Unlovable (27 page)

“
What do you want to know?”
Nervous, I picked up his hand in mine, weaving my fingers through
his.

“
Tell me your life
story.”

I took a deep breath, ordered myself
to remain calm, and began the boring vignette that was my life. I
told him about the fights my mother would have with my grandparents
and about how my grandma had taught me to feed and take care of
myself.

“
I don’t remember my
grandparents very well, being so young when they died, though I do
remember feeling safe with them. It was something I’ve never felt
living with my mom.”

I shared with him the details of the
car accident and about my mother’s non-stop drinking. He drew our
intertwined fingers to his lips as I spoke.

“
Thanks to my grandmother’s
preparations, I was able to survive life with my mother. Over the
past two years, her drinking seems to have gotten worse. I think I
prefer her drunk, she’s pretty nasty when she’s sober.” It felt
good to share my history with someone, like a huge burden was being
lifted off me.

“
I’ve never told anyone
about my life before, it’s liberating and scary at the same time.
Quick, tell me some deep dark secret about yourself to even this
whole thing out. I mean seriously, all I know about you is you’re a
saint who runs around doing good deeds and rescuing damsels in
distress.”

“
I’m not a saint, Maggie, I
have my skeletons.”

“
Let me guess, you slept in
one Sunday and missed church?”

“
Very funny, let me show you
how funny.” He reached for my waist and started tickling me. I
squealed and wiggled free, jumping off the couch as he chased me
into the kitchen. I ran around the center island and did my best to
keep it between us, except with his uncanny speed I was no match.
He caught me, pulling me to his lips again, this time I didn’t try
wiggling free.

“
What were we talking
about?” I asked a few moments later.

“
Who cares?” He started to
kiss me again when a vibrating sound interrupted us. He picked up
his cell phone off the kitchen counter. “It’s Hillary. She’s a
persistent little pain.”

“
Wait. Let me answer
it.”

“
I’ve never seen this
sadistic streak in you before. I like it!”

I put it on speakerphone and set it
back down on the counter. “Hello.”

“
Who’s this?” demanded the
snotty voice on the other end of the line.

“
Maggie Brown. Who’s this?”
I remained calm while Hillary’s voice grew more anxious.

“
This is Hillary. Why are
you answering Seth’s phone.”

“
I had dinner at his house,
now we’re… busy.” Seth mouthed,
you’re
asking for trouble
, as I continued to
torment Hillary. “What do you want anyway?”

“
I want to talk to Seth,
Trailer Girl.” Seth came up from behind, wrapping his arms around
me.

“
Mmmm, that feels nice.” I
shut my eyes and cuddled into the warmth of his chest.

“
What did you say?” It's
official. Hillary’s gone ballistic. I half expected her to reach
through the phone and smack me.

Seth snatched up the phone. “We’re
busy, Hilly, got to go, bye.” He set it back down. “Delusional.” He
took my hand and led me back to the couch. “Do you like old
movies?”

“
Sure.” He walked over to
the cherry cabinet and started rummaging through the DVD’s. “I
haven’t seen the original Star Wars movies.”

“
I’m talking
old
movies, Maggie, the
classics, like
Singin’ in the
Rain
,
The
Philadelphia Story
, or how about
Oklahoma
?”

I’d never heard of any of them. “You
pick one, I trust your judgment.”

I pulled the blanket from off the back
of the couch and wrapped it around me while he put the DVD’s in the
player. He rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Star Wars,” under his
breath before pulling my feet onto his lap and massaging them. I
could definitely get used to this.

I fell asleep somewhere
during
Singing in the
Rain
, and didn’t wake up until I heard a
man singing about
A Surrey with the Fringe
on Top
, whatever that was. My head was
lying on a pillow next to him, his head was leaning back against
the couch, and he was snoring softly. I sat up and his eyes sprung
open.

“
Hey.” He looked at me and
smiled. “I guess we fell asleep.”

