Look Back in Anger, ch. 7
"So, did I lie?"
Angela sucked again on the spoon in her mouth. "No, you did not. This stuff really is better than ice cream."
"It's called gelato," Claire corrected with a smile.
Another day had passed, and she and Angela were once again sitting on the swings in the park.
Claire didn't know why, but she'd felt compelled to visit with the child again. This time only her mother had accompanied her, but the woman still remained at a distance. Claire figured she didn't want to intrude on their conversation.
Claire had to admit she'd felt better in the last twenty four hours than she had in…well, she couldn't remember. After coming clean with Heather she had felt lighter, somehow. And last night she'd gotten the best sleep she'd had in years.
Not that she was about to admit this to the small child next to her. Instead she'd gone to Montenegro's downtown and picked up a few small cartons of gelato as a 'thank you.' She'd figured whatever hick town in Montana Angela lived in wouldn't have such a treat. She'd been right.
"May I try the chocolate again?" Angela now asked.
Claire obligingly spooned up some more and handed it over.
"Yum," the child said happily. "If you eat this stuff all the time how come you're so skinny?"
"I don't eat it all the time," Claire corrected. "And I'm not skinny. I'm…fashionable. Like they say, 'You can never be too rich or too thin.'"
"Who says that?"
"Um…I don't know, actually. Someone thin, probably."
Angela sucked on her spoon thoughtfully. "That's not true. Rich, I get. Money is nice to have. But you can be too thin. Men like to have a little something to grab hold of."
Claire's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"That's what Uncle Dean says. And I figure he should know," the child said innocently.
"Which one is Dean again?"
"The blond one."
"Oh." Claire wasn't about to admit she was relieved that Sam Winchester hadn't been the one to say such a thing. She been thinking more about the tall, brown-haired man than she would have liked ever since that morning she had seen him outside the Carter home.
Maybe Heather was right, she mused. Maybe it was time she jumped back into the dating pool.
"Hey, guys!" A voice called out to them.
As if her mind had conjured her, Claire was surprised to see Heather coming across the grass towards them. Somewhat behind her was Chris and Toby, both looking uncomfortable and out of place on the playground.
"Heather? What are you doing here?" Claire asked a little anxiously. She had been very careful not to reveal too much about Angela when she'd spoken to her roommate.
But Heather was smart. Now that she knew about angels and demons it wouldn't have been much of a leap for her to intuit that Angela was not quite human, either.
"I saw the note on the fridge," Heather said blithely, her red lips parted in a wide smile. "The three of us are headed downtown to check out the garage space so I thought we'd stop by. How are you today, cutie pie?" She asked the child.
"Good. I'm eating gelato," Angela informed her with her usual solemnity.
"Cool. And I sent that book back. Just so you know."
"Cool," Angela echoed with a grin.
Heather glanced over her shoulder and waved at the two men. "Come over here and say 'hi', guys. Geez."
Claire quickly glanced over to where Angela's mother stood a few yards away.
The woman's posture was alert as the newcomers approached her daughter, but she wasn't rushing over. Yet. That was a relief. If either of the Winchester men had been here she suspected Heather would have been tackled to the ground before she'd gotten anywhere near the swings.
"Angela, I'd like you to meet by boyfriend, Chris Carter. Chris, this is Claire's cousin, Angela."
The tall young man slouched casually. His fair hair was messy and his heavy metal t-short looked like he'd slept in it. His handsome face was bored.
"Hey," was all he said.
"Hi, Heather's boyfriend," Angela said politely.
"And this is our friend, Toby Rogen."
It hadn't been lost on Claire that Toby had winced visibly when Heather had introduced Chris as her boyfriend.
Poor Toby, she thought. All that unrequited love and nowhere to put it.
"Toby goes to school with us," Claire now added to try and cheer Toby up. "He's a great student. Dean's List and everything."
Angela seemed to sense Claire's concern. "Hi, Toby," she said kindly. "I like your shirt."
