackson to the crisscross of headlights.
White-striped orange construction cones and perimeter tape obstructed their way; tall, immobile cranes, bulldozers, and large piles of dirt and rubble overlooked the area. He could see Jackson's henchmen ahead, leaning against their black SUVs, decked out in similarly colored garb. He could see the faint outline of body armor beneath their clothes.
"Don't say anythin' when he comes out," Jackson warned. "Just stay by me - not a word comes out."
"You got it, boss," Rorke said, making a sealing motion with his lips.
Jackson stopped at the sound of a revving engine nearby, signaling for them to do the same. The shadow of a vehicle passed by them briefly before a long black sedan rolled to a stop near the parked SUVs. A tense moment passed before the doors of the sedan swung open. The first thing Robert saw was the end of a wooden crutch poking out. He heard grunts of frustration as a gray-suited, balding man struggled to wriggle his way out from the back of the vehicle. When he finally succeeded, his scowl was replaced with a cheery smile as his gaze found Jackson.
"Jacky boy!" the man cried out, using both of his crutches to hobble over to them. "Ain't it such a nice, cold evenin' for this exchange of words?"
"Could be better, Wyatt," Jackson replied. "How's the leg?"
Wyatt briefly flashed him a scathing look before settling on neutrality. "Could be better? 'Cause I've had better days. Well, better days before them goons of yours decided my ankle was target practice."
"I see I'm still apologizin' for that mishap. I cracked the idiot responsible good - seventy-five percent tax on his next payment that goes to you directly."
"Ain't that swell, Jack. And as far as I'm concerned - water under the bridge. But it's come to the attention of the partners that you're cuttin' us short compared to your other customers. We're not gettin' what we used to get at the beginning of this relationship. At a certain point, a relationship becomes more than it's worth - y,'know?"
"A supply issue," Jackson explained. "It's been rectified and we should return to normal numbers within the next month."
Robert could tell Jackson was lying through his teeth. As he stared at Wyatt, his mind raced. Could this person be the one behind the murder of Angelica? The one who called for the hit to take place? His fingers rattled against his side, itching to pull out his pistol and waste this product of a monstrosity. But he resisted such desires, believing Jackson would tell him if that was the case. He scolded himself for even considering this course of action.
Had he really regressed back in so little time?
"Good, good." Wyatt leaned on a crutch as he pulled out a cigarette pack. "James is thinkin' 'bout an expansion out of the states - Mexico or some other spic place, maybe. We'll need every ounce of firepower we can get."
"I'm happy to provide, then. Have ya decided on a price for next time?"
"Before that, another thing. James and I want to know what the hell is going on exactly?"
"What's going on exactly?"
Robert's gaze drifted to three sets of headlights in the far distance, looming over the meeting. He felt himself tense up again.
"This is the second time your guys have opened fire on us for seemingly no damn reason," Wyatt said, sticking a cigarette between his lips.
"I assure you these are just bumps on the road rather than any slight against the SPMC."
"Need to re fuckin' train your guys," Wyatt mumbled, lighting up. "Last thing I need is my other leg catchin' a stray."
Jackson laughed. "You won't need to worry 'bout your legs anymore."
"Oh?"
Without warning, Jackson withdrew a handgun from his jacket and fired a bullet directly into Wyatt's temple. As the suited man crumpled to the ground, he followed up with another two shots into his chest. "They're comin'!" he yelled, motioning to his henchmen by the SUVs. "Miles! Tucker! Get fuckin' ready!"
Robert's eyes darted from the body of a suddenly dead Wyatt to the three sets of headlights in the distance that were now speeding toward them. His heart racing, a thump of something metallic against his chest brought him back to reality. Now cradled in his arms was a black rifle, courtesy of Miles. He looked over in a daze as Rorke gladly grabbed a shorter carbine himself from Tucker.
"I'm digging the action but maybe a little warning next time?" Rorke suggested, releasing the safety of his weapon.
"Shut up!" Jackson snapped. "Find some cover!"
His senses now focused on only survival, Robert sprinted over to crouch behind a concrete barrier, keeping his ears attuned for danger and his head on a constant swivel. The roar of engines grew louder as rubber tires squealed to a stop. His finger hovered above the trigger of his weapon as he waited with bated breath.
