Ring of Fire (5 page)

“Where some of us belong?”

“Yeah, smart guy. Where
some
of us definitely belong.”

Chapter 5

Nate shot Sam a look of pure wonderment as they followed Jeb around to the back of the house. The only way to describe the glint in Sam’s eyes was devilish, gleeful. Nate held up his hands in a ‘go for it, dude’ gesture and returned his grin.

By the time they rounded the enormous house and landed on a patio that stretched at least sixty feet, Jeb had apparently decided that ignoring Sam was his best tack. With an expansive wave, he motioned to a comfortable sitting area shaded by a lilac covered arbor. The luxurious expanse of lawn leading from the patio to the private lake below was studded with towering pines and maples. Groves of slender white birch lent contrasting color. Chirping birds and fluttering insects created an idyllic setting in the warm spring sunshine. Nate noted that Jeb’s array of toys didn’t end with high end automobiles and fancy horses. A forty foot inboard/outboard Mercury cruiser was tied to the boat dock. Four jet-skis and an assortment of canoes, kayaks and other water toys nestled carelessly along the bank.

Nate whistled. “Damn, Jeb. Think what we could have done with all this shit when we were kids.”

Jeb guffawed. “Hell, yeah, buddy. We would have stolen and sold most of them and blown up the rest. Just because we could. Remember our motto? At least Cougar’s and mine: If we couldn’t have it no one else should either. Too bad you and Luke didn’t agree. At least that attitude kept you two ‘goodie two shoes” out of Juvie. But then I imagine the Chief had something to do with you and Luke missing those ‘sabbaticals’ with the really bad kids.”

Walking over to a house sized refrigerator, Jeb opened the door and pointed to an array of bottles inside.

“What’ll it be, Big Dog? Still sucking down Newcastle?”

“That’d be great, Jeb.”

Sam sidled over next to Jeb and peered in the refrigerator.

Pointing to a dark brown bottle with its label partially obscured, Sam marveled. “Damn if that is what I think it is, a ‘Westvleteren’, I’ll take one of those. That is if you are offering.”

Jeb held his gaze for a long moment.

“Why wouldn’t I, Stud?”

Sam glanced over at Nate.

“Don’t know if you’ve ever drank this stuff, Nate, but Belgian monks make it. You can only buy it with a reservation ahead of time. I remember it well from my European jaunts. This beer alone is worth an overseas trip.”

Nate held up his hands deciding to get out from between Jeb and Sam. It was clear if anyone could take care of himself, it was the cocky Commander. Talk about waving a red flag in front of a bull. Sam didn’t need any help from him. He had their host totally flummoxed. Nate breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how concerned he’d been at what he was sure would be a series of racial insults from Jeb. But Sam turned the insults back on Jeb, making him look like the redneck bigot that he was. In contrast, Sam was urbane, witty and accomplished. What Jeb didn’t know, but Nate was confident he would soon, was that Sam had been SWAT for five years on the LAPD and was a nationally ranked MMA fighter. Nate marveled to himself that he’d ever been worried that Sam couldn’t take care of himself. Hell, Sam was mopping up the floor with Jeb—and Jeb knew it.

“Heck, yeah. Bring me one of those exotic beers, Jeb. I’ll live dangerously. As long as I don’t have to pronounce it, I’m happy to drink it!”

When they got back to the table, Jeb made a point of facing Nate, his back to Sam. It was obvious Sam had rattled him and he was eager to get back to taunting his longtime nemesis.

“What do you hear from Luke? Is he still overseas?”

“Yes. I don’t hear as often as I’d like. But he’s Delta Force so wherever he is he can’t say Just like when Sam and were there, wasn’t much we could say to the folks back home. I only know that wherever Luke is it’s hell.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“Can’t say. I really don’t know, and I don’t think he does either.”

“Is he trying to ‘out-hero’ you, Nate? Stay in longer than you did?” Jeb added with a sneer, “You two always did compete to see who could win the most honors.”

“Ah, c’mon, Jeb, you were right with us until about the 10
th
grade.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But you had the Chief at your back, keepin’ you from straying too far.”

Nate shrugged, “I seem to remember that
you
were in most of those pep talks the Chief gave us, Jeb.”

“Humph. Maybe. But as much as that tight-ass, by-the-book asshole said he cared about me and Cougar, you were his prize. You were his Golden Boy, the one he yelled at the most. And I’ll be damned. Looking at you today, Nate, it’s as though the Chief really did father you. You’re a bigger tight-ass now than the Chief ever was.”