Toby may have hung out with Goths, but his own personal style still leaned to the Ivy Leagues. Today he was wearing a smart polo shirt, albeit in a Goth-approved shade of purple.
"Thank you." Toby smoothed his clothing self-consciously, causing Chris to roll his eyes.
"Yeah, nice shirt," Chris chortled.
"Don't be an ass," Heather snapped at him. She turned her attention back to the little girl.
"So, how much longer will you be visiting?"
"We're supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon," Angela explained.
"So soon?" Heather frowned.
"We did what we came here to do," the child said with a small shrug. "And I got to visit with Claire and her mom, so I'm good."
"But you haven't even seen our place yet!" Heather protested.
"Our place is a dump," Claire reminded her.
"Well, yeah, but it's ours, isn't it? I'd think you'd want your little cousin to see where you've been living. And, you know, Angela, Claire's got big things happening right now," she said, turning her attention back to the little girl. "She's going to be investing in this awesome warehouse where Chris is going to open his new garage. We're going to serve espresso and play excellent music for the customers—it'll be, like, a total experience."
"Hang on, I never said I'd invest." Claire frowned again. "I don't have any money to invest."
She glanced over at Chris, who was fiddling with his cell phone. "Sorry," she told him.
"What for?" He asked, never taking his eyes from the screen.
Claire sighed.
"Toby, I hope you're not letting these two talk you into something you don't want to do," she told her other friend.
"Don't worry, Claire. They could never do that," Toby said with a gentle smile.
Somehow Claire doubted the truth of that. But Toby wasn't her problem at the moment. Angela was gazing at her again with those clear, blue eyes.
"I'd like to see your place," she admitted. "I've never seen where college students live. That would be cool."
"Oh, I don't know, kiddo. We'd have to ask you mom, and if you're going to be busy packing…"
"I don't really have anything to pack," Angela confessed. "All my stuff fits into one bag."
"Then come over tomorrow before your family has to hit the road. Claire makes awesome grilled cheese sandwiches," Heather teased.
"You do?" Angela asked.
"Well, yeah. That's pretty much the only thing I can cook," Claire confessed.
"Then it's all settled." Heather clapped her hands.
"Wait a second. Angela still had to get her mother's permission…"
"Oh, she'll say yes." Heather eyed the child. "You can totally get her to say 'yes,' can't you?"
Angela was thoughtful for a moment. "Depends. But, probably."
"Cool!" Heather leaned down and planted a loud kiss on the top of the child's head. "See you tomorrow, then!"
Before Claire could protest again Heather had scampered off back towards her car, Chris and Toby trailing in her wake.
She leaned back in her swing with a sigh. "Sorry about that. Heather is kind of a force of nature."
"That's ok," the child said good-naturedly. "I really like grilled cheese."
Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in front of the garage. It had a green façade with two service bays opening to the street. Both were currently occupied by other vehicles.
He swiftly exited and approached the front door. Inside was a small waiting area, redolent of tobacco and motor oil. Girlie calendars and beer signs decorated the walls.
Dean felt instantly at home. Not that he'd dream of letting another mechanic touch his baby. He was here on business.
"Hey, man." A slender, middle-aged men with coffee-colored skin emerged from a back office. "What can I do you for?"
"Hey. Joe Walsh." Dean held out his hand.
"Walter Quincy," the man said as he shook it. "I own this place." For the first time he glanced over Dean's shoulder out the large front windows. "Hey, that your Impala?"
"It is," Dean said proudly.
"1967?" Walter asked, instantly slipping into mechanic's mode. "385 bhp, with the Turbo Hydra-Matic?"
"You know your cars."
Walter whistled. "Yeah, well, you don't see too many of those still on the road. What a sweet ride."
"She is. Listen, I came by to ask you about a mechanic who's offered to do some work on her. I believe he used to work here. Chris Carter?"
The warm expression on the man's face cooled. "Chris. Yeah, he worked here."
