Saint John Page 4
Far away, the blue sky above turned a murky brown at the horizon. A darker hue than the usual smog that habitually hung over Los Angeles. A forest fire probably. A big one. The darker brown band stretched from the ocean to the northwest to the mountains to the northeast.
He needed to check the news as it appeared to be directly between them and their weekend visit to Tito and Mamaw.
Max sat on his haunches and sniffed the air. Mason glanced at him as if he might answer an unspoken question.
As smart as Max was, he didn’t bark anything notable. Mason couldn’t blame him. He’d never seen anything like it either.
Theresa popped out the front door.
“Earth to Dad. I’ll incur the wrath of the Los Angeles public school system if I’m late again.”
“Got it.”
He gave one last look at the unsettling distance, and then headed back inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mason glanced in the rearview mirror of his tan 1978 Bronco to see Max’s blocky head obscuring most of the traffic that extended forever behind them. His tongue hung out the side as he panted in the early morning heat. Mason reached back and scratched his neck while trying to avoid the long tendril of drool that swung from his mouth.
Cars backed up into the intersection as horns blared and people jockeyed to get through. Too many people loved Los Angeles. They loved it to death.
A foul stench assaulted Mason’s nose.
“Max,” he said as he cracked the window.
The red light governing the intersection of Venice and Lincoln stayed red. Glared red like it enjoyed his growing irritation. This one, in particular, lasted twice as long as any other that he regularly drove through.
Rather, attempted to drive through, because he was stuck here with a waning hope of ever leaving.
He looked over to the passenger seat and watched his daughter’s fingers fly over her phone screen. She was a wonder with the thing. He admired the long black hair that looked like a time machine reflection of her mother. They shared the same jaw that could shift from warm laughter to frozen silence so fast he’d be left behind wondering what happened.
He noticed her shoulders tense and then she thumbed out of the texting app.
Busted.
She turned to him with lips screwed up in obvious irritation. Jaws tensed and nostrils flared.
“Dad, you’re snooping.”
“No. Not really. Just daydreaming. Passing the time. Praying this light decides to change.”
“It’s bad enough you put that tracking app on my phone so you can spy on my every—“
“It’s only for an emergency. It doesn’t track unless you or I activate it.”
“Yeah right. Did you also install a text logging app? Something that lets you print the history so you can invade my privacy at your leisure?”
She had her mother’s fire.
He turned back to the street light governing the busy intersection of Lincoln and Venice and tried not to let the sarcasm dripping from her words get under his skin. The last year with her had been rougher than any before. At times, it felt about as smooth as a typical street in Los Angeles—one jarring pothole after another.
If only her bumps and holes were that visible. He could see the road ones coming. Could utilize skills honed over nearly a decade to navigate and avoid them.
Top-notch tactical driving skills didn’t help a lick in avoiding the recurring blowups that were taking a bigger and bigger toll on their relationship.
What happened to the little girl he remembered?
He didn’t feel like a terrible dad. He didn’t think he was unreasonably strict or overly protective. Not that he was objective about it. He knew that wasn’t possible.
Caution was a career trait for him.
Risk management was priority one. A big part of risk management was having good intel. So, of course, he wanted nothing more than to pore through every single text on Theresa’s phone, then identify possible threats, then neutralize them before they could escalate into something serious.
He was a dad. That was his job. Plus, it was his day job as a close protection officer.
Only, it felt impossible in a way no work job ever had. Impossible in a way that nothing in his career of protecting Fortune 500 CEOs and diplomats from around the world made easier.
A few clients over the years had made protection an onerous task. Famous people usually. The worst. He’d sworn off taking those assignments years ago. The pay just wasn’t worth the headache. The risk.
Good intel could help mitigate risk, but he knew better than to say anything of the kind to Theresa. The last time he gathered intel on his daughter’s life through her text messages, he’d nearly caused a nuclear winter in his nuclear family.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “I looked at you. I’m allowed to look at my smart, beautiful daughter, aren’t I?”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your language, Theresa.”
She shrugged and looked out her window at the long lines of cars that extended in all four directions at the intersection.
Mason retreated to safer ground.
“Mom texted before we left. She told Tito and Mamaw we’re coming. Tito said there was one chick, in particular, he wanted to show you.”
The clouds parted and Theresa smiled. So easy like that.
“I can’t wait to snuggle them. Cute, fluffy little fur balls everywhere. Eeep!” The last part came out in an emotional spike of anticipation.
“And some possible but unconfirmed bad news. Mom may have to skip this visit.”
Unbridled concern pinched her eyebrows together. “Is it Jane? Is she okay?”
Mason bent the truth, but only a little. For his daughter’s sake.
“Everything is fine. Mom just wants to run some additional tests that may take longer than expected.”
It was weak, but he wasn’t going to break his daughter’s heart if he could avoid it.
Theresa huffed and blew out a breathy, agitated exhale. “We already canceled the last two times. We can’t cancel again.”
“Nobody’s saying cancel. Worst case is just us two go.”
Mason wanted to go as much as she did. When he married Beth, her parents were a big part of that commitment. They’d welcomed him into their family and gave him a sense of rootedness that he’d longed for his entire life. Beth had brought needed stability.
A foundation that kept him from completely sinking, even during the dark years.
A heavy weight pressed at his skull. He cut that line of thought short. It was going nowhere good.
He dragged his thoughts back to the present and bristled at the mass of metal crawling by. He longed for the peace and tranquility of Tito and Mamaw’s small acreage. Their property was quintessential Ojai. Big. Surrounded by beautiful nature. Chickens and goats underfoot. The braying of a mule somewhere in the distance.