The doors to each armored truck flew open as sets of boots thudded against the ground and a swarm of men in light gray tactical outfits flooded out. They immediately raised their weapons without any words and fired.
The war had begun.
Projectiles whistled above Robert's head as he remained low. Bits of the concrete barrier were blasted away by sporadic fire. When a window arose, he peeked behind his cover and fired a few shots of his own at a pair of fleeting soles. The recoil kicked him like a horse as he slumped back, catching his breath.
Amidst his own breathing, he could hear everything around him. It was a war zone - orders from Jackson being barked out, men screaming as they fell down - extinguished in an instant. The smell of gunpowder and smoke that smothered the swaying docks. It threatened to break him right here and now, but all he could think about was his son; what he was really fighting for at this moment.
Robert collected himself before he delivered another volley of shots. Most of the concrete barrier was riddled with holes, so he ran through a hail of gunfire to his next available position. His back was against Rorke, the young man finding no trouble in returning fire at their foes.
"Need a mag?" Rorke propositioned, motioning to the bag of full magazines on the ground.
"Not yet… On your left!"
Rorke heeded his callout and put an end to the mercenary trying to flank them. "Hey! Thanks, blue!" he cheerfully exclaimed.
Robert did not respond, more focused on not dying. He waited for the gunfire to die down before firing himself. More black SUVs pulled up to the scene in the form of backup as Jackson's henchmen stepped out, opening fire.
Duck. Shoot. Change magazines. Duck. Shoot. It was starting to become routine to him.
A bullet that nearly grazed his jaw alerted him to a mercenary encroaching on their right. Sliding over to a better position, he took this foe head-on. It was a constant back and forth between them - a dance of life and death.
While his enemy hid behind a parked loader, he could see a boot sticking out in plain sight. Switching to a tactical stance, he fired one round at it, puncturing it. The mercenary stumbled out of cover, trying to lift his weapon up. Robert gave him no chance and fired a few shots that riddled the man's chest and neck. Sputtering out blood, the mercenary fell backward - dead.
Time slowed down to a crawl around Robert as the severity of his actions settled in. He had just taken a life. After thirteen years of vowing to never do it again, he had broken this promise to himself. A bullet whizzing past snapped him out of his stupor as he got to cover. Thinking about it further would only hasten his demise.
The SPMC mercenaries seemed to recognize their huge losses and quickly retreated back to their vehicles. Those who were not picked off before they could make it piled their wounded into the trucks and sped off into the night. What had felt so agonizingly long had ended abruptly.
Robert could now hear his panicked breathing clearly before Jackson's victorious chuckle filled the air. The adrenaline in his veins was still pumping. In a rage, he stomped over to the laughing man. "What the fuck was that, Jack?! You never told us we'd be gettin' into a firefight!"
"I'm a firm believer in learnin' on the job, so consider this as your trainin', James," Jackson said before he whistled loudly. "Rorke! Get over here!"
Rorke trudged over, sweeping a hand through his blond hair and balancing his rifle over a shoulder. "So that was pretty quick. We sent those mercs packing, didn't we?"
"We sure did, kid," Jackson replied. He walked over to the body of Wyatt, chuckling again as he kicked the man's shiny shoes. "I'm sure them ratfucks got my message loud and clear."
"Is that what we were here for? Just to kill this guy?" Robert questioned. His hands were still shaking as the weapon he carried rattled.
"Not exactly." Jackson knelt beside Wyatt, digging through the man's pockets. "Just need… Here we go." He pulled out a sleek-looking black card with nothing but a barcode on it. "Fuckin' jackpot," he said, pocketing it.
"So, uh, mission accomplished?" Rorke presumed.
"Mission accomplished, kid. But we've still a lot of work ahead of us if we're gonna dismantle the SPMC." Jackson whistled again, waving his men over. "You two will be dropped off somewhere near my shop. We made a hell of a noise here and the police will no doubt be here soon."
Robert surveyed the mayhem they left behind. His stomach twisted in knots. "What about the bodies?"
"All they'll happen upon is mercs killing each other - nothin' new in this city."
