Free The Death Agreement by Kristopher Mallory Page B

Christina
take the lead. Once they were in front of me, I looked back and
winked at the girls, who then broke out in another fit of
laughter.
    Taylor looked at me
suspiciously.
    "Sorry, bro," I said, unable to
hide my smirk.
    "You're gonna be if you keep it
up."
    I cleared my throat theatrically
then gave the boy Scout salute. "Yes, sir."
    Mr. Hunter sat in one of the
oversized picnic chairs, laid back with his arms folded behind his
head.
    "Boys, take a seat," he said.
"Babe, bring a couple cigars? Thanks, love."
    "Hey, Pop," Taylor said, "meet my
friend, Jon Randon."
    "Nice to make your acquaintance,
Jon."
    I shook his hand. "Nice to meet
you too, Mr. Taylor."
    "Please, call me
Hunter."
    "Sure thing, Mr.
Hunter."
    Mr. Hunter sighed. "My, you two
are green as grass, but you'll grow out of it soon." He put a hand
on Taylor's shoulder and squeezed. "Jesse, how are things at
school? Behaving, I hope."
    "Great. Glad we're almost
finished."
    "You're just getting started. You
both realize that, right?"
    Taylor and I looked at each other,
then back at Mr. Hunter. We nodded.
    "Well, you think you do, anyhow."
He turned toward the house. "Chrissy! Where are my cigars,
woman?"
    "Hold your horses!" Mrs. Christina
shouted back.
    "Bring the Scotch instead! Let's
make this a real party!" Mr. Hunter looked back at us and smiled.
"Alright, boys, I got some advice. Listen closely. Rule number one:
Officers should always keep a bottle of high-quality liquor around
to share with the enlisted folk. Got that?"
    "Got it," Taylor said.
    "If you slip 'em a fifth of decent
rum and grant 'em a night off-duty from time to time, they'll
respect you three times as much, and they'll bend over backward for
you when you need them. At least that's how it was back in my
day."
    "That's good advice," I
said.
    Mrs. Christina walked through the
open glass doorway and set the Scotch on the table. Tiffany
followed her out of the house, still dripping wet, and carrying
several snifters on a tray. Kyle, now done with grilling, snatched
up the bottle and poured a few fingers worth into each
glass.
    Mrs. Christina sat next to her
husband. Kyle and Tiffany sat on either side of me.
    "Daddy?" Tiffany asked.
    Mr. Taylor raised an
eyebrow.
    "Becky and Monica just left. Can I
have a glass too?"
    "Just a little, if it's okay with
your mother."
    "Sure, sure," Mrs. Christina said.
"Not a peep to anyone though."
    We all raised our
glasses.
    "To the future," Mr. Hunter said.
"Salute."
    We drank.
    "Jesse," Mr. Hunter said, "your
mother is proud of you." He leaned forward and lowered his voice,
"You went green instead of blue, but the world needs grunts just as
much as it needs airmen, so I suppose I'm proud, too." He laughed,
raised his glass, and we all took another drink.
    Time flew by as the six of us
enjoyed each others' company. At some point Kyle and I knocked
Taylor into the pool. As retribution, he threw me in, too. While
the three of us goofed around, Mrs. Christina cleaned up the mess,
and Mr. Hunter and Tiffany gathered wood for the fire pit.
Eventually we all settled down by the warm glow of the flames. We
sipped from our glasses and looked out toward the darkness of
Blackbird Bay.
    "Hey, Jon, where do your folks
live?" Kyle asked.
    I shrugged. "They're
dead."
    "I'm sorry." Tiffany said. "What
happened…if you don't mind me asking?"
    "Well, my father was a banker in
New York City. His office was in the World Trade
Center."
    Mrs. Christina gasped.
    "It's okay," I said. "I never knew
him. He ran out before I was even born. As for my mom, she raised
me until I was thirteen. Then they took her."
    "Someone took your mother?" Kyle
asked.
    "Why don't we change the subject?"
Mr. Hunter took another sip. "You're prying into business that
isn't ours."
    I smiled. "It's not a problem.
Even Jesse doesn't know the whole story."
    Talking about my family was
something I had always avoided growing up; maybe it was the warmth
of the fire, or the warmth of the liquor, but for the first