You didn’t find that kind of thing in Venice. Not without spending five million dollars to get it. Maybe not at all.
“We better not end up canceling,” Theresa said.
Mason mashed the brake with his left foot and gently tapped the gas with his right. This stoplight felt like a stop-forever-light. He glanced at the cross traffic and saw an open pocket approaching. A dangerously strong urge to punch the gas and roar through the intersection tickled his leg.
“Don’t worry,” Mason said, as much to himself as to his daughter. “We’re going.”
Her expression softened. He saw hints of the little girl she once was. Slowly submerging into a woman that confused the hell out of him.
He prayed Beth would have good news. At least not bad news.
Theresa’s phone beeped and a message popped up. He resisted the urge to take a sideward glance.
“You text more than you breathe.”
“Very funny, Dad.”
“Kidding. But not,” he said as he leveled a look at her.
“Understood,” she replied
, then nodded toward the road. “Green light.”
Mason flicked a look up at the light and verified the change. Not for the first time, a small voice inside him acknowledged the spectacle of how much power three little lights had.
By mutual agreement, drivers trusted the colored signals to protect them. Mason wondered at how fragile a construct the whole thing was. It would be too easy to cross the line. To bring someone else’s life to an end. To end up in that spot yourself.
The construct crumbled sometimes. Whether through bad intentions or thoughtless negligence, the artifice of safety sometimes ended in injury and death.
He glanced at the analog clock on the dash and noticed the time. Great. Theresa might be late to class. She’d already gotten a parent report about excessive tardies. He wasn’t going to be the reason she got detention.
Mason dropped the hammer with his right foot while simultaneously releasing the brake with his left.
The throaty V8 roared and lurched forward on oversized BF Goodrich All-Terrain 4x4 tires. Their size put all the surrounding cars on a downward line of sight. He’d seen more than a few surprising things from his high vantage point.
The old beast resembled nothing so much as a proud lion prowling the savannah. Past its prime. Rough around the edges.
But strong. Still big and dangerous to the herd of sleek impalas that bounded beside.
Mason smiled as the windows rattled and the round tuning knob on the old stereo slipped and the station crackling through the single working speaker blended into static.
Through the static, the dull voice of a professional reporter bled through in sporadic bursts.
“Fire… threatening the San Fernando… not contained…”
Theresa punched the volume knob and turned it off.
“Would you mind keeping us alive at least until I get to school?”
Mason flashed a grin and winked. “That’s my job.”
He turned back and slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop just out of the intersection. Max barked like crazy.
A man dressed in rags stumbled and fell against the front bumper. He raised his head as if suddenly aware of their presence.
Blood streamed from his eyes, down his filth-crusted cheeks. He swiped at the fluid and lurched back, teetering on the edge of staying upright. He covered his face and screamed.
“Help me! Please, help me!”
The words gurgled out as red spewed down his unkempt beard.
Horns honked behind the Bronco.
A car in the next lane roared by heading in the same direction.
Mason looked in the rearview mirror. A shiny, white Mercedes flew into the intersection, obviously hell-bent on not getting caught at the light.
The man stumbled into the adjacent lane.
He never had a chance.
Sleek, white metal slammed into fragile flesh. The man’s head whipped down onto the hood and split apart. The impact flung his body through the air, pinwheeling like a rag doll tossed by an angry child. His broken form landed in a heap. Arms and legs splayed at grotesque angles.
And just like that, whatever dreams or delusions the man harbored ended.
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— SERIES —
The Last Peak series
The Darwin Protocol, Book 1
The Darwin Collapse, Book 2
The Darwin Sacrifice, Book 3
The Darwin Rebellion, Book 4
Coming 2017
Recovering Eden series
Sole Prey, Book 1
Sole Survivor, Book 2
Coming 2017
Sole Connection, A Short Story
The Tank Man, A Short Story
— SHORT STORIES —
She’s Gone
Saint John
Questions or Comments?
Have any questions or comments? I’d love to hear from you! Seriously. Voices coming from outside my head are such a relief. And know that I respond to every email.
Give me a shout at william@williamoday.com.
All the best,
Will
The Goal
I have a simple storytelling goal that can be wildly difficult to achieve. I want to entertain you with little black marks arranged on a white background. Read the marks and join me on a grand adventure. If all goes well, you’ll slip under the spell and so walk alongside heroes and villains. You’ll feel what they feel. You’ll understand the world as they do.
My writing and your reading is a kind of mechanical telepathy. I translate my thoughts and emotions through characters and conflict in a written story. If the transmission works, your heart will pound, your heart will break, and you will care. At the very least, hopefully you’ll escape your world and live in mine for a little while.
I hope to see you there!
Will
My Life Thus Far
I grew up in the red dirt of the Midwest, the center of the states. I later meandered out to the West Coast and have remained off-center ever since. Living in Los Angeles, I achieved my Career 1.0 dream by working on big-budget movies for over a decade. If you’ve seen a Will Smith or Tom Cruise blockbuster action movie, you’ve likely seen my work.
The work was challenging and fulfilling… until I got tired of telling other people’s stories. I longed to tell my own. So, now I’m pursuing my Career 2.0 dream—a dream I’ve had since youth—to write stories that pull a reader in and make the everyday world fade away.
I’ve since moved to a more rural setting north of San Francisco with my lovely wife, vibrant children, and a dog that has discovered the secret to infinite energy. His name is Trip and he fits the name in four unique ways.
WILLIAMODAY.COM
William Oday, August 2016
Copyright © 2016 William Oday
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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