"Ain't that the truth…"
A black SUV parked beside Jackson as he tapped one of its mirrors, signaling for them to enter. "You'll hear from me soon. Now get lost."
The truck jostled and rocked, worsening his already upset stomach. He stared out the windshield at the vast, empty road that seemed to never end. Bored, his eyes wandered to the passenger side windows, watching with a vacant gaze as the sprawling oak forests whizzed past, like a fading memory.
"You'll be on your best behavior, right?"
He bit the inside of his cheeks, wondering why this house was so far away from seemingly any civilization. He hoped it was, finding the air of the countryside so much fresher than the city.
"Son, look at me."
Liam sighed as he looked at his father, who was taking turns watching the road and eyeing him. "Yeah, pa?"
"I know ya don't know these folks, but they're good people. The husband's workin' most days, so you'll see his wife around the house while you're here."
"Is she nice?" Liam paused. "Like ma?"
Robert swallowed, pausing a moment as if to ask that question himself. "She's an odd woman but she's nice. I reckon you'll like her."
The boy slumped in his seat, playing with his seatbelt. "Why do I need to be watched over like some kid? I'm grown enough to watch myself."
"'Cause ya need an adult around when I'm not around. And your aunt is in Florida right now, so she can't."
"But why can't ya hire someone to come out to home? And why can't we go home?" Liam complained. "I don't like the new place…"
"'Cause it could be dangerous, son. These- these people that did that horrible thing could be targeting us, targeting you. I can't allow anythin' to happen to ya."
"What do you mean? Why would they wanna do that to us? What did we do to anyone?"
"Liam, I don't-" Robert slapped the steering wheel in exasperation. "Let's stop with the questions right now, okay? Just know this is a safe place and you'll be taken care of while I'm gone for a day or two."
"… Okay."
The long ride resumed in silence as Liam pouted. However, his stare lingered on his father's face, noticing a stain of red on his jawline.
"Pa, ya got somethin' on your face."
Robert formed a curious look, scratching his face until he scraped off the strange residue. He stared intensely at it before wiping it off on his shirt. "Ah, just some… paint from work."
"Y'all paint at this new job?"
"Yeah, uh, we paint houses across Charleston. In fact, this house we're headed to is the house of my new boss."
Liam laughed to himself. "Pa… From a cop to a house painter. Grandma always said it was, uh, 'honest work, though."
Robert sighed. "That's life for you, son."
Though he could not read the mind of his father, he could tell by the man's disturbed expression that there was more he was unwilling to tell him. Unwilling to shed light on the truth of his mother's death. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but it felt this way.
"We're close. Remember what I said."
Liam groaned. "Be on my best behavior - I know."
He saw the man smile for the first time since the incident. "Good boy."
The blue pickup truck took a right as it rolled into a gravel-paved driveway. Liam had his face glued to the passenger window as he drank in the sights of the large, almost mansion-sized house. "Woah… Is your boss, like, super rich or somethin'?"
"He owns a few businesses in the city, so he's pretty well off." His father glanced over. "I'm gonna go now. Are ya goin' to be fine here?"
"I… I'll give it a try if the folks are nice."
"That's good enough for me." Robert reached over and opened his door for him. "I gotta meet with my boss in the city. I'll pick you up here tomorrow morning, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, pa."
Liam hopped out of the truck, watching it reverse down the driveway and cruise down the lonely road until it was out of sight. Turning back around, he now stood before the imposing abode, feeling a bit overwhelmed by it.
It was truly in the middle of nowhere - not a single other house or structure in sight. Rustic looking and surrounded by green, open plains and forests teeming with flora and red maple trees. He could see a pond not far from the house - thick with cattail and milkweed. There was just a mailbox beside the driveway that had white-painted letters across it above the postal numbers.
'LACHAISE RESIDENCE,' it read.
The steps up the porch groaned under his weight as he stood by the entrance door, giving it a firm knock. He waited patiently, seconds turning into minutes as nobody came to answer the door. He tried peaking through the obscured blinds, knocking a second time as well.
But still nothing.
