Love, Lies & Lizard Babies by PoorQueequeg
Chapter Three
Jason couldn't help the whistle that escaped his lips as they walked into the hotel lobby half an hour later. Helen glared at him and hurriedly shoved her jacket over his bloodied arm as they entered, steering him by his uninjured elbow towards the desk. "Don't speak!" she commanded as the receptionist raised her head and gave them a broad, fake smile.
"Doctor Magnus," she simpered. "Welcome back. I trust you've had a productive day?" To her credit Helen didn't flinch and merely raised her chin proudly.
"Very, thank you. My key if you please, " she replied haughtily.
"Of course," the woman at the desk gushed, her eyes dropping to glance at Jay's dusty, blood stained jeans as she rifled through a wooden box on the desk before her. Jason swallowed and let his eyes run across the coving above his head, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Here you are, Doctor Magnus," the woman cooed after a moment and Helen reached forward to take a small plastic card from her. "Can I help you with anything else?"
"That will be all thank you," Helen replied curtly and gripped Jason's arm firmly, turning him bodily towards the elevator.
"Have a pleasant evening, Doctor," the woman said in a sing song voice as they walked away.
An elderly couple entered the elevator car after them, glowering in distaste at their dishevelled appearance as they shuffled back to make room. The elevator remained stationary for a long minute and Jason met Helen's eyes over the old man's yellow panama hat. She raised a brow at him, tipping her chin ever so slightly.
"Four please," the old woman said primly and Helen suppressed a chuckle of amusement at Jason's bemused expression, nodding towards the panel beside the door. Jay shrugged and leaned forward, hitting the button before straightening up with a cough as the doors slid shut with a ding.
Helen glanced from side to side, shifting uncomfortably as her gun dug into her hip under her shirt and Jason couldn't help his eyes from falling to her bosom. She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest as the elevator lurched and began it's slow ascent. He swallowed guiltily and jerked his chin up, focussing instead on the red lights on the panel in front of him. He kept his eyes fixed on the display as the floors rolled by, one, two, three until it finally came to rest on the number four. The doors opened with another ding but the elderly couple didn't move. They stood arm in arm, the old woman holding her purse in a death grip. Jason coughed loudly but they didn't shift.
"Ah, sir..." he began. Helen pursed her lips and turned her head away to hide the grin that had broken out across her face. "SIR!" Jason repeated loudly and the old man startled, whipping his head around and fixing Jason with a look of utter disgust. "I BELIEVE THIS IS YOUR FLOOR, SIR," Jason said, leaning down close to the man's ear. The old man let out an indignant huff and shifted away abruptly.
"Come along Margaret," he said, ushering his wife out of the door. Jason gave her a wide, toothy grin and the old woman's face twisted into a fierce scowl as the doors slid shut again. He heaved a sigh that was equal parts relief and irritation. Helen drummed her fingers against her bicep and pressed her tongue against her cheek as the elevator began to move again.
"What?" he asked, wafting his jacket clad arm about. Helen shook her head and gave him an innocent look as he glared at her. Jason blinked slowly and sucked on his teeth with a loud smacking sound. Helen pursed her lips and raised her brows, staring at the floor as she began to rock on the balls of her feet. Raising his arm, Jason lifted her jacket and began to inspect the cut on his wrist, his face scrunching up in discomfort as he peeled back the sodden handkerchief.
"Careful," Helen chided and clasped her hand around the makeshift bandage. "You'll open it up and we'll have to explain why there's blood all over the place." Jay tugged his wrist out of her grip with a huff.
"It's fine okay," he uttered jerking his arm up and glaring at her in response. She tutted at him as the elevator came to a stop and marched out into the corridor.
There were only two doors in the hallway and Helen stopped in front of the one closest to the elevator. She slipped the keycard into the slot, wrenching the handle downwards and rattling the door in irritation as a red light appeared. Yanking the card out, she released the handle before sliding it back in only to be met with another red light. "I miss keys," she muttered and jabbed at the door with the tip of her boot.
Jason huffed and reached over, taking the card from her hand to open the door himself. She gave him a dirty look as the light turned green and the door opened with a soft click. Inside she turned into the bedroom and pulled her gun from her pants with a sigh of relief, tossing it carelessly onto the bed. Jason stood inside the door gripping his wrist and took a moment to look around the spacious suite. Yup, he thought, definitely loaded.