“Hmm. I’ll take that as a compliment, Jeb.”

Jeb took a big swig of his beer and grinned. “Nope, I stopped listening to the Chief when I learned just how damned good LSD felt or a row of coke, or a ball of heroin, or hell all three together! Fuck, I always thought sex gave you the biggest high until I started experimenting with some of those drugs that came our way. In retrospect it’s a good thing I did experiment. Yeah, I missed a scholarship or three, never got to play pro ball or even college ball like you. And I got a kid out of it when I wasn’t quite seventeen. But damn, Nate, I learned a lot that has helped me in my career—so to speak. I learned how powerful drugs are and the lengths people will go to for their next fix. Hell, it was like getting a PhD in ex-ploi-ta-tion!”

Jeb laughed so hard at his tasteless joke that he choked on his beer. Looking from Nate to Sam, he shrugged.

“Can I surmise that you guys don’t agree? No matter. Like I care? You’d be proud of me now, Nate. I don’t touch the stuff. Most I do is four or five beers a night. I’ll never do that hard stuff again.”

Nate raised a quizzical brow. “But you make sure other people do?”

“Damn straight. The first rule of good business. Give the people what… they…
want
.” He waved a hand at the panoply of expensive toys surrounding them. “I can tell you, bro, in the business I’m in? You want to be on the distribution side of the equation not the ingesting side.”

“Cynical as ever, eh, Jeb?”

Jeb gave him a satisfied nod and a wink. “Damn straight.”

Jeb picked at the label on his bottle then pursed his lips in satisfaction. Glancing over at Sam, he said, “Just so you’re clear, Stud. The Golden Boy didn’t beat me at everything. Nope, when it came to the girls ultimately I won the biggest prize. Little Sarah Mueller, prettiest damn girl in the sophomore class. Jesus, would you believe that the Big Dog here was the sophomore King, part of some damn court? And Sarah was the queen. Sweet innocent Sarah. Pretty blond hair, eyes bluer than a morning sky in the Boundary Waters. And as pure as a new driven snow. But I got her away from Nate that night. Loaded her up with ecstasy and the rest is history. Her daddy made us get married. He said no girl of his was going to have a bastard kid.”

Jeb took a long pull off his beer and grimaced. “Fuck, if I knew then what I know now about the frigid bitch, wonder if I’d have chosen to spike her drink. But, what the hell. As they say you reap what you sow.”

Rather than respond to Jeb’s despicable comments intended to inflame him, Nate decided to hit him from another angle. He took a sip on his beer and assumed a casual pose.

“Speaking of our bad boy foursome, I hear you and Cougar are on the outs. What happened? Did his dick keep getting bigger while yours was starting to shrink with age?”

Jeb’s face flushed an ugly purplish color. With an obvious effort he forced his lips into a tight smile but his eyes flashed dangerously. Following a pause, he bit out, “Let’s just say, Cougar’s heritage began showing up more than I could tolerate. I don’t care how far back tainted blood goes, once it’s in your genes no mixing with white blood can clean it out. Ask Stud here. Plus, it’s a known fact that Cougar’s pappy hung out with squaws. If you ever met Cougar’s son, you’d know some red bitch got mixed in their rutting somewhere, somehow. And while Cougar’s ‘associations” were useful to get at the reservation scum, in my position partnering with someone with Cougar’s likely background was
unseemly
.”

He took several more swallows of his beer then seemed to gain control of his anger.

“Putting it simple, let’s just say that Cougar and I decided only one of us could be the big man.”

He swept a telling hand over the grounds and smirked.

“As you might have noticed, I proved my point. And as for dicks, along with money and power, my dick just keeps growing bigger and bigger. Haven’t checked Cougar’s lately, but I noticed he’s been losing weight, seems like he’s buyin’ a smaller size pants.”

In the heavy silence that followed, Jeb chugged at his beer. When he’d drained it, he tossed the bottle into a garbage can half filled with empties. Striding over to the refrigerator, he tugged out a Sam Adams. He downed it in three large swallows, confirming that his ‘four or five bottles of beer at night’ were likely preceded by as many in the morning—and likely the afternoon as well. When he turned back toward him, Nate saw that a more familiar gleam had replaced the humor in Jeb’s eyes. Now they were bright with sheer hate. He threw Sam a hostile scowl, then reached back in the refrigerator and hauled out the remaining bottles of Westvleteren. With a sneer he unceremoniously dumped the bottles in the trash can with a splintering crash.

