C.O.T.V.H. (Book 2): Judgment (4 page)

It’s true!  There’s the leather pouch. 
Jake thought trying not to stare.  He had heard countless stories about Talon and his father, Bear Claw, from Cort.  The Parkers were legends.  They were descendants of Quanah Parker, one of the greatest Comanche War Chiefs too ever live.  He gave Jake a stiff, but friendly nod then shook his and John’s hands.  His grip was tremendously strong.  It took everything Jake had to keep the big man from crushing his hand.

"And this ugly looking sucker over here, that’s too uppity to get off the couch and say hello is Wes Turner and this is his son Buck." He motioned to the two sitting on a couch near a large bay window.

So that’s Bloody Wes Turner,
Jake thought to himself. 
He’s smaller than I imagined.
  He was a bit surprised to see him here.  From what his grandpa had told him, Turner was a bit of an outsider, even with Billy and Talon, especially with Ben.  Many of the other Hunter groups didn’t care much for his methods either.  He had grudgingly been allowed to join the Coalition under Billy’s team, but his group of outlaw bikers,
The Slayers
, had not.

Three of the larger groups had refused to join entirely unless
The Slayers
were denied entry.  A couple of others almost walked away after Turner was allowed to stay.  John had fought for him tooth and nail out of loyalty and the two group leaders had eventually caved.  John walked over and took Turner’s hand in a firm grip. "Wesley and I go way back.  Pop even took him in for a while, back in the 70's, after his dad passed."

His head was completely shaved with tattoos running down his neck and covering his arms.  His blue eyes were cold and hard.

Jake stared into those eyes and felt an intense sense of unease.
He’s got the eyes of a killer.

Maybe it was how badly Cort had spoken of him, or maybe it was just his overall appearance. Whatever the reason, there was something very unsettling about Bloody Wes Turner.  Jake had half expected the devil himself or at the very least Charles Manson.  Strangely, he didn’t feel that either description was that farfetched.

"How's it going?" Wes said, barely giving Jake a glance.

"What's up?" Buck said, outstretching his hand.  He had his dad's face but with long blond hair tied back into a ponytail.  He was about the same height as Jake, but with much more bulk in his arms and chest.  Jake shook his hand.  Buck squeezed as tight as he could, doing his best to crush Jake’s hand.  Jake smiled and squeezed back matching his strength.  A fire lit in Buck’s eyes challenging him.

"Damn, Buck," John said, breaking their moment as he reached for Buck’s hand.  Buck's grip released and he shook John’s hand.  "I haven't seen you since you were born! You've grown up kid.  How old are you now?  Sixteen?  Seventeen?"

"Fifteen," Buck said, his eyes never leaving Jake’s.

What’s this guy’s problem? 
Jake thought.

"So, Buck, this is your first year training too?" John asked.

"Officially yeah,” Buck replied.  “But Dad has had me training with
The Slayers
off and on since I was six."

"Six?  Damn Wes.  You don't think that's a little early?"

"Nah, it does the boy good.  Makes him into a
real
man.”

"What's his mother think about that?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Who cares what she thinks,” Wes said, crossing his own.  “I sure as hell don't. She up and left me with the boy about two years back."

"Damn Wes, I'm sorry," John said uncrossing his arms and looking genuinely concerned for his old friend.

Turner blew off his concern.  "I'm not; she was about as worthless as a bitch could be."

John raised his eyebrows then cleared his throat.  “We’ll talk later, Wes.  I’ve got to introduce Jake to the others.”  Wes just stared back at him.  After an uncomfortable moment of silence, John spoke up.  "Say where's Sandra and the kids at?" he said loudly, looking around the large living room.

"Where else?!" A woman's voice yelled from inside the kitchen followed by a laugh.  Glad to be away from Wes and Buck Turner, Jake followed his dad into the kitchen to find an older, yet still quite beautiful woman, with graying hair, cooking over a very large stove.  "
Cheri
!" she said, wiping her hands on her apron before rushing to John.

"Mom!" John said happily, enveloping the much smaller woman in a hug and lifting her completely off the ground.

John had been telling Jake about Sandra and her cooking almost the entire drive down.  She'd been like a second mother to him after his own mom had left when John was just a child.  She was Haitian by birth and still had a touch of an accent in her voice.

