C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation (18 page)

“
We torched a maker a few days back outside Santa Fe. Before he died we, uh . . . we managed to get some information out of him.”

“
How exactly did you mange to do that?” Cort asked rigorously scratching his head. “Makers don’t just spill their guts if asked nicely.”

"It’s not important, Pop. Look, I’m sorry to call so late but is everything okay? How’s Jake doing?”

Cort leaned over resting his elbows on his knees. “To be completely honest, not too good. I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about that. He’s getting into a lot of trouble in school.”

“
That’s not like him at all. What’s the problem?”

“
What’s the . . . what’s the problem?!” Cort said, almost laughing aloud at such a ridiculous question. “Boy, what the hell do you think is the problem? It’s bad enough he lost his mother! You being away has just made a hundred times worse! The boy
needs
his father. My God John you missed his birthday! Not even a phone call or a card! I may not have been the best father in the world, but I raised you better than that.”

John sighed. “Well he’s got you Pop.”

“
Son, are you listening to me?” Cort’s face grew red with anger. “I said
he needs his father!
Not some broken down old man!”

“
I really don’t want to get into this, Pop.” John shuffled around on the other end of the phone. “Did you get the money I sent?”

Cort put down the phone for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah I got it, but John I don’t seem to be getting my point across.
When
are you coming home?”

“
When it’s done. Look, I’ve gotta go. Give Jake a hug for me okay? Tell him I love him.”

Cort let out a deep sigh.
You’ll never be done!
He wanted to scream. Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Once again, his son was all but lost to him. After all these years, he had thought he had finally gotten him back. But John was blinded by his anger, his hatred, and his loss. He knew nothing he could say would make a difference. All he could do was pray his son would come to his senses. “Why don’t you call tomorrow and tell him yourself?”

“
I don’t think I’ll have time, Pop. We’ve got a job in just a few hours. I’m close to finding her. I can . . . I swear I can almost feel it! She’s close by, I just know it!”

How could he tell his only son that his wife was dead? Or worse? There really was no hope for her safe return after such a long period of time. However, Cort knew deep down his son knew that. He had been in the business long enough to see more than one family ripped apart. Now wasn’t the time to confront him with it, not with him going into a hunt. “Alright son, you be careful, you hear? Get some rest, and watch your back.”

“
Will do Pop, I’ll talk to you again when I can. Until then I’ll keep the money coming in.” John said, and then hung up the phone.

Cort sat holding the phone in his hands for several long minutes until it beeped loudly breaking his train of thought. Very slowly, he hung it up. He didn’t like the sound of John’s voice one bit. It wasn’t only the fact that he sounded exhausted. There was something else beneath the surface. Something had changed.

Grabbing his paperback off the floor Cort stumbled into the bathroom and tossed it into the sink to dry, then grabbed a towel hanging on the wall and stepping back into his room wiped up the pool of water on his nightstand. His mind wandered over John’s words. Something was definitely off. He would call Ben in the morning and find out what was going on.

Cort lay back down and flipped off the lamp. He tossed and turned for nearly three hours. Sleep just wouldn’t come. He lay there wide-awake as the sun began to shine through his barred windows a little after 6:30am. Giving up, he tossed the sheets off and decided to start his day. Jake would be up in about an hour anyway to get ready for school so he figured he might as well make sure the boy got a good breakfast.

After taking a short shower, Cort stepped in front of the fogged up mirror and wiped it clean with his hand. Lathering his wrinkled face with shaving cream, he stared at his features in the mirror.
Who’s that old codger staring back at me?
He thought to himself with a chuckle.

He lost a lot of good friends over the years, in situations just like John’s. They had grown so obsessed with the hunt they’d gotten themselves, and often those they loved killed. He hated to see that happen to John, or Jake for that matter. This life was the last thing he ever would have wanted for his grandson. But once you were in you could never get out. Cort found that out the hard way.

Turning on the faucet to rinse the stubble from his razor, he completely drenched the paperback lying in the bottom of the sink. He had been so distracted he completely forgotten about it. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed it and chunked it into the trash. Ten minutes later he was fully dressed, complete with his .357 revolver tucked into his back waistband.

Making his bed, he tucked the .45 Colt revolver back in its place in his nightstand and headed down the hall past Jake’s room, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Taking his time, he fixed a large plate of bacon and eggs with a large cup of black coffee. He had just sat down to read his morning paper when Jake came in rubbing his eyes. “Morning.” Cort said, with a nod. “Have a seat, eat some breakfast.”

“
Morning,” Jake said, stifling a yawn.

“
You’re up early this morning.” Cort pushed the plate of food to Jake’s side of the table.

“
Bad dreams.” Jake said, sitting down.

“
Yeah I know all about that.” Cort nodded thoughtfully. “Same ones about the . . .”

“
About the grunt. Yeah.” Jake dug his fork into some eggs with one hand and shoved two pieces of bacon into his mouth with the other.

Cort contemplated telling him about his conversation with John, but quickly dismissed the idea. He would wait until he had a few words with Ben and found out what was really going on before breaking the news that John still wasn’t coming home. “So you ready for another exciting day of school?” He asked sipping his piping hot coffee.

“
Can’t wait.” Jake said, through a mouthful of food.

School didn’t seem to be going very well for Jake. Cort just wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. He had no idea what the boy was going through and knew even less about how to deal with it if he did know. From what he could tell, he wasn’t making many friends. He would come back from school more than once with black eyes, busted lips, and bumps and bruises. Worst of all he seemed to be keeping it all built up inside. He never talked about what he had seen, what he’d felt that night in Midland. Not since the first morning he had come to live with him.

Cort did his best to try to prepare him for the world he now lived in. Day after day, he taught him what he could about being prepared at all times. He’d even taken him to the gun range a couple of times, but none of it seemed to be sinking in. The poor kid just seemed lost within himself.