Partly out of frustration, he tested the doorknob. To his surprise, the door opened with an echoing creak. Pushing it inward, he entered the home and shut the door behind him. A quick scan of his immediate surroundings proved his worries correct.
'Nobodies here… But pa said someone was.'
"Hello?" he said. "Hello! Y'all here?"
Nothing.
Shrugging, he wandered around, first entering the kitchen. He was hungry but felt it was too rude to check their refrigerator or scavenge their cupboards. He then entered what appeared to be the living room, complete with lavish white furniture that looked almost factory-new. Though his stare lingered on the widest television he had ever seen.
'How'd this guy get one to be so flat-lookin'?'
He chalked it up to a perk of the odd house. With no one around, the eerie atmosphere it exuded was skeeving him out. It was cold too, like he was walking through someplace abandoned. Before he decided to check the second floor for signs of anyone, he picked up a framed photo on one of the tables in the hallway next to the staircase.
Pictured were a man and a woman at what appeared to be an altar, a podium behind them. And from the black tuxedo and frilly white dress they wore, he inferred this was a wedding photo of sorts. Their smiles in the grainy photo were stretched wide, almost contagious as he remembered looking at his own parents' wedding photos once. There was handwriting in cursive below the photo that took him a minute to decipher.
'My little… wallflower.'
Liam ascended the steps to the second floor, first opening the door to what looked like the homeowner's bedroom. Checking first that no one was asleep in the king-sized bed, he headed toward a room further down the hall.
Inside it was a stark contrast to the rest of the clean, sterile house. Colorful paint was splattered across the translucent sheets covering the walls and floor. His widened eyes were treated to the sight of dozens of canvas paintings on stands, hung up on the walls, or propped against another in the corners of the room.
He wandered around, analyzing each illustration that caught his attention. Many of them had nature as a focal point, depicting abundant landscapes of sun-drenched meadows, starlit forests of pine and firs, and gardens of white flowers. They all looked so stunning, so lifelike yet fantastical in scope that seemed beyond the realm of their world.
'These things could be a museum…'
However, the pieces that one could consider 'abstract' seemed beyond his understanding. What looked like a heart constricted by rose thorns had dozens of bleeding cuts inflicted upon it. Another that looked like a shadowy figure with syringes sticking out of it reflected in the rearview mirror of a car. Frustrated by his inability to grasp any of this, he chose to leave this place of boundless creativity and continue exploring.
The last room in the house he had not been in was just before him. Cartoonish-looking cutouts of various animals were taped to the door, piquing his curiosity. The door swung open as he entered, caught off guard by what he saw.
A child's room.
Some of the walls were painted a baby blue, though ended with a single flat streak across barren white as paint buckets remained on the floor - dry. The dark purple ceiling was full of big and bright-looking stars. Plushies of flying saucers, astronauts, and other soft or plastic toys littered the room, gathering dust and cobwebs. There was a crib at the far end of the room, a crib mobile of rockets spinning lazily. Cutouts of bubbly-looking letters above it spelled out a name.
'APOLLO'.
This room made him feel the strangest of all. There was a palpable sense of crushing pressure and loss to it all, and he felt like he should not be here like he was entering a shrine or some forbidden place. It dredged up familiar feelings he did not want to dwell on, nor did his father want him to. Before he could make his swift exit, however, the sound of faint humming made him freeze in place.
'Hummin'… Someone's here.'
He could tell it came from outside as he put his ear to the glass window in the room.
'I'm not crazy - someone actually is here!'
Relieved he would not have to stay all alone in this creepy house, he raced out of the room and down the steps. He found a door leading to the backyard of the home and opened it, stepping outside. For a second time, he was in complete awe at what he saw.
'Holy cow! What is all this?'
A sprawling garden stretched a good distance across the plains. A stone pathway dotted by pink blazing stars was encased by thick layers of perfectly trimmed green hedges and rose bushes. Tweeting songbirds zipped around, landing on tall, marble statues of Romanesque human figures and sputtering sprinklers cooling the abundant greenery. A pleasant floral aroma filled the air that he sniffed gladly, replacing the dankness of the house. A short brick wall encased this wonderful oasis from the untamed wilds.