"How's my Johnny doing?" she said, gripping both of his cheeks in her hands. "And why has it taken you so long to come visit your family?"

"I know Sandra, I know.  I'm sorry about that.  Things have just been intense since Julia . . .” John’s eyes looked down at the floor.  “Jake and I have been doing our best to pull things back together."

"Well you are here now.  That is all that matters," she lovingly patted his arm. "And who is this strapping young lad?  Is this young Jake?"

"Hello," Jake said, quietly.

"Well hello to you too young man!" she embraced him warmly as if he were one of her own children.  "I'm glad Johnny finally brought you up here to see us all.  I was really sad to hear about your mother’s passing.  Julia was an amazing woman." A tear glistened in her eye.  “I loved her like a daughter and remember her in my prayers.”  She caressed the silver crucifix hanging around her neck.

"Thank you," was all Jake could manage to get out.  Talk about his mom was stirred up emotions he had tried hard to suppress.  The last time he had cried over her was the night of the attack.  He didn’t remember much of that night due to the concussion, but he could not shake the feeling that he had actually seen his mother’s green eyes again.

"Welcome, welcome, both of you," she said holding both of Jake’s hands in her own.

"Thank you for having us," Jake said.  "Your house is amazing!  Way bigger than Grandpa's.  Plus there aren’t any bars on the windows."

"Cort always was a little tight with his money," she joked.  "As for the bars, well . . . I never liked them much.  Makes it feel like you are living in prison, I prefer to be free."

Jake nodded his agreement. "Do you guys live here all the time?"

"Oh no sweetie, our main home is in Dallas, this is just what we call our Vacation  Home. Everyone comes and meets down here a few times a year.  Mostly for holidays and vacations.  We’ve got a large pond with a dock for fishing and swimming and a few hundred acres for you to get lost on a warm summer night.  A shame you won’t get to enjoy it much though.  I doubt your trainers will leave much time for fishing or swimming.”

“Thank you for having us, Sandra,” John said.  “It’s been a long time, too long since I’ve been back.”

Sandra smiled. “Billy and I are so happy you boys made it."  She turned and stirred something on the stove. "Now you two go make yourselves at home.  I am fixing us a big Thanksgiving supper tonight.  It has been a long, long time since the family has all been together under one roof."

"That sounds great!" Jake said, with a big grin.  The food smelled delicious.  "I haven't had a good home cooked meal in years.  Well other than Grandpa's bacon sandwiches that is."

"Ugh, Cort and those sandwiches!"  Sandra laughed.  "Don't worry then, you will eat well tonight."

John reached around Sandra and grabbed a hot piece of fried plantain off a plate.  Sandra slapped his hand away.  "Wait for dinner!" she laughed.

John shoved the piece into his mouth burning his tongue.  "HOT!" he yelled out.

"That's what you get!" Sandra slapped him hard on the hand.  "Now get out of my kitchen."

John headed back to the living room.  Jake went to follow but was stopped by Sandra’s hand on his arm.  "Jake, honey, there's someone I would like you to meet."

Taking his hand, she led him down the hall into a large game room that looked like it had once been a garage.  Inside was another big screen TV, several more leather couches with three teenage girls on them watching
Titanic. 
In the middle of the room sat a Brunswick Pool Table with a red felt top with a kid that looked very much like John’s old friend Terry, playing on it. 

Jake had never met Terry personally, as he had died when Jake was barely three years old, but he had seen plenty of pictures of him hanging on Cort’s walls.  This young man could only be his son.

"I'd like you to meet my grandson Donnie, my granddaughter Amber, and Talon's daughter's Diana and Whisper."

Donnie, like his father, had Billy’s face and same warm gray eyes.  He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen and stood five feet ten inches tall.  He was solid muscle from head to toe.

Talon’s daughters looked to be half Native American and half-white.  Diana appeared to be the oldest by no more than a year and while both girls were more than beautiful, it was Amber that really caught his attention.

She had deep brown eyes, with long dark hair running down the smooth ebony skin of her face, to her shoulders.  The way she smiled when Sandra introduced him to her, made Jake's heart beat a thousand beats per minute.  She was the most amazingly beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on.  He was literally speechless.

"Jake?" Sandra said, breaking him from his trance.

He'd completely missed what she had just said, “I'm sorry?" he said, closing his mouth and turning back to look at Sandra.

