Brent found his own way out while his father and Tony took a side door. Brent had a little over an hour for lunch, so he drove around aimlessly before going to Jake’s.
Jake II saw Brent. “Hey!” Jake II was Brent’s age, sent to inherit the family business, if it survived.
The two men hugged like brothers. “How the hell are you?” asked Jake.
“Good. You?”
“Meh. What can I get you?”
“Two Rubens, the original way.”
“You got it, man.” Jake went behind the counter. Brent sat down at the counter and the waitress asked him if he wanted anything.
Brent was watching the clientele through the mirrors that lined the wall between the kitchen and the counter. They were watching him suspiciously. They reminded him of the people in Fallujah.
“How long are you in this part of the world?”
“A month,” he said.
“I got your picture, by the way.” He pointed to the picture wall that had pictures of all sorts of locals in different locales, from Disney World to fishing, to with a celebrity.
“Great,” said Brent. He turned in his seat to match eyes with a hobo that sat in the corner, staring at him intently. The beginning of a demand spell started in his mind, but he shut it down. The man was probably schizophrenic and just as suspicious of him as he was.
“You want to do this when you get back?” asked Jake, peering over the counter’s shelf.
“Not really.” Instead, he put up a protection spell around his person. It was strong enough to bounce off bullets or a speeding train. He’d tried the former with excellent success, but wasn’t trusting it to try the latter.
“You love to cook.”
“What the hell gave you that idea? I flunked Home Ec for a reason.”
Jake laughed. Another person came in. One went out. He looked at the newcomer’s hands. They weren’t carrying anything or holding extra fabric from their clothes.
God, he had to relax.
Jake finished the rubens and Brent powered down to take them. “Enjoy. Come back for breakfast tomorrow, we can catch up. On the house.”
“With an offer like that, I’ll be here when the doors opened.” He waved at Jake.
He felt something aim at his back. He turned to the direction and saw it was still the hobo. Brent narrowed his eyes and thought a threatening spell at him. The hobo scrambled up and dashed further into the diner, probably the bathroom.
He drove to the doctor’s office and went inside. His mother greeted a patient and saw Brent when he left. “Be right out, honey,” she said.
She came out a few minutes later, flushed and happy. They went to the end of the hall where there was a vending machine and two tables and chairs. “Was your father busy?”
“He had to go out on a call,” said Brent, sitting down.
“Then he was busy. He’s mostly doing other people’s paperwork.”
“Which is a good thing.” Brent handed over the top styrofoam box. “I got the same thing.”
She smiled and took her box.
“I’m going to see Keithy after this,” he said and unwrapped his sandwich. “Anything I should expect?”
“Like?” His mother hesitated to take a bite.
“I don’t know: a wife, a baby?”
She took a bite. “A widow as employing him as a handyman for a little while until he couldn’t do it anymore. No, nothing like that.”
Brent took a bite of the sandwich. He hoped its wonderful taste would calm him down. It didn’t, not quite.
“Brent, he’s good at what he did, it’s just—”
“He’s a sociopath and a con artist,” snapped Brent. “He’s good at that.”
His mother sighed. Brent did also. “Look, I’m sorry. Just after what he pulled on you…”
“That wasn’t his fault. The market crashed.”
“But he came out smelling like a rose.” Brent waved his hand. “Forget it. I didn’t come here to get all riled up over Keithy.”
How’s your sandwich? Good, isn’t it?”
He had eaten half of it without tasting it. “Yeah, it is,” and forced himself to calm down and taste it this time. It was good, but not like he remembered it.
“Lori’s been writing to you,” said his mother around bites.
“I get them. I’ve been emailing her.”
“It’s not the same,” said his mother.
“Mom, we don’t have a lot of down time.” Most of his downtime was spent practicing and perfecting his magic.
“She said she wants to write you every day but that it would cumbersome. Kaitlyn is in pre-school, and she’ll probably be writing you.”
“Lori still have the home day care?”
Her mother brushed off the remaining rye crumbs. “No, she got rid of that a while ago. She got someone to watch the kids and she works over here at UMass at night.”
He jerked. “At night?”
“Three to eleven shift. She works in the laundry.”
The vampires came out after sundown. Maybe he would have to check on them after all. “I thought she said she’d rather die than work for UMass.”
“Funny how things change.” She gave him a look. “Like someone who was going into the National Guard and went full-on into the Army instead.”
“Touche,” he said, cleaning up after himself.
“You’re going to stay home tonight?”
“I will be home for dinner unless Lori serves mac and cheese out of a box.”
She laughed. “Then come home. I have some left over roast beef and potatoes, and you know how much your father loves left overs.”
And me, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “The Army has taught me to eat whatever is put in front of me, even if it’s still wiggling.”
She laughed and got up, gathering her paper from the sandwich. He escorted her to the door of the doctor’s office, and she said, “Don’t let Keithy get to you.”
Easier said than done, he thought.