Finishing his coffee, Cort took out a large pinch of chewing tobacco and shoved it into his cheek. He was about to say something to Jake about making sure his homework was done, when a loud knock came at the front door.

“
Who the hell is that at 7:45 in the morning?” Cort said, looking down at his watch. A small sense of dread settled into his stomach.

Jake jumped to his feet. “Maybe it’s Dad!” he ran excitedly to the door.

“
Jake wait!” Cort called after him. But by the time he got there, Jake had already opened the front door to three men in business suits and an overweight police officer that badly needed a shave. Even from behind him, Cort could see the disappointment as the boy’s shoulders slumped. Stepping up beside him he gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Cort looked the four men over, instantly not liking the look of them.
Smells like lawyers.
He thought to himself. He was glad Jake hadn’t opened the gate. Maybe some of his lessons were finally sinking in after all. “Jake. Go finish your breakfast and get ready for school.” he said, wanting to get the boy out of earshot in case it involved his father.

Jake looked from Cort to the men at the door and hesitantly did as he was told. Cort noticed the man in front give Jake a little wink with a smile before Jake turned and walked away. The kind that always creeped you out far more than it did to comfort you.
Creep
,
was the first thought that came to mind.

Cort gave them all a long hard look before spitting into his spit cup. His eyes took in everything about them. What caught his attention the most was that the cop’s holstered .38 was unlatched and ready to be pulled. Also from the look of the bulge in the two rear men’s jackets, they were both packing shoulder holstered weapons. This wasn’t going to end well. So Cort figured he’d go with the polite approach, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“
Mr. Bishop?” The thin man in front said. He looked to be in his late thirties with a receding already graying hairline. “My name is Mack Murphy. These are my associates Mr. James and Mr. Dolan, and this is Officer Brady.”

“
Son, I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else. My name is Griffin.”

The lawyer smiled at him. “Mr. Bishop, we both know that’s not true.”

“
Okay then." Cort leaned his left hand on the barred gate. "Get to the goddamn point.”

“
Mr. Bishop, we have a court order to remove a young Mr. Jacob Bishop from your custody. Immediately.”

I was right. Goddamn lawyers.
“The hell you do. This boy belongs with me. I have permission from his father to be his legal guardian until his return.”

“
Uh huh.” Officer Brady nodded slowly. “And where might I ask is John Bishop? Or would you prefer I call him John Griffin?” he added with a sly grin.

Cort spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into his spit cup. “You can call him John the Baptist for all I care. You’re not taking the boy. And as far as John goes, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in over six months.”

Brady stepped forward leaning his hand against the gate, a little too close for Cort’s liking. “Mr. Bishop if you have any information about your son, you best tell us now. He’s wanted in connection with the disappearance of his wife Julia and a Mr. Martin White.”

Cort spit again this time missing the cup and hitting the cop’s hand. “Oops.” he said, as the cop yanked his hand back wiping it on his pants. “Sorry ‘bout that. But tell me something? What’s a Lubbock cop doing with three lawyers and asking questions about a case that’s out of his jurisdiction? It’s my understanding that the Texas Rangers cleared John of any involvement. So that leaves the question, what do you really want with him?”

“
That’s none of your concern.” Murphy said, speaking up for him.

“
Oh but it’s yours?” Cort said, sarcastically. “Listen here son. Take your lawman and get off my property before someone gets hurt.”

“
I’m afraid I can’t do that Mr. Bishop. You see we’re representatives of a Mr. Richard L. Riker.”

“
Son of a bitch.” Cort said, shaking his head.

“
I thought you might remember him.” Murphy said, with a wicked smile. “We’re not leaving until we remove Jacob and transport him to his rightful guardian in Santa Fe.”

“
Son of a bitch
!” Cort said, even louder. “Why can’t that miserable old bastard just die?”

“
If you would just be so kind and read over this paper work.” Murphy shoved a document through a mail slot in the gate.

Cort snatched it out of his hand and glanced it over. “Son-of-a-bitch.” He said, slowly. “No good, crooked . . .”

“
What’s going on?” Jake walked up tucking his shirt into his jeans.

“
Well, Jake. These dirt bag lawyers have come to take you away.” Cort said, and then nodded toward Officer Brady. “And they’ve paid off just the right people to make it happen.”

Murphy ignored Cort and leaned down getting eye to eye with Jake. “Now Jake, I’ve got a very special man that would very much like to meet you. He’s your Grandfather. Would you like to meet your Grandfather? He’s a very rich man and he lives in a very big house.”

Both Cort and Jake rolled their eyes in unison. “Mister I’m not five, so don’t talk to me as if you can bribe me with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. I already have a Grandpa. I’m not going anywhere.” Jake crossed his arms defiantly.

The lawyer let out a deep breath. “Officer Brady?”

The overweight cop stepped back up to the gate and hit it repeatedly with his baton. His other hand gripped tightly on the butt of the .38. “I’m done being nice old man. Open the door. We’re taking the boy.”

Cort looked down at the papers still clutched in his hand and spat a mouthful of thick brown tobacco juice on them before shoving them back through the hole in the gate. “The hell you are fat boy.” He reached behind his back and in the blink of an eye yanked the .357 from his waistband. “You better be packing a hell of a lot more than that little .38, if you plan on coming in this house.”

He cocked the hammer back pointing it leisurely at all four of them. They scattered, running for cover. In his haste, the cop actually dropped his revolver and had to stop to pick it up. For a split second, Cort was tempted to shoot him in the ass just for fun. He let out a loud laugh at the idea, but his better judgment got the best of him and he slammed the heavy door shut locking all four deadbolts. “Well that could have gone better.” He said, with a chuckle.