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Chapter 32: What Next?
Jessup Winston walked slowly through his suite, moving from window to window, from the front room to the attached bedroom and back again. He had turned down all of his lights so that they were nothing but a dull yellow glow along the walls. He didn't want the light, he didn't want any sound. He only wanted to think. Thinking meant pacing, and that's what he was doing. He had to figure out what the hell had happened that night that had brought the Mercers to his room. He hadn't wanted trouble with the Mercers, but Harris had been so sure of how he was handling the situation that he hadn't felt compelled to argue.
Winston had insisted that the kid not be messed with, and Harris had not argued about that part, but he could now see that Harris was not a man that could be trusted to do what he was told. Harris was smart and knew what he was doing; he thought he was smarter than the man paying him though, and that was a problem. Harris didn't want to lose his cut of the wealth that was going to land in their laps and he would stop at nothing to ensure his success in this project. Maybe he was willing to go too far. Perhaps he was traveling down the same road Adam Macks had taken and setting goals for himself rather than concentrating on the goals set before him by the man who signed his checks.
Perhaps the fact that the signature had changed had rattled Harris in some way. He was still the man who had the final say in his business, no matter what name he was using. Had changing his name changed him in some way? He had wanted to hide his past behind the new name, but deep down he would always be the same man. No, the name had nothing to do with it, he had been floundering for months. He had let Harris have too much control in the past few weeks, well before the explosion that was meant to end his life. He had been aware that he was giving up too much control, allowing his own decisions to be over ridden, but he wanted out of the business and Harris knew that. As Jessup Winston paced the floors, moving from window to window, he reminded himself that no matter whom Jesse Nicholas might end up being eventually, deep down inside he was still Jessup Winston, and he had to think for himself, just as he had for so many years before he'd hired Harris. He had to make sure his orders were followed and his decisions were final. No matter how good Harris was, he had to be reminded who the hell was boss. He just wasn't sure how he had let Harris get out of control.
Maybe it was because he had been so shaken by his near miss with Macks, but while he considered that a possibility he knew Macks was the very reason he needed to be more guarded about his affairs with Harris. He had let Macks spin out of control, and had actually enjoyed watching the stupid idiot drive himself to his own death; but it had been more than Macks, he had lost a grip on other aspects of his business. Macks should have been a lesson for him but instead he had turned around and given Harris too much lead, allowed the government man to have too much say in how his affairs were handled. He had trusted him with too much information, something that would have sent his father into a rage if he were alive and aware of what was taking place. He had lost control over his own dealings and he needed to take control back, before Harris fucked them both over and caused them to lose everything.
Harris had messed with the kid. That was a fact that he wasn't going to try to reason away in his brain. He had specifically told Harris not to mess with the boy, not to cause any permanent damage to the Mercers in any way. Bobby Mercer would never have shown up at his door if Harris had followed his orders. What was more puzzling was exactly how Bobby Mercer had found out where he was and what name he was going by. Another puzzle to figure out was why Harris was being held by local authorities. He was FBI; the local cops had to have something on him in order to hold him. Just what the hell had the fool done? He was going to screw it all up, he could feel it.
His mind seemed to be turning from one train of thought to another, from Harris to Macks to Mercers, to the kid. He needed to fill the time by doing something more constructive while he waited for the Mercers to come back with the key. Once he had that key the rest would fall into place and he would finally be able to reclaim what he'd lost so many years earlier. He would never have to worry about his business again; he could cut his ties to the life his father had dragged him into and have a real life. If only he'd made his move sooner. She had begged him to put his plan into action so that the two of them could be together, but he had put it off, wanting to build up more trust with his father. To be truthful, he'd always hoped he wouldn't have to resort to his final plan of action. He had always expected his father to release him from the family business without the need of deception, but it had never happened. By the time he realized he was truly trapped, it was too late. Macks had cracked completed, and he had taken away the only person who could have saved Jessup Winston from the life his father was sucking him into.
Winston shook his head in an attempt to scatter the thoughts and concentrate on what he needed to do. He turned and looked at the phone he'd left laying on the table in front of the sofa. He needed to call the two fools down the hall. He still couldn't figure out why they had come there. They had a hotel room of their own, and the idea that they were jeopardizing everything by someone connecting them to him irritated him. Obviously the Mercers were already aware of the connection, but how much did he cops know? What about contacts on the other side of the law? If the wrong people knew that Jessup Winston was actually alive and well his whole plan was shot to hell. He would have to worry about keeping Jesse Nicholas alive if certain 'business associates' knew Jessup Winston had not died in the fire at Jeremiah Mercer's warehouse.