Much like the painting room, this garden felt to be a place of passion and wonder. He wandered through the path of hedges and over a small curved bridge built atop a man-made stream strewn with river rocks that cut across the garden, laden with bulrush and pickerelweed.
Past the bridge were multiple flowerbeds of blooming roses, hydrangea, zinnia, and marigolds. Fat bumble bees buzzed around, visiting flower after flower. Pollen and petals were scattered to the fair winds, making his nose twitch. The faint sounds of earth being dug up followed by more humming caught his attention.
'That hummin' again - it's close.'
Crossing another bridge and an arched entryway of flowery hedges, he saw her. Down on her knees, a thin woman of pale skin and long blonde hair was digging up roots near an incomplete flower bed with a small shovel. She wore a white sun hat and a white long sleeve covered by an apron stained with earth. The woman seemed far too engrossed in her work to notice him walking up.
"Hello?"
The woman jumped a little before she looked up, revealing her golden amber eyes. "Hello," she simply said, her voice soft as snow.
"I'm…" The words died in Liam's throat. "My pa dropped me off here. He said I had to stay here till tomorrow. And you're… you're, um, Mrs. Lachaise, ain'tcha?"
The woman wiped her hands on her apron, brushed aside her hair, and stood up. She smiled warmly at him. "Yes, I am. And you must be Liam."
He scratched his neck. "Uh, guilty as charged, Mrs. Lachaise."
"You don't have to be so formal. Please, call me Elena."
"Elena…" Liam sounded it out, mirroring her smile. "Nice to meetcha, Elena!" He stepped forward to offer her a handshake.
Elena laughed with mirth - like how an angel would, he thought. She accepted his gesture, shaking his hand. "Your father did mention you were a gentleman, and it appears he wasn't incorrect."
He beamed at her approval. "My ma taught me all my manners - bless her soul."
Her pleasant expression waned. "… I was told about your mother. It was a terrible and evil thing what happened to that poor woman, and you have my deepest condolences - you and your father."
"… Thanks."
Liam's heart lurched in his chest, a bitter reminder from this world that it was not all beauty to behold, but also complete loss. He was still in mourning, and he was unsure when he would get over it and move on, if ever. His father wanted him to eventually, but how could anyone lose someone so close and just let go? It spun not just his life out of control, but also his father's, no matter how much the man said otherwise to him.
He blinked, a bothering tear caught in his eye that Elena noticed as she closed the distance between them and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to cry. You have no reason to hold back your feelings for me."
He shook his head, forcing down this influx of emotions. "Nah… I've been sad enough for the past week. I wanna…" He inhaled and exhaled. "I wanna be happier. I don't know how I'll do that, but I wanna at least try, y'know, like how my pa is doin'."
"How old are you, Liam?"
"Twelve. Gonna be thirteen in two months."
"You're very mature for your age. I wish I was able to control my emotions back then as you have." Elena gestured to the flowerbed she was working on. "But tending to this garden helps me put my mind off things."
"This garden is really somethin' Mrs- Elena," he corrected. "Did ya set this up all by yourself?"
"I designed the layout, but my husband laid the groundwork and helped plant everything that you see here today. He's a very sweet man past his rough exterior."
"I'd like to meet him since my pa is workin' on paintin' houses with him. He seems like nice folk, like you."
"He is a busy man. But I'm sure he'd love to meet you someday." She sighed. "I'm sorry for bein' such a rude host. I should have been inside to greet you, but these wallflowers have been giving me quite some trouble."
"Nah, it's cool. This place seems pretty hard to manage from what I've seen."
Elena's stare lingered on him, perplexed. "I know young boys don't seem to enjoy gardening much. But what about you, Liam? What do you think of it?"
Liam gave it some thought. "Well, shucks, I guess I do think gardenin' is mostly a thing for girls. But my ma had her own garden in the front lawn with strawberries and carrots that she made me help her with each spring. It was kinda fun, but I always liked bein' in the wilds more."
"The wilds?"
He swept a hand across the wilderness beyond the brick wall and grinned toothily. "All that stuff out there! Y'know, bravin' the woods, explorin' and findin' cool places. I was in the Boy Scouts, and it taught me to appreciate this big ole world we live in. Mother Nature and all her creations gotta be protected and stuff like that."
