Free Fook by Brian Drinkwater Page A

never come. It
was also possible that she’d been sitting on the plastic patio
chair beside the door where she could be seen most mornings sipping
tea and waving to random neighbors as they came and went on their
daily routines.
    “Why didn’t you call?” she continued as he
crossed the parking lot.
    “It’s late grandma, I thought you’d be
asleep.”
    “You know I can’t sleep at time like
this.”
    “I’m sorry. I just thought—”
    “—Sooo,” Ushi interrupted, not interested in
his excuses.
    “It’s fine,” he responded as he slipped
between the parked vehicles and joined his grandmother on the
sidewalk.
    “Fine? What you mean, it’s fine?”
    “I mean there’s no problem.”
    “So you know who he is?”
    “Well...”
    “We can’t take any chances here, Ty,” the
old woman went into her familiar, lecturing tone.
    “I know Grandma. I took care of it.”
    “So he dead.”
    Surprised and not sure how to respond to
that, “No, I lost him at the airport. I couldn’t get past security,
but the only flights leaving that terminal were to Denver, Chicago,
Atlanta and Boston. He’s far away from here.”
    “Ty, we cannot have strangers getting in
way. Too much at risk. This your child…our blood and now somebody
might know.”
    “He doesn’t know who I am.”
    “How you know?”
    “He can’t know. You said it yourself. No one
knows anything about us. I’ll get my son and we’ll get out of here
before he can come back. He won’t be a problem.”
    “You don’t know that. He knows something or
he wouldn’t been there.”
    “It doesn’t matter. I know what he looks
like now so I can be on guard while watching the Nesbit’s for my
opportunity.
    “We might not be able to wait for right
opportunity. This getting too dangerous. We need to act soon.”
    “I’ll bring him home, Grandma. Please, don’t
worry. It’s late. Now let’s get you inside and in bed.”
    “That boy is the last of our blood. Our name
must live on and it’s up to you to make happen.”
    “I know Grandma,” Ty agreed as he urged his
grandmother back toward the open door of the apartment.
    “That boy is very important,” the elderly
woman once again eluded to his son’s mysterious importance.
    He’d asked her why on numerous occasions,
but every time had been greeted with the same vague explanation
about the blood line and every other generation or something like
that. All he knew was that his grandmother was a wise woman and
that, since she’d taken him in, his life had improved tenfold. He
owed her everything and would do anything for her, even if he
didn’t fully understand why.
    “You a good boy, Ty,” she paused in the
doorway. “I love you very much.”
    “I love you too, Grandma,” he kissed the old
woman on the cheek before shuffling her into the apartment and
closing the door.

EIGHT
    “Katie!? What’s burning!?” Phil Bishop yelled to his
daughter as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, trying to
refold the morning paper.
    No answer.
    Rounding the banister he began down the
hall. A faint cloud of smoke clung to the ceiling overhead. He was
certain that any minute the nearby smoke detector would also awaken
with the new day.
    “Katie,” he called again as he reached the
end of the hall and stepped into the kitchen to the sight of flames
leaping from a frying pan on the stove and his sixteen year old
daughter attempting to put them out by swatting at the air almost
five feet away. “Jesus!”
    Dropping the disheveled paper on the island
countertop, he yanked the dish towel from the oven door and tossed
it over the flames as he slid the pan from the lit burner and
killed the supply of gas just as the smoke detector let out its
first cries for help. Pulling the towel from the extinguished pan,
he rushed back into the hall, waving it overhead until the
emergency device ceased its ear piercing rant.
    “It must be genetic,” he mumbled as he
lowered the towel from overhead, remembering