Before he had the chance to walk to the phone and make the call to William and James a light tapping on his door drew his attention. It was a quiet knock, one that he probably would have missed completely had he been listening to music or watching television. He sighed; it was about time his employees finally grew the balls to report to him. He stepped towards the door, and as he did, he wondered if perhaps it was Bobby Mercer at his door, ready to deal with him. He would definitely do Mercer right, hell, he probably owed him. He wasn't sure exactly what Harris had done. He only knew what the Mercers had told him and he was sure there was more to the whole mess.
He didn't bother to look through the peep hole in the door to check on who was knocking, it wasn't as if many people knew he was alive and he was expecting his own men, and the Mercers. He pulled the door open with no hesitation and froze.
The man standing at the door looked at him, a mixture of fear and astonishment on his face. "Winston?"
Jessup Winston reached out, grabbed the man's coat lapel and drew him into the room quickly. He knew he shut the door too hard but he was close to a panic. The palms of his hands started sweating instantly and he felt his chest tighten up. He stared at Nicholas Peters for a long moment. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He asked, his voice coming out hoarse and husky.
"I was looking for Harris. You are supposed to be dead." Peters looked worried. "What the hell is going on?"
Winston pointed to the sofa. "Sit your ass down and explain to me what the hell you are doing here? Don't ask questions, answer them." He made sure to use the tone of voice that always motivated people to listen to him. He kept an edge to it, but it came out smooth and quiet.
Peters seemed to be thinking as he moved to sit as instructed. "I was bringing the package to Harris. He was supposed to meet me, but I couldn't get him on his phone, and I…" He was rambling. Winston recognized the fear and confusion in his voice.
"What package?" Winston hovered over the man, studying his face for any sign that he was lying as he spoke.
Peters stared at him as if the answer to his question should have been obvious. "The package, I got it, just like Harris told me, and I left the papers at the Mercer house too." His voice trembled now. "Harris said you were dead. He said the only way he could come through on the deal was to help him with the Mercers. What kind of game are you playing with me Winston? I've done everything you asked me, and still you threaten to leave me hanging for everything? You had to send your government man to deal with me; you didn't have the guts to face me yourself."
"I never sent Harris to you." Winston shook his head. "Now calm down and start at the beginning. I need to know what the hell has been going on." He forced his own voice to flow quietly, calmly across the room. He walked over to the bar, "Would you like a drink Peters? I believe we could both use a good, strong drink right now." As he reached for a bottle of the best liquor he had available his eyes flicked to the view outside the window at the well-lit front lot below.
He was sure he could make out Bobby Mercer walking across the drive, towards the parking area. He felt his identification of Bobby Mercer had been validated when he seen a second man that looked like Angel Mercer walking with him. As he leaned closer to the window, his eyes adjusted better to the view. He could see Bobby had his arm around someone smaller and his stomach jumped as his mind recognized it to be Craig Mercer.
Emotions tried to stir deep inside him that he had kept buried for years. It took a long moment for him to notice the tall young man walking in front of them all. It was late, and he was ten stories up, but if he didn't know better, he could have swore the fourth figure taking long strides resembled the same son of a bitch who had been in his suite a short time before, working on his thermostat.
That was when he realized he'd been played. Shit, he was an idiot! He had opened his door and let Jack Mercer walk right into his territory. It had to be Jack Mercer; he was the only Mercer brother Winston had never laid eyes on. His eyes squinted and he tried to focus. What the hell were they carrying in their hands? Trash bags?
Winston's mind reeled as he realized what the hell had happened. He thought about the sassy, crazy bitch who had been in that room with Jack Mercer, she'd had changed the trash bags and he'd been so pre-occupied he hadn't paid enough attention to what was going on around him. He spun around scanned the room, he'd been careless and left too many papers, important documents, lying out in the open; it wasn't as if he had been worried about being found, and he sure as hell didn't expect the Mercers to send anyone into his room. He looked at Peters, trying to remember why the man was in his room. He'd said he was delivering a package to Harris. "What the hell were you bringing to Harris?" He asked the question while he moved to the light switch to turn up all the lights at once.
Peters blinked against the brightness. He looked as if he had been shaken out of a thought of some kind. "Uh, well I don't have it now, it, well, it's complicated." Now he looked worried.
"What the hell was it Peters?" Winston started going through the papers spread out on the bar and he was only half listening to the man really. He was more worried about what the Mercers had managed to get their hands on; he found part of the critical papers. The documents that could make or break him for the rest of his life were gone, although he was sure they would never be able to figure any of it at least he prayed they wouldn't. They couldn't make the connection, could they? No. There was no way to connect him to that area, or any one in particular from that time.