Elena tracked where his wandering gaze went, frowning. "That's a very noble cause to believe in. Very few people in this world care for its wonders that enrich us. Though leavingthis house is somethin' I… I couldn't do it myself." She glanced back at her incomplete flower bed. "Liam, would you mind assisting me with these flowers?"
"Oh, uh, sure!"
The boy plodded over to the plot of rich soil. Beside it was a green watering can and flower pots with white wallflowers in them. He knelt and waited for Elena to show him what to do. She grabbed one of the potted flowers and placed it before him. "You have smaller hands than I, so I want you to transplant these flowers from the pots to this bed. First, gently pick up the flower's roots without damaging them.."
He reached into the pot, feeling the stringy roots sticking out through the soil. When he felt he had a firm grip on it, he pulled the whole flower out.
"Good. Now carefully place it into that dug-out hole. Make sure the roots are evenly spread out and not clumped together."
It was a tight fit, but he managed to fit all the flower's roots in the hole snugly.
"Perfect. Now we pack the soil around the flower and secure its place."
She assisted him in spreading the nutrient-rich dirt around the flower until it was sealed in its spot. "Now this flower has a new home - a better chance to grow," she said, smiling. "Use the watering can beside you and let it have a drink."
Liam took the heavy plastic can and tilted it slightly over the wallflower. A small shower of water covered its white petals and healthy green stalk. He smiled at what he had done, earning a sense of accomplishment.
"I'm sure if that flower could speak, it would be thanking you."
"Ya think?"
She laughed tenderly and gestured to the numerous other potted flowers behind him. "If you would like, you can continue my work. I am regrettably quite tired today."
"I'd be happy to! This is kinda fun actually."
"Would you like some sweet tea? I can prepare some as thanks for your assistance."
He fondly remembered days when he would run back to his home after playing and his mother handing him a cold glass of sweet tea. "I've been fixin' for some the whole ride over. Yes, please!"
She smiled and nodded before walking back to the empty house. He watched her go briefly before returning to his new task.
'I thought these folks would be some rich snobs, but Mrs. Lachaise is really nice. Bless her heart, that woman.'
He took another wallflower and deposited it into a hole, covering it in soil. What he thought was boring before now felt peaceful and relaxing. Maybe it was just a part of growing up, he wondered.
'If only you could see me now, ma, after I told you I hated gardenin'.'
It sure felt like honest work, like the work his father was now doing. In some way, he knew that both of them could get past their grief. Like these flowers, they could grow and adapt to their new lives. He felt like that was something his mother would say.
Liam grunted as he picked up the watering can and got to work watering the flowerbed.
Liam watched the oak trees sway in the harsh gusts of wind through the grimy, cracked windows of their room. He slid a paw off his flickering orange scarf, a tingling sensation lingering on his nerves. He scowled, hiding his bitter demeanor from the Pokemon chatting just behind him.
"I got a whole bunch of goodies here from the old days, sis," Roark said, opening one of the drawers of a desk. He cackled as he pulled out several broken, dusty Wonder Orbs. "Oh, you're gonna like the story of these babies!"
Gloria frowned, fanning her tails. "It's not another story of someone getting hurt again, is it?"
"If you count someone's sanity, heh." He tossed the cracked orb up and down in his paw. "We used to have little 'prank wars' when things got slow around the HQ. I was quite the menace back then at it."
Liam cocked his head back, now wearing a smirk. "More than you are now?"
Roark grinned and pointed a claw at him. "Watch it, Dusclops." He turned his attention back to Gloria. "Anyway, I planted a bunch of these around the HQ. Around dart boards, in the sinks, on chairs, and in even the beds of some unlucky 'mons. Created such a stir that Feraligatr broke into here one night and smashed all my remainders." He shook his head. "Five thousand Poke down the drain 'cause of one angry gator."
"Dusclops..." Liam stood. "What does that one even mean?"
"They only got one eye!" the ruse fox responded before shrugging. "I don't know - maybe. It's been a while since I've seen one."
Gloria sighed. "Could you, um, pick a less insensitive nickname for Liam? It's not something he chose to have."