"He seemed to know what he was talking about," Dean explained, "but, I dunno, I always like to check a guy out, you know?"
"I'm glad you did. Come on back to my office. Jose, I'm going to be talking with this guy for a few minutes," he hollered out into the service bay. "Yell if you need me."
"OK, boss!" A disembodied voice called back from under a mini-van.
Walter shoved a stack of parts catalogs aside so Dean could sit down inside the tiny space. "Look, Mr. Walsh, Chris did use to work here, that's true."
"But?"
"But I fired his ass." The owner sat down behind his desk and sighed. "I like to give young mechanics a chance, you know? And Chris isn't bad with engines, he really isn't. But his work ethic stinks."
"How so?"
"The usual. Came in late, left early. Left his tools lying around. Asked the other guys to cover for him when he screwed up."
Dean knew these were all considered cardinal sins in the world of gearheads.
"I don't get it. He said he worked for you for more than a year."
"Yeah, I know. My old lady said I was crazy. But that kid has a way with him, you know? Charm the birds right out of the trees when he wants to. I kept giving him second chances, third chances. He'd shape up, for a few weeks, and then he'd go right back into his bad old habits."
"Huh." Dean was quiet for a moment. "He's a friend of a friend, so I don't know him well. That's why I wanted to check him out."
"And of course once he came into the money all bets were off."
"Money?"
"Yeah, damndest thing! He got hit by a car a few months ago. Well, not even hit—grazed, I guess you'd say. And it was his fault—he was jaywalking. But the rich old guy driving freaked out and got his lawyer to give Chris this big cash settlement to keep quiet about the whole thing. Once he had the money Chris started partying as hard as he could, him and those weirdo friends of his."
"Wow. Lucky break." Dean titled his head. "Things like that happen to him often?"
"Hmm. Now that you mention it, he did win a couple of thousand bucks in a high-stakes poker game a few months before that. As I heard it that was right before he was about to get booted out of his apartment for not paying the rent. And then before that some relative died and left him some cash he pissed away on a new car. Some foreign-made hunk of junk that makes the girls hot."
"So, he's a lucky stiff, huh?" Dean said knowingly.
"Yeah. I never thought about it, but I guess he is." Walter chuckled. "That crazy girlfriend of his—"
"Heather," Dean supplied.
"—yeah, Heather, she'd always be going on about how it was his karma, or his mojo, whatever, to succeed. To be on easy street. And shame on her, putting bullshit ideas like that in that boy's head. No wonder he thinks he can't be bothered to hold down a job!"
"I hear you. We all gotta work, right?"
"Damn straight."
Dean stood up. "Well, thank you for your time, Walter. You've given me some things to think about."
The other man stood as well. "It's really up to you. Like I said, if you catch him on the right day Chris could probably do right by your baby out there. But…"
"I hear you. Thanks."
Dean waited until he was outside before pulling out his phone. He dialed as he slid behind the steering wheel of his car.
"Sammy, what's the news?"
"Not good." Even over the phone Dean could hear the concern in his brother's voice. He could also hear Sam moving around Chris Carter's apartment.
"Bobo was right—this guy is into some heavy black magic. There's lamb's blood in his fridge and cat bones in a jar on the coffee table," Sam reported.
"OK, so he's got the supplies. Any books? Parchment?"
Dean could hear Sam opening and closing drawers.
"No, and that's what's weird. He's got all the supplies, sure, but none of the instructions."
"So maybe he's getting those from Heather?" Dean started the engine and pulled away from the curb.
"Not according to Bobo. She's a dabbler, remember?"
"Yeah, well, maybe she's leveled up."
"Maybe." Sam sounded skeptical.
"Either way Claire needs to keep the hell away from this guy. And probably from Heather, too."
"And how are we going to get her to do that, Dean?" Sam asked.
"I don't know. I'll think of something."
"You better think fast. We're leaving tomorrow, remember?"
"I remember." Dean ended the call and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.