Helen came back into the room carrying a bag and ushered him into the bathroom, dropping it onto the sink and stuffing the plug into the basin.
"Give me your arm," she said tersely and Jason complied meekly, dropping her jacket to the floor as she turned on the faucet. He perched on the side of the bath and she set about peeling the bloodstained rag from his skin. Helen began to rinse his arm with water and cotton wool while Jason let his gaze flicker across her face. Her expression was one of intense concentration, her brow furrowed as she worked. He hissed when she dabbed at the cut with alcohol and she raised her eyes to glare at him. "It's fairly deep," she said after a while, "but I don't think the damage is too severe. How do your fingers feel?"
"Okay," he said, flexing them slightly.
"Good," Helen replied and reached into the bag. She applied a butterfly stitch over the cut, squeezing it together and swiping over it with alcohol once more before covering it with a cotton dressing and wrapping a bandage around his wrist. "Which is your gun hand?" she asked casually, turning to drop the soiled balls of cotton wool into the bin.
"My gun hand?" he repeated and she raised her chin to give him an incredulous look. Jason raised his brows at her and worked his jaw back and forth for a second.
"Tell me you've used a gun before," Helen uttered in disbelief.
"I know how to use a gun, alright," he answered defensively. He slipped forward off the edge of the bath and stood up, looking at his arm and twisting his wrist around tentatively. Helen stuffed a pair of scissors and a roll of tape back into the bag and zipped it closed.
Some time later, Jason was seated on the couch next door turning an empty water bottle over in his hands. He had told her what he knew about O'Shea and Helen was now in the bedroom on the phone, the low tones of her voice wafting through the the gap in the door where she had left it ajar. Jason let his gaze fall to a large black sports bag beside the desk, the zipper slightly open. Turning his head towards the bedroom, he rubbed his lips together and stood, moving slowly towards it. He reached down and tugged the zipper gently until the sides of the bag gaped open fully to reveal the contents. Jason's eyebrows shot up, his forehead crinkling as he bent closer and stuck his fingers inside.
He lifted a short barrelled shot gun to find a hand gun, a Bowie knife in a leather case and a couple of muddy green coloured grenades hidden underneath. He swallowed nervously and looked briefly back at the bedroom the door again. There was another, strange looking gun, a great bulky thing with a wooden handle lined with brass. Unable to rein in his curiosity he ever so gently slid it out from under the other guns, easing them back down into the bag gently with his fingers and turning the thing about in his hand. The end of it looked like a device they used to dock the tails on the sheep on his uncle Bobby's farm when he was a kid. It reminded him of an old barometer or a grandfather clock, somehow antique looking. He raised it to his nose, expecting it to smell of polish.
"What are you doing?" Helen chastised from the bedroom door. Jason jerked the gun away from his face guiltily.
"Uh...I...Uh..." he stammered as she marched across the carpet and snatched it from his hand. She stuffed it back in the bag and lifted it up, glowering at him fiercely. "I'm..ah...wondering what kind of doctor carries a stash like this with her?"
Helen turned away and placed the bag on a console table by the door. "I'll thank you not to rifle through my belongings," she answered, snatching the stunner from his hand and setting it down on the table before turning to glower at him. He swallowed and gave her a sheepish look and she crossed her arms. "We need a car," she said matter of factly. "And I'd rather not face the wrath of a rental agency nor have to explain myself to the police when it is inevitably mangled beyond salvation."
Jason's brows went up again and Helen tilted her chin slightly. "I can get us a car," he said with a shrug.
"Good," she answered. He might prove to be of some use after all as she thought as she pulled on a mid-length coat of worn brown leather. Jason's eyes flicked up and down and he quirked his lips in appreciation. She had style, whoever she was. Helen returned the look but her brow furrowed slightly. "You'll need to get out of those clothes," she told him eyeing the bloodstains. "We don't want to attract any unnecessary attention."
Jason dropped his eyes to his attire and licked his lips, nodding in agreement. "Alright, well then I need to go home. I can change and find us some transport."
"Right then," Helen said, heaving the bag off the table and over her shoulder. "Let's go."
They took the elevator back down to the lobby and Jason kept silent as Helen struggled valiantly with the bag of weapons. She twisted her arms and grimaced, shifting it from one shoulder to the other.
