Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 20
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My phone rang. Who would be callin’ me this late at night—instead of textin’? I wouldn’t have even considered answerin’ since I was still technically in a conversation with my papa, but neither of us had said a word in five minutes. Phone indicated it was Thomas. Odd—we hadn’t gotten to a comfortable peace an hour ago. I gave Papa a look. He was peerin’ across to read it too, gave me a twitch of his bottom lip, which I read as, “That’s interestin’.”

So I answered.

“Help. Help,” the human screamed. “I was talking to Elza and I think she was jumped. I heard her say something about why are you standing outside my house. She’d been walking from Kriz’ place. Sounded like a whole mob.”

I had to think about that. Wasn’t sinkin’ in. But Papa was already standin’, and grabbed me at the shoulder, pullin’ me off my stool. Guess that meant we were goin’ somewhere.

Outside, he was rushin’ toward the garage, but I dink-opened my truck, so he veered to join me. We prolly could have run to the cousin’s as fast as drive it—only about five-hundred feet. But we were committed I guess. A mob? I had handed my phone to Papa so I had two hands to drive—he was talkin’ calmly to Thomas still, I think, as he worked his thumb on his phone to call the constables. Papa’s pretty calm under fire, I guess. Hope I can be the bull one day that he is.

I was pullin’ up Aunt Tizir’s lane as Papa told Thomas he’d call him back. My headlights already highlighted forms in the road ahead, that shouldn’ta been there this time of night.

~ Ezra ~

I hadn’t ever had to protect myself before, but these fools thought they were gonna cart me off somewhere, or otherwise push me around? What kinda fool idea was that? Thought abductin’ a hen in the dark was a smart move in the Valley? I don’t think so.

I rubbed my fingers together. I’m smart enough to realize the moisture wasn’t sweat. Sticky. I know sweat. Wasn’t sweat. I’d plowed a couple dunces’ heads together hard enough to figger they weren’t gonna be applyin’ their brains to higher mathematics in the next few hours.

The one I punched mid-chest—hurt my wrist something awful—was still rollin’ around on the cobblestones, like something ripped his lung out. The other three hadn’t figgered out yet they shoulda blitzed me hard to take me off my feet. Maybe they were even re-thinkin’ their endeavor in general.

Now, headlights glinted in their irises. They looked across to my right, then at each other. If they were thinkin’ about runnin’ off, I decided in an instant these idjits weren’t goin’ anywhere, so I jolted toward em, slappin’ em hard aside the head, left to right and right to left, like I was doing a giant clap at a pep rally. They buckled like a dropped snow chain.

The other leaned to take off, but I grabbed him by his dreads and yanked his head my way, hard. Once I could, I grabbed him by the throat and crimped down a bit.

A bit more ruckus was gettin’ added to this nonsense. The bull I held wasn’t goin’ anywhere, so I turned to the two new ones who were runnin’ toward me, figgerin’ some reinforcements had shown up. Not my reinforcements, I feared. Couldn’t make em out lookin’ into the truck’s bright headlights. I drew back to prepare a new punch. But realized, the short little bull runnin’ at me had to be my cousin. There isn’t another bull in the valley under six-eight or nine.

“Let him go,” my uncle hissed. “He’s turnin’ blue.”

I looked back at the idjit in my fist. His feet were danglin’ a bit. His arms dangled a little too, now. I dropped him and he fell like a droopy rope.

“Ya okay?” Ike asked.

“Better than these idjits,” I said, eyein’ the one I punched. He was tryin’ to crawl into the shadows. I pointed at him, as new headlights drew up the lane. Uncle walked over to the slinkin’-away guy, wrapped his hand around his neck. Lifted him erect, which is funny, because Uncle isn’t a towerin’ bull either. I maybe almost chuckled.

Much taller forms were runnin’ toward us. Had to be trolls, which meant they were surely constables. Wonder who called em? Curiosity got to me. I glanced down at the three nearest bulls sprawled across the cobblestone. None of em were movin’ yet. A smile formed. The cliché rocked in my head. Don’t ever rile an ogre hen.

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