“I asked if you’d ever played pool?”

Jake heard the girls giggle, which turned his cheeks a bright red.  “Yeah. Um, sorry.  Yeah, Dad and I play every once in a while at an old cool hall, I mean
pool
hall!” he stammered.  “A pool hall not far from Grandpa’s house.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” She smiled.  “I better get back to the kitchen before John eats all my plantain!  Donnie, take it easy on him.”

“Yes Grandma,” Donnie said not lifting up from taking his shot on the table.  Sandra walked out of the room leaving Jake alone with them.  He swallowed deep as Amber glanced over at him.

The balls on the table crashed together with a loud crack as Donnie sunk the six-ball in the corner pocket.  "So you're John Bishop's kid?"  He said, rising up and covering the tip of his cue with blue chalk.

"That's me," Jake said, sizing up the muscular kid in front of him.

"How ‘bout a game?"  he asked, tossing his cue to Jake who easily snatched it out of midair. “I’ve never met someone that plays at a cool hall.  Might be interesting to see how you play.”  

"Sure," Jake replied his face going red.  "Eight ball?  Or nine?"

"Eight. I don't play any other way.  You want to break?" Donnie grabbed another cue off the rack.

"Nah.  Your table, your break," Jake said, pulling the triangle hanging under the table and gathering up all the balls.  Chris Morris and Buck Turner came walking in just as Donnie slammed the cue ball into the racked balls. 

"Looks like we've got a game on!" Buck said, plopping down on the couch next to Amber.  Chris stood back quietly, leaning against the wall, giving Jake the distinct impression he was a bit of a nerdy kid that probably didn't care much for competitive games.

Donnie landed two balls on the break, both stripes.  "Looks like you got solids," he said, shooting again.

The game went quickly once Jake’s turn came.  Donnie was good but wasn't anywhere near his level.  "Eight ball, center pocket," Jake said, calling his final shot.  He sunk it flawlessly, winning the game.

"Not bad, not bad,” Donnie said, laying his stick across the table.  “But I've got twenty says you can't do it again."

And here comes the hustle
. Jake thought to himself. “Nah.  I'm good,” he said laying the cue next to Donnie's on the red felt.

"Ah now come on.  I'll tell you what, I'll bet fifty against your twenty, against anyone in this room.  Your choice."

"So fifty bucks and I get to pick
anyone
to play against?"  This was too good to be true.  Jake was hesitant to accept.  There had to be a catch.  But fifty dollars was fifty dollars, and he had little doubt he could beat anyone here.

"That's the deal," Donnie replied leaning forward on the table.

"So . . . I just gave you a pretty good beating.  So why not just choose you?"

"Oh you could do that.  But, what if I was just holding back?  Trying to earn a few bucks off you?”

Jake couldn't help but smile.  He'd put on a pretty good game trying to impress Amber.  Why not up the ante a notch.  "Yeah the thought that I was being hustled did cross my mind.  But I’ll tell you what, your table, your choice.  You pick someone for me to play.  Give me your best shot."

Jake reached into his pocket pulling a twenty out of his wallet and tossing it on the table.  It was the last money he had, but there was little doubt he'd make it back plus an additional fifty.

"My choice huh?  You’re a cocky little sucker aren’t you?  Okay then.  Chris? You up for a game?"

Jake laughed.  "This guy?  Why don't you just give me the money?"

"Yeah I'm game," Chris said walking over to the rack and picking up an 18oz. stick.  He chalked it up thoroughly then laid it on the table before gathering the balls to rack them.

Donnie picked the twenty off the table, added two twenties of his own and a ten to the stack, then set it on a small side table with several cans of soda on it.  Chris pulled the triangle off the table spinning it in his hands.

Jake lined up his shot and broke with a thunderous crack.  One ball went in.  It was stripes.  On the next shot he missed by mere inches.  "Damn." Jake said, rising up and chalking his stick.

Chris pushed his glasses up on his nose and leaned down taking aim.  On his first shot, he sunk two balls with a combo.  Jake realized as those balls cracked together, flawlessly setting up the next shot, that he had just made a big mistake.  This was going to be bad.  "Perfect," he said, shaking his head.  “Just perfect. That was my last twenty.” He had fallen right into their trap.  One by one, Chris ran the table sinking every single ball.  Jake lowered his head in defeat.