"I can take the bag," he offered after a while and Helen responded by looking at him through narrowed eyes. He heaved a sigh of breath. "I presume you're going to give me one of those..." he hesitated as the doors opened and a man stepped into the car. "...things...to use at some point, so you may as well just let me carry the damn bag instead of playing the martyr and carrying it yourself," he finished.
Helen huffed. "I can manage just fine," she hissed quietly behind the stranger's head.
"Suit yourself," Jason retorted snarkily, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling as the elevator began to move again.
The bag clunked heavily against the stone floor mid way between the elevator and the desk and they both flinched at the sound. Conscious of the grenades rattling around inside, he reached down and tugged it from her hand. Helen looked at him sheepishly for a moment before approaching the desk and asking the simpering receptionist to call a cab.
A little while later they pulled up outside a small, timber framed house. The neighborhood wasn't as shabby as Helen was expecting and she was rather surprised at how well kept the garden was. Jason glared at her as she glanced around and jabbed the key in the lock before ushering her inside.
"I'll be right back," he told her, dropping the bag down carefully in front of the couch and disappearing upstairs. Helen chewed on her lower lip and looked around the room. There was a mish mash of furniture, a television in one corner and a book case in another. It wasn't a mess but it wasn't perfectly tidy either and she was relieved; the last thing she needed was some kind of fruitcake with a complex.
There were a few pictures in frames on a book case in the corner and she moved closer, lifting one to look more closely. There was a boy with shaggy, mousey hair and a few missing teeth standing beside a much younger Jason in a military uniform. Christopher she mused, placing the picture back. Beside it there was another one, again with Jason and the boy standing with a man and a woman she presumed must be their parents. She didn't know the details but she could piece together enough to get a picture. They had died somehow and left Jason to raise Chris on his own at twenty something years of age. Not an easy job for anyone but he seemed to have done well enough judging by the state of the house. This business had to be hurting him more than he let on. Hearing loud footsteps on the stairs, Helen placed the picture back and stepped into the centre of the room.
Jason entered and stopped in front of her. He had changed but was wearing more or less the same outfit as he had been before, blue jeans and a white t-shirt with heavy leather boots. It was a good look, Helen thought staring at his biceps under the tight white fabric over his arms. Jason coughed and picked up his brown leather jacket from the back of a chair. He paused for a minute and Helen dropped her gaze to it. Jason worked his jaw, filled with an odd feeling as he pulled it over his shoulders. Shrugging it down his arms and pulling it closed he raised his head to at Helen. He couldn't help but think that they were a little too his and hers in the wardrobe department for his liking.
Helen coughed and broke his reverie. "Jay?" she asked in a neutral tone and he decided he rather liked the sound of her voice, when she wasn't snapping at him. "Shall we go?"
"This way," he answered, picking up the bag and leading her through the house to the back door. They stepped into the yard and Helen looked up at the blue sky noticing the way the light gleamed an ethereal orange colour against a bank of black clouds in the distance.
"Where are we going?" she asked the back of his head as she followed him across the lawn and through a gap in an overgrown hedge.
"To get a car," he replied, stopping to yank open a wooden gate.
Helen stepped through onto an uneven dirt track that stretched down a slope behind the houses. In front of them stood several cars in various states of repair, engine parts propped up against the fence beside the gate. Jason walked down a way and Helen followed, rubbing her thumbs against the inside of her middle fingers as she eyed the cars appreciatively. She stopped beside a rusted red convertible and gazed longingly at the the grinning chrome face of the bumper and headlights. Jason carried on for a few steps before he realised she wasn't following.
"Not that one," he said loudly but she didn't respond just stepped closer to the car to peer through the window. Jason huffed and turned back up the track towards her.
"Is this yours?" Helen asked as he approached, shading her eyes with her hand as she stooped to look inside.
"Yeah," he answered, his eyes darting to her thighs as she bent forward.
"It's a Lincoln. Cosmopolitan right?" Helen gushed. "Where ever did you find it?"
"I know a guy, he got it for me at an auction upstate," Jason told her stepping closer. "You like cars?"
"I like this car," Helen said with a sigh, touching her hand to the roof in a gentle caress and falling silent as she recalled the last occasion she had been one, long, long ago.