"…that damn stuffed rabbit, and the kid just grabbed it and ran. I started to follow him, but then the Mercers were coming up the hall, and I just jumped in the elevator until it was clear." Peters' words hit Winston's brain like a jolt of electricity.
"You had the rabbit?" Winston spoke quietly. "And what exactly happened to it?" He had missed most of Peters' story and needed it repeated.
"When I got to the room, Craig Mercer was there and he took the rabbit from me before I knew what the hell was going on." Peters stood. "And then the rest of the Mercers came up the hall and I had to stay out of sight until they were gone." His voice trembled. "I wandered around for a bit, trying to figure out what the hell I should do. Even if I had caught up to the kid I never could have hurt him, I'm sorry. You want to kill me for that well then go right ahead."
Winston shook his head, hell Peters thought he was a dead man because he couldn't hurt the kid? "Go home Peters. Go home and if Harris calls you again, you don't answer. Stay out of this. Just, go home and live your life."
Peters gave his head a quick jostle, as if he couldn't quite figure out what Winston was saying to him. "But, I did what Harris told me to. I planted the false documents, right where he told me, what about our deal?"
"The deal is off. Whatever he offered you, he was never going to deliver, take my word on that. I will do my best to make sure you are taken care of when the time comes, but Harris will screw you over. You got that? You keep clear of him. If he approaches you again, you let me know." Winston wanted to scream at the man, but he knew it was Harris that had brought all of this down on him, not Peters.
Peters may have been threatened; he was definitely lied to. None of that mattered at the moment though, there was too much that needed to be dealt with now. His immediate problem was his future had suddenly ended up in the hands of Bobby Mercer.
Peters started to speak, but turned towards the door instead. "How am I supposed to contact you? I don't have a phone number." His voice still trembled, but it was obvious he was trying to conceal it.
"I'll call you." Winston's brain was already thinking about the papers the Mercers had managed to snag from his room. He watched Peters walk out the door, praying the man did what he told him. He should have threatened him, gone into a long speech about how it would be beneficial to his health that he do what he was told, but he didn't have the time, not now; and to be honest he just didn't have the heart for it. He was so tired of living the life his father had created and trapped him in. He wanted his own life.
Winston moved to the coffee table and checked the papers there; they all seemed to be there. He remembered the desk in the adjacent room. He had left more personal items there. But he'd been right there, watching that woman, and he was sure she hadn't gone near the desk. Still, his heart started racing. He walked quickly to the other room; his footsteps matched his pulse, pounding the same rhythm out on the floor. He stared at the desk, no papers and no pictures. Shit, so much for Bobby Mercer not being able to connect him to the past. The night just went from bad to Jessup Winston being totally fucked. What the hell was going to happen next to screw around with his plans?
Craig watched while his brother consolidated all of the confiscated papers into one trash bag. Jack had a stack that he'd managed to smuggle out of the room that was added to the bag. Jack gave Bobby back his shirt before he put on his coat. Bobby handed Craig his coat and told him to put it on.
Not much else was said in the following minutes. The men seemed to be operating on automatic, or maybe they were reading each other's minds like they seemed to do so often. Craig watched Angel pull out his cell phone and make a call. Bobby stood next to him and watched, as if he knew who he was calling and why, but not a word had been spoken. Jack made Craig stand so he could strip a blanket off of the bed. He rolled it up rather than folding it, and stuffed it, along with a pillow into one of the empty trash bags.
Angel pulled the phone away for just a moment and looked at Bobby, "Johnny G. says he'll see what else he can get on Winston." He nodded just enough to make out the motion. "It would be nice if one of us could help him out though."
"What we need is another car." Bobby nodded his head slowly, "Something that fucking runs and has heat."
"My car has heat." Jack muttered.
"It ain't your car." Bobby looked over. "Jesus Jack, what the hell do you see in that piece of shit anyway?"
"I don't know." Jack shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I can see potential, that's all. It just needs some loving care."
"If that ain't the most fucking gay thing I've heard all week…" Bobby shook his head and looked at Craig. "Get the coat on." He had that hard sound in his voice that Craig recognized. "You remember how this works kid; you do what the hell I say, when I say. No questions. We don't know what the hell we're going to find when we get to this place and I ain't gonna have time to worry about you. You got that?"
Craig pulled on the coat he'd been holding in his hands without saying a word.
Bobby turned back to Angel, "We can drop you off at Johnny's? "
Angel nodded his head again and returned his attention to the phone. "Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes and we can see what we can do." Angel finished his phone call quickly, hung up and gave Bobby a nod.
It seemed they were out of the room too quick. The television was left on; the key cards were left lying on the table in between the beds. Craig didn't have a chance to look back at the room before Bobby closed the door behind them. Jack and Angel each carried a trash bag and Bobby slid an arm around Craig, pulling him close. "You show me the stairwell that you went down." He instructed.