“
Guess so.” I laughed,
adjusting the oversized sweatshirt. “What time is it?”

“
3:30.”

“
In the morning?”

He nodded. “Do you want me to take you
home? Will your mom be worried?” He ran his hand through my
hair.

“
I doubt it. She probably
locked me out, and I didn’t bring my key, either.” If she had
passed out, she’d never hear me knocking on the door.

“
You’re welcome to stay
here. I’ll sleep in one of the spare bedrooms, it’s almost morning
anyway,” he said. I stiffened slightly. “I’ll even put a dead bolt
on the bedroom door if you’d like so you won’t have to worry about
me sneaking in during the night to steal kisses.”

“
I’ll take my chances.” I
leaned up to kiss him and yawned instead.

“
Are you bored with me
already?”

“
Sorry.” He picked me up and
carried me up the stairs.

“
I’m capable of walking,
Seth, I’m not that tired.”

“
I know. It’s just easier to
kiss you if I’m carrying you.” He gave my nose a quick
peck.

“
I can’t believe you can
carry me up a full flight of stairs and not get winded.” I gave his
arm a squeeze; the muscles bulged under my grip.

“
And yet a few kisses from
you can knock the breath right out of me. Go figure.”

“
We had better not kiss
anymore. I wouldn’t want to wind you.” Thankfully, he didn’t
listen. He set me down next to his bed and dipped his mouth to
mine, kissing me softly.

“
Good night,” I said, my
voice barely above a whisper. I snuggled down into the comfortable
mattress and shut my eyes, a smile planted firmly on my face.
Someone loved me. Me, the unlovable nothing was lovable after
all.

18

BILL and ALAN

“
What’s the address again?”
Alan asked. His nerves were raw since receiving the phone call from
their father earlier. It had taken several long agonizing months to
find out who had killed their brother Jeffery, but now they knew!
Finally, justice would be served.

Because the murder was part of some
ongoing investigation by undercover MET trash, the killer’s
identities were kept secret from the public. Even so, Harry Dreser
had a way of making things happen, money talks after all. Alan
wondered how loud it had to talk this time and hoped it wasn’t
financed by his trust fund, if there was any of it left.

The report their father had emailed
them stated three bullets had entered Jeffery’s body. One had
entered his right calf causing little damage, the cop who fired
that shot would live, for now. The other two hit his heart
simultaneously, causing it to explode. The guilty swine, Captain
Booker Gatto and Detective Seth Prescott were going to pay. Dearly.
Painfully.

Currently, Harry had very little info
on Prescott, but rest assured, he’d find out all he could. In the
meantime, Gatto would be the first to atone, and Alan had
formulated their retribution perfectly. Desiring to maximize the
pain and grief for as long as possible, he and his brother had
decided to kill the cops loved ones first, one by one.

Alan not only wanted to cause pain for
the cops, but also fear, along with a healthy dose of paranoia.
Soon everywhere they went, Gatto and Prescott would be looking over
their shoulders wondering when it would be their turn. The brothers
didn’t intend to let them have a moment’s peace until justice was
administered slowly and painfully. Heroin sales could wait. Nothing
was going to get in the way of the Dreser family’s
revenge.

“
This is it. 96 Country
Cottage Lane.” Alan pointed to a small ranch style home with a
white picket fence running around it. “Cut the engine. I don’t want
him to hear us coming. Like I always say, we gotta blend
in.”

Blend in? Bill had to laugh
as the rusted-out Gremlin sputtered twice before rumbling to a
stop. The car stuck out like two Mormon missionaries at a rap
concert as did the stupid clothes Alan had forced them to wear.
Black polyester, blending in? Right!
And I
suppose the stupid purple disk in your earlobe blends in
too,
Dimwit?
No
one was ever going to accuse Alan
of being the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“
There’s a light on inside.
Let’s go see if we can—” Bill and Alan slunk back against the house
as the backdoor swung open. An old man stood in the threshold
slipping on a tan coat. “Garbage man comes tomorrow, I’ll be right
back,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“
Take your cane!” replied an
elderly woman’s voice from inside the house.