"Well, we can't take it. I'm not letting you trash it with whatever hell you plan to raise," he said and Helen turned to give him a sour look. "Besides, it's slow and noisy and there isn't enough gas left on the planet to fill the tank." Helen's shoulders sagged a little but she nodded in understanding. "Come on."
She gave once last look at the Lincoln before following him further down the track. Jason stopped by a much smaller, sleeker looking car painted in a dark shade of green. Helen wrinkled her nose slightly as she came to a stop in front of the hood.
"What? You don't like this one?" he asked, sticking the key in the door.
"I'm sure it's fine but it looks like it's seen better days," she said walking around to the passenger side.
"This is a Mustang Sixty Seven. It can move believe me. I fixed the engine myself," he told her proudly as he opened the door and leant on it.
"I'm sure it's...fine," she answered unconvinced, looking at him across the roof.
"It is," Jason said defensively. "It all works fine. I just haven't got around to fixing up the outside yet."
Helen pursed her lips and gave a short nod, casting her eyes over the scratched paint. "You might want to change the color." He tipped his head to the side and made a face at her. "Just a thought," she raised her hands and he shook his head as he climbed in.
Helen, to her credit, said nothing as the engine sputtered pathetically to life but couldn't help wincing slightly when the gears shifted noisily together as Jason pulled the stick back and forth. He gave her a sideways glare and she opened her eyes wide in an effort to seem as unconcerned as possible, staring out at the muddy driveway before them. The car began to struggle up the slope and Helen grimaced as the clutch grunted under Jason's foot, the stick flinging back with a judder. They lurched forward slightly, the engine growled and wheezed under the hood as the car jerked violently again and stalled.
"Don't!" Jason said in a low voice and Helen closed her mouth. Her head shook ever so slightly and her hand gripped tightly onto the inside of the door as they began to move again.
The car seemed a little happier once they were on the flat asphalt, the engine quietening to a low hum and Helen relaxed a bit. Jason took them onto the beltway, skirting the evening traffic in the centre of town. A little while later they sat parked on a quiet street looking through the windscreen at a shabby building. A large sigh was nailed across wide steel doors that read 'O'Shea Autobody'.
"So this is it then?" Helen asked, tapping her nails across the dash. Jason nodded and shifted in his seat.
"Yup. That asshole," he muttered. "I bought some cars from him one time. Had cops all over me sayin' I was trading in stolen goods. He threatened me, threatened Chris if I snitched."
"And did you? Snitch?" Helen asked, dipping her chin as she looked at his face. Jay's nostrils flared as he breathed heavily.
"I wish I had. Son of bitch would be in jail by now." Helen nodded and turned away, looking back towards the shop as a few men exited the building and walked away down the street.
"Right," she huffed. "Well I guess we need to take a look around." She paused for a moment before she spoke again. "Drive."
Jason raised his brows at her but started the engine, taking them down the street a way. As they turned a corner, Helen gripped his elbow.
"Stop here." He complied and turned to her.
"What are you thinking?"
"Get out. I'm taking the car," she answered blithely.
"You what?" he shook his head in disbelief.
"I'm going to take the car in there and get a quote." Jason shook his head even more vehemently.
"No way, lady. He knows me, we go in there..."
"I didn't say we," Helen responded pointedly. "I said I was going." She reached down and hoisted the bag onto her lap, unzipping it and digging out the Sig from the bottom. Jason watched her open mouthed.
"You are certifiably crazy," he told her as she stuffed the gun into the waistband of her jeans and zipped the bag shut. Helen paid him no heed just hefted the bag onto his knee.
"You take this, it won't do for me to go in there with this lot," she said in a calm voice.
"Puh!" he sputtered. "And what am I supposed to do? Just hang around on the corner with a bag of illegal firearms and wait for you?"
"They're not illegal," she told him with a huff of irritation. "Well, not all of them at least." He raised a sceptical brow and Helen hitched a shoulder, gazing at him intently. Jason licked his lips and twisted neck around with a sigh.
"Alright, alright," he said, opening the door and stepping out of the car, taking the bag with him. Helen slid across, bending her long legs up against her body and shifting into the driver's seat. The engine squealed unhappily and the gears grunted loudly as she revved the engine and pulled away at speed, leaving him standing on the pavement in a daze. A cool breeze gusted up the street and Jason raised his head to the swirling clouds that had begun to darken the sky before mooching away along the pavement.