"Aren't we going to take the elevator?" Craig asked.
"Don't want to run into anyone." Bobby answered.
Craig wanted to ask who would be in the halls at that time of night, but he didn't. He pointed the way down the hall and around the corner. "There's an alarm on the door to the lobby." He spoke quietly.
"Not a problem." Angel looked at him and flashed a smile.
Not another word was spoken while they made their way down the stairwell. When they got to the bottom Angel leaned over the push bar and managed to pop the front cover off. He pulled on a few wires, put the cover back in place and pushed it open silently.
The lobby wasn't empty this time; the older man that had checked them in was obviously pissed with a younger employee. The younger man was shaking his head and pointing to the computer screen, whatever was being said kept them occupied and neither man noticed the four figures emerge from the stairwell, walk across the lobby and out main doors.
Craig felt himself pulling closer to Bobby when they stepped into the cold air and in response Bobby's hold on him tightened. Maybe Bobby could sense that it was more than the cold that sent the shivers down Craig's back. He suddenly felt exposed, and didn't like it. They were back out in the open, where anyone could see them. Anyone could see them and come for them. There was no hiding, and with the ice under their feet there was no running for cover.
When they reached the car Bobby took the trash bag from Jack and emptied the pillow and blanket into the back seat. He looked at Craig. "Give me my coat, climb in and hunker down. You're takin' a fucking nap, one way or another." He let the bag drop to the ice and helped Craig slide his arms out of the leather coat before turning him and directing him into the back seat.
Bobby pulled on his coat and then climbed into the back seat as well, an act that earned him wide eyes stares from all three of his brothers.
Craig didn't argue when Bobby put the pillow on his lap. He lay down and pulled the blanket around him to block out the cold. He pulled his feet up into the seat, barely able to squeeze his whole body into the tight space. He knew when he got out of the car later his whole body would feel cramped and knotted up.
Jack and Angel climbed into the front, with Jack behind the wheel. After several tries the engine started chugging in a slow, sluggish rhythm that seemed to rock the car forward and back.
"Damn piece of shit." Bobby murmured.
"It just needs to warm up." Jack fed the engine a little gas, and it died. "Shit." He played with the key a few more times before the slow chugging started again.
"How long for it to warm up, we are on a time table here Jackie Poo?" Angel spoke. "This is why we need another ride, this car ain't never gonna get that far."
Craig closed his eyes and listened to the familiar sound of a fist pounding on the dash just before the fan squealed to life blowing ice cold air. His mind started shutting out the argument taking place between his brothers and he fell asleep just as that burning rubber stench stung at his nose, obviously it was coming from the heater. He barely remembered pulling the blanket up over his face to block out the smell.
It seemed the dreams started as soon as he was asleep. Dreams with Evelyn Mercer and Lydia Macks melded together, their voices rambled on, both at the same time. Pictures from different times in his life flashed in front of him, like pages in a picture book, flipping randomly. Some of the pictures were good, some were frightening. He wasn't living the moments, like he usually did in his dreams; he was standing back, watching, and thinking about what it meant.
First he was listening to his mother, talking quietly to her friend, the man who was supposed to keep them safe, and then Adam was there at the little house with the apple trees outside the windows. They were going back to his father, to the hell that he always sucked them into and Craig didn't understand why. Why would his mother make him go back if she loved him? Why would she want to go back to the life they had with Adam, when the life they had with her friend was so much better for both of them?
Then he was watching Evelyn Mercer's casket being lowered into the ground, wondering what was going to happen to him next, where he would end up and if it would be with Adam or another foster family. He was sure that his adoptive brothers wouldn't want him around, they didn't like him. They had never liked him. He remembered the day his adoption had become final and how none of his brothers had been there for cake and ice cream. They hadn't wanted him and they had never lied about that fact.
Then Jordan was there, in the dark. He couldn't see anything but an opaque emptiness in front of him, but he could still sense Jordan, and it made him feel ill deep down to his soul. The pictures were coming faster now, running together in such a blur he could barely make them out; his mother, Lydia, handing him a toy rabbit, and telling him to keep it safe. Adam again, and that sick feeling that always emanated from him; Evelyn lighting candles on his first birthday cake, the sun shining brightly under the apple tree while he helped the faceless man pack dirt into a hole; and then Bobby, grabbing him as he slipped over the edge of the dock, the fire in his eyes when Craig looked up and seen his face. Jack lying on top of him, bleeding and screaming Bobby's name to the rhythm of thousands of bullets splintering the only real home Craig had ever known.
"Bobby!" Craig shot up, reaching out for his brother only to find air.