Grabbing another Sam Adams from the refrigerator, he whirled on Sam. “Next time, try an American beer, Stud. A Sam Adams. Those colonialists had the right idea. They knew that you don’t associate with mongrels. They kept the Injuns and the niggers at bay. The ones they didn’t kill, they boxed up. Put the blackies in the kitchen and the redskins in camps—just like the reservations do today. Kept both groups in their places so they didn’t get uppity ideas about who they are.”

He offered Nate a Sam Adams. When Nate held up his hands in refusal, Jeb sniffed.

“Have I embarrassed you, Nate? Talked trash in front of your fine friend? Sounded like some hillbilly racist yahoo?”

When Nate just glared at him, Jeb turned to Sam.

“Bet you don’t know that this hardass is a real softie at heart. Nate’s a loyal son of a bitch. Would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people he cares about.”

Jeb leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs crossing them at the ankles. Gazing at Nate through half closed eyes, his voice was soft but there was no denying the edge behind his words.

“You know, Nate, when you think about it, that’s not such a good thing. Caring that much about someone you love makes you vulnerable. Gives you a soft spot. If the wrong people knew that they’d probably have a pretty damn good way of taking you down.”

He held Nate’s gaze and took another long pull on his beer. Nate heard the slight slurring in his voice, more confirmation of the cause of Jeb’s fleshy middle. Knowing that Jeb was purposefully taunting him, trying to get a rise out of him, Nate settled back in his chair for the next onslaught. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I know you check in on Sarah to this day, Nate. Hell, have at her, man. She hasn’t invited me into her bed since I knocked her up ten years ago with our youngest. I could care less. I like my women on the younger, tighter side, if you catch my drift. Guess we have that in common, Nate. But you sure do keep an eye on Melanie, don’t cha? Want to make sure your little goddaughter doesn’t turn out like me, right?”

He turned to Sam. “By way of explanation, Stud, Melanie’s my daughter. The one I sired in the football stadium bleachers at that fuckin’ homecoming dance twenty years ago. Can you believe that a kid of mine is Nate’s goddaughter?” He scoffed at Nate. “Hell, she coulda been your real daughter if you’d had the balls to screw Sarah before I got to her.”

Downing another beer, Jeb tossed the bottle toward the trashcan and missed. The glass shattered, sending shards flying across the stone patio. Jeb didn’t seem to notice, just stood up and yanked another bottle from the refrigerator.

“You don’t have to worry about Melanie, Nate. I’ve put the fear of God in her and so has Sarah. She won’t have sex until she’s fifty and that’ll be with a dildo.”

He barked out an ugly laugh. “Hope at least for her sake it’s a rabbit and has a vibrator. Christ, imagine that. A daughter of mine a virgin at the ripe old age of fifty. And then, there’s my youngest daughter, Francine. She’s like that niece of yours, Nate. My Francine and your Norma are too smart. Both too damn smart for their own good. No girl needs to be that brainy. All she needs is to be smart enough to recognize an asshole like me and keep her fucking legs closed. That’s what I’m teaching
my
girls.”

Jeb was thoughtful for a moment. “But as far as
women
go, I’m like you, Nate. I like my pussies young and supple. I know you’re hangin’ on tight to that little dark-haired lassie of yours. An Irish Catholic girl, right? God help you, Nate. She
is
a beauty even if she is dark-haired. But, Jesus, just make she don’t have any Jew blood in her.”

Jeb’s gaze turned more sinister if possible. “I’ve been thinkin about you and her, Nate. Erin’s her name, right? Be sure you keep an eye on her. I hear she’s worth a lot of money. And hell, she’s a firefighter, right? Like your cousin, Connor? Damn, Nate, that’s gotta make you a little nervous. You
know
how dangerous fires can be. Not only for the people inside but for the heroes who come to save them.”

When Nate didn’t respond, Jeb sprawled back in his chair. Any semblance of the confident cheerful man who’d met them little more than an hour ago was long gone. In his place was a mean drunk. Becoming meaner and drunker by the minute.

Jeb rambled on as though going down a hateful checklist of libelous utterings. “But those two sons of mine are takin’ after their Pa. Both twins got their heads shaved two years ago much to their mama’s dismay. Now they got tats from one end of their asses to the other. I’ve never been one for all that ink. Hell, you want people to know that you’re tough? Kill a few assholes. The word’ll spread. Show ‘em, I say. You don’t need to write it all over your damn body. But those idiot kids think ‘1488’ inked on their chest makes ‘em a scary dude.”