“
And tell me, Martha, how do
you suppose I use my cane and carry a garbage bin?” The man mumbled
while buttoning his coat.

“
I heard that, you stubborn
old man. Take your cane!”

“
Go back to your crossword
puzzle, woman.” The elderly man made sure to lower his voice this
time. He snatched up the near-full bin, leaving the cane hanging on
a hook by the back door.

Alan leaned over to his brother. “You
got to love a man that doesn’t let a stupid broad tell him what to
do. Too bad we have to kill him.”

“
I thought Pop said the old
guy was a widower.” Bill stretched around, trying to see inside the
house.

“
It looks like gramps got
himself a little sugar. Just one more person to add to the list, I
guess.” He smiled at his brother who nodded in
agreement.

The night sky was crystal clear,
allowing the full moon to flood the narrow pathway from the house
to the street with light, something neither Bill nor Alan was too
happy about. They weaseled around to the side of the house, staying
out of sight.

The old man situated the trash bin on
the curbside and speedily turned back toward the house, waddling as
quickly as his two feet could carry him.

“
Hello, Samuel.” Alan said,
with an oily voice. He stepped out from the shadows of the house,
and the old man jumped back.

“
My name’s George, not
Samuel.” He cringed slightly, eyeballing the matching shirts the
men wore. “You two in some kind of bowling league?”

Bill laughed. “I told you these were
stupid clothes.” Their father was the expert at disguises, so much
so that he’d been able to avoid being arrested on numerous
occasions while incognito. It was a talent he tried, and failed to
pass on to his sons.

“
Shut up,” was the only
defense Alan offered.

Brilliant comeback,
Bro
, Bill thought. However, now wasn’t the
time for an argument, now was the time for a little
revenge.

“
Who are you?” asked George,
squinting at Alan. “Is that a bingo chip stuck to your earlobe?” He
shook his head and muttered, “The full moon does bring out the
weirdos.” George had had enough and turned back toward his house.
Alan stepped in his pathway.

“
I’m Alan Dreser, and this
is my brother Bill.” George stared blankly at the two. “Surely your
grandson’s been gloating over how he murdered our brother,
Jeffery,” Alan sneered.

“
My grandson? I don’t have a
grandson. I have four granddaughters, and
six
great-granddaughters!” He shook
his head, remembering how little bathroom time he’d had the last
time the girls came to visit. How much make-up did nine and ten
year-old girls need to wear anyway? “Okay, boys, enough is enough.
What do you want? You guys on drugs? I don’t have any money, if
that’s what you’re after.”

Bill had to admire the old man’s
feistiness, it was almost a pity to have to kill him. “Funny you
should mention drugs. We were here building up the family business
when we got a phone call this morning from dear old dad,” Bill
said. “He’s been trying to figure out who exactly killed our
brother, and it turns out that slime ball grandson of yours and his
buddy are the guilty party. We’re here to get a little
revenge.”

“
You guys are nuts. Get off
my property before I call the cops!”

Bill’s anger boiled over, and he gave
George a shove. The old man stumbled back and fell against the
house, wishing now he had brought his cane.

For once it was Alan who remained
calm. He patted his brother on the shoulder and pulled him back.
“Police? Tsk, tsk, Samuel. Don’t you mean you’ll call your
grandson?” He raised his brow quizzically.

Police? Grandson? It was
then George remembered that his old friend Sam Gatto lived
at
69
Country
Cottage Lane, and his grandson was indeed some kind of undercover
cop. These two bozos must have mixed up the addresses. It wouldn’t
be the first time, he was constantly getting mail for Sam. If the
US Postal Service couldn’t get it right, these to lackeys didn’t
stand a chance.