Roark seemed to not be listening as he rifled through more contents of his past. Only when his fur stood up on end from a sudden drop in template did he turn around.
"Roark…"
Liam placed a paw on the Ninetales' side. "It's okay, Gloria. It's all in good fun, right?"
The Zoroark held up his claws. "I thought it was funny - still do. But since sis could probably now turn me into an ice cube if she wished, consider it dead and buried."
Her many tails wagged. "Thank you!"
"In fact, I feel pretty darn good now," Liam said. "Coming back to y'all was the best decision I could've made."
"Where did you go when you ran away from Empyrean?" Gloria asked. "You still haven't told us everything."
"Well… Y'all know I was hunting down Jackson, or at least tryin' to. It felt like days I was running, exhausted, and starving, but I didn't care. I had to find him and… I don't know what I'd do if I did." Gloria pressed a paw to his chest in support as he continued. "Eventually I lost track of him at Swanna Lake and…" He paused. "Then I walked over to a village called Lunanescent Grove, and I met a Ponyta there. She and her brother - that Council Corviknight - helped me escape from the Council's guards. She, uh, reminded me a lot of you, Gloria."
She smiled sweetly at this. "She sounds like a nice girl, then. At least you had help even without us there."
Roark whistled. "Look at that - she's slowly growing an ego. I couldn't be more proud."
Liam laughed and continued before Gloria could comment. "I fought some Council guards before we got away. I admit - I almost gave up at this point. But Ponyta and Corviknight convinced me to keep fighting. To go back to y'all and do things the right way."
"And the freaky-looking scarf you're wearing?" Roark questioned.
"That's…" Liam's mouth hung open. "It was a gift. From Ponyta. Corviknight gave me the eyepatch and Ponyta gave me this scarf."
"Hey, free stuff is always nice, even if it's creepy old stuff and probably cursed. Oh! And speaking of free stuff…" Roark pulled out a metal flask from a drawer. Shaking it, his ears popped up when he heard the swish of a liquid inside. "Hehehe - can't believe past me left behind a little present." He opened the flask's cap and gave an experiment sniff. "Ooh… Definitely the hard stuff."
Gloria grimaced as Roark took a swig of the mystery liquid. "Could you not try to get drunk right now? Scizor has some important things to tell us soon."
"Heh, if Scizor is making a speech, then I'll need all of this to get through it. His record back at the guild was forty minutes on 'job listing etiquette'. Which was totally Shaymin taking them all and then just not doing 'em."
"So, Roark, what's it like being here?" Liam changed the subject. "This used to be your home for, like, ten years, right?"
"Just about. And it's… bittersweet, I guess. Feels like yesterday this place was buzzin' with activity - jobs to do, things to file. I was okay with this place being left to rot - too many memories - and none of the old friends to relive it with. But at least it's got a new purpose now. Met a lot of great mons here; lost a lot of 'em too on that damn mountain…"
Liam caught the slight bitterness in his usually jovial tone. "You guys really trust that Zoroark? He's why the Rescue Society was destroyed, right? Why this place was abandoned, too."
Roark downed what remained of the flask and set it down, collecting his thoughts. "I guess it's easier to trust someone than forgive them now. We're all on this mission to stop Jackson together, and if Zoroark can help us, then we need that help more than ever."
"He's right, Liam," Gloria said. "There's a lot more important things right now than just our feelings. Zoroark and the Rescue Society are offering to give us that help we need."
Liam scowled, frustrated by their reasoning. "I… I can't say I like it, but I can see why y'all think that."
There was a knock on the door before it opened. Long, wispy tendrils of a white mane floated into the room before Zoroark lumbered inside. "Team Requiem. And Roark," he said.
Gloria faced the Ghost-type. "Is there something wrong, Zoroark?"
"Not at all. But two Pokemon have just arrived here on Mudsdale - a Braixen and a Monferno. I believe these two are- or were members of this guild of yours?"
Gloria gasped before she sprinted past Zoroark and out of the room. Roark gave Liam a knowing look before running after the Ninetales.
The halls were bustling with activity as members of both the Rescue Society and Grit Ruin Excavators carried building supplies throughout the decrepit building. Bit by bit, the old headquarters was being restored to its original condition. The trio headed to the main foyer near the entrance just as the double doors swung open and two Pokemon entered.
Braixen backed up at the sight of a Ninetales running at them. "G-gloria? Is that you?" She had seconds to react before the Ice-type barreled into her. "Oof! Okay, it's you!"
"I was worried about you guys!" Gloria exclaimed, hugging Braixen tight.
The Fire-type returned the gesture, burying her neck in white fluff. "We missed you guys, too."
Gloria pulled back. "How did you find us?"
"Those Mudsdale… they got like some sixth sense when finding their pack. Ran into some Drilbur retracing out steps and they showed us," Monferno explained, looking around. "Wow, this place is a real dump. Couldn't you guys have picked a better place to hunker down in?"
"Mony!"
"What? It's true, Braix."
"He's right - it's a dump, but it's our dump," Roark said as he walked over. "Welcome back, Mony."
"Still as annoying as ever I see, Roark," Monferno replied. His eyes widened at the Lucario also making his way over. "Woah… Is that you, Mr. Personality? Hehe, you look like you went through a lot."
Liam's eye twitched as he forced a smile. "You could say that. I know I ran away from the guild, but my head's clearer now."
"And that eye of yours, is it actually…" Getting a nod from the Lucario, he winded. "Shit. You and Gloria have to tell all the exciting deets on what we missed. Our trip wasn't that exciting - just a little visit home."
Braixen bowed her head. "We should… apologize. We weren't thinking clearly after we escaped from the Council; we left you alone when we should've stuck together."
"Yeah…" Monferno grumbled. "So I hope you guys don't have a stupid plan on taking on Yveltal and the Guildmaster, 'cause we're with you now." He reached over and grabbed Braixen's paw, gripping it. "And if I know one thing, these guys are gonna need a skilled doctor."
She smiled. "And they'll need someone really dependable, too."
An unmistakable 'clack' noise on the chipped flooring resounded throughout the foyer as heads turned to the source. Scizor was making careful strides toward them. Stomping behind him were Garchomp, Aggron, and Tyranitar. Monferno and Braixen's eyes widened at his appearance as the Bug-type cleared his throat to speak.
"Braixen. Monferno. It is wonderful to see you both present and well," he said. "I assume this means you will be working with us?"
Uh…" It took a few seconds for Monferno to get past his initial shock. "Yeah, we're sticking around for good."
Scizor smiled earnestly. "Then we are all ready for the meeting." He turned. "Garchomp. May you gather all the Pokémon in the building and tell them to come here?"
"Consider it done, Sciz," she said before whistling to her comrades. "Let's go, ladies."
"Aye, ma'am," Aggron stated.
Tyranitar harrumphed.
As Team Drarosteel departed down the halls and minutes passed, swathes of Pokemon began filing into the foyer. This continued until the walls of the entire room were lined with chattering Pokemon. Excadrill emerged from the crowd and waved. "All of y'all hush up!" he yelled over the ruckus, pointing a claw at Scizor, who stood at the center of the gathering. "This here bug has some mighty important things to share with ya! So keep them mouths zipped and listen up good!"
The volume of the voice in the room died down to hushed whispers and murmurings.
"Thank you, Excadrill," Scizor said.
"S'no problem. Ya have the floor now."
As the Ground-type hustled over and blended with the crowd, Scizor stayed still. Just like before, all eyes were now focused entirely on him, like a bright spotlight beaming down on him. And yet their gazes were not ones of apprehension or apathy, but of curiosity and concern. They were willing to listen to what he had to say, and he was willing to tell things beyond their imagination.
He found Garchomp in the crowd as she flashed him an assuring, toothy smirk; his heart fluttered with newfound courage.
"I know all of you here are wondering why I am speaking to you," he began. "You have many questions and I shall seek to answer them as best as I can."
There was a pregnant pause that followed.
"I've conducted much research in the past few days we have been here, and what I am about to share could alter all of our plans thus far."
My little insects, come see the web we've woven! Untangle these thorny roots that ensnare and guard the gates to paradise!
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Next Time: A Glimpse Behind The Curtain