The Conch Shell of Doom (17 page)

Twenty minutes after his phone call, Portman, Jackson, and a third, more athletic, cop stood in front of the cell. Portman, fingers in a bandage, slammed his nightstick against the metal bars, the loud clanging making the prisoners sit at attention.

“You boys are good.” Portman pointed at Franklin. “I only want him.” The other inmates slid away from him.

Franklin picked his nose, flicking a small booger on the floor. He couldn’t have cared less about Portman, who showed off the bandage.

“You broke two fingers.”

Franklin wanted to ask the man if they were broken in more than one place but kept his mouth shut. Franklin was no dummy. These cops were looking for payback, and anything he said now would only make it worse. Jackson’s key ring jangled as he unlocked the cell. The door swung open with a rusty wheeze. Jackson and another patrolman, a younger guy named Lucas, walked in, looming over Franklin, who wasn’t intimidated.

“We need to inspect you,” Lucas said. His neck was littered with red spots from ingrown hairs.
 

Didn’t his dad teach him how to shave? Sickening.

Portman chuckled, making his belly jiggle. “Yeah. We have reason to believe you may have smuggled some illegal contraband into our little big house.”

“That so?” Franklin asked. “You inspect these other fine gentlemen?”

“Don’t you be draggin’ us into this,” ZZ Top beard said. “This is
your
problem.”

Jackson rested his hands against his love handles. “You don’t have to come willingly.”

“We’d almost rather you didn’t,” Portman said.

Franklin rubbed his legs. “How about I ask for a lawyer?”

Jackson
hmmed
. “You could, but the phone’s out of order.”
 

“It worked just fine for me earlier,” Franklin said. “Though it did stick when I tried to hang it up.”

Jackson laughed obnoxiously and then leaned in close. “Normally, parts of this job rub me the wrong way, but you broke my partner’s fingers. Few things get me in the mood to serve and protect like attacking a cop. Now, I get to do the fun part. Thumpin’ your skull.”

Franklin sighed. He could beat the hell out of everyone, but that would only get him in more trouble. He took off his jacket and reminded himself that Julie would be there soon. Or more to the point, she better be. Otherwise, he may have to key her Camaro or burn that bar down. It’d depend on his mood.
 

The cops led Franklin down the hall toward the isolation cells, where they could have him all to themselves. Portman led the way, with Jackson and Lucas behind Franklin, in case he tried to do anything.

“You see, Lucas.” Portman turned around, walking backward. “We have a code. And one of those codes is you don’t break a cop’s fingers, especially at the station.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucas said. “We have to protect our own.”

“Because nobody else will.” Jackson poked Franklin in the back with his nightstick. “We had a tourist come through here about a year ago. Picked him up for public drunkenness and general vagrancy. You remember that one, Portman?”

“The kid with the goatee?”

“That’s the one. Anyway, he thought he was smart, like you. And you know what we did to him?”

Franklin tried not to smirk. He was willing to take a beating like a man, but that jab with the nightstick rubbed him the wrong way. What did it matter if he got beat worse? He’d live, so why not
cop
an attitude? “Made him chief of police because he raised the average IQ of the entire department by twenty points?”

Jackson poked him even harder. “I guess some things are better seen, not heard.”

Franklin narrowed his eyes and tried to look at Lucas, who grabbed his head and forced it forward.

“Eyes front,” Lucas said.

Portman unlocked the empty cell. The other two threw Franklin inside. He laid his jacket on one of the beds so blood wouldn’t get on it. He turned, and Portman walloped him in the stomach with a nightstick before Franklin could react. The pain sent him to his knees, stomach in so much pain he worried about throwing up.
Suck it up, Franklin. You are not throwing up in front of these guys
. To extend the period between shots, he acted like the blow hurt more than it did by rolling around on the floor, clutching his stomach.

“We don’t ask for much in this world.” Portman paced around the cell. “But we do ask for some God damn respect.”

“Amen,” Jackson whooped.

Oh, how Franklin wanted to break every bone in Portman’s body. If the timing wasn’t so bad, he would have. Slowly. But any defiance would extend his stay in the Mooresville Police Station, allowing the Awakening to take place as planned. That was unacceptable.

Franklin finally made himself get up, but Jackson connected on a vicious blow with his nightstick. Franklin fell back to the floor, his spine screaming out, sending waves of pain through his body. Portman kicked him in the side, making his ribs feel like they were on fire. Franklin wasn’t sure, but one of his ribs might have been broken. He curled himself into a ball, hoping it would protect him from their blows. Immortal or not, getting beaten with nightsticks hurt.
 

“You know something, Jackson?” Portman asked.

“What’s that?” Jackson pulled Franklin up by his hair.

“If Buddy boy here don’t make bail, we get to do this all over again tomorrow.”

Portman whooped. “Finally, a reason to come into work.”
 

“Screw that.” Franklin glared at Portman. “This is so much fun, you ask and I’ll come running.”

Jackson picked Franklin up and then slammed his face into the wall. The rough texture chafed his cheek, leaving it raw and stinging. Franklin tried to take the beating, but in two thousand years, he’d never bothered to master the art of submission. Fighting and rebellion was in his DNA. He smiled wide, showing off his bloody mouth.
 

“Who wants a kiss?”

The cops continued on for a little longer, until their faces were drenched in sweat. Jackson had some spots of blood on his tan uniform. Franklin was glad the beating ended, but even happier that he didn’t cry out in pain or do anything else to give those assholes additional satisfaction. He crawled over to the toilet and spit out some blood. He closed one nostril and blew. A string of dark red snot flew out. After taking care of the other nostril, Franklin leaned back against the wall and felt his ribs. Each touch made it difficult to breathe, but one spot was particularly sensitive. Yep. They’d broken one of his ribs.

Jackson and Lucas left the cell, each of them smirking with content. Portman poked Franklin’s broken rib with his nightstick.

“You took a hell of a beating. Remember that the next time you mess with the
police.
” Portman hummed to himself as he closed the cell’s door behind him.

Franklin hurt so much, he couldn’t even think about the time lost because of the detour. Alone at last, he crawled onto the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep came for him so quickly, he didn’t realize it until Lucas kicked the bed and shouted, jarring him awake.

“You made bail,” Lucas said. “Tell anyone what happened and you’ll die.”

Franklin didn’t respond. He yawned and rose from the hard bed, gingerly walking down the hallway, jacket draped over one shoulder. Rounding the corner into the lobby, he saw Julie, her face buried in her cell phone. She looked up and gasped at the sight of him.

“What happened to you?” Julie stuffed the phone back in her purse and moved closer to Franklin, eyes darting from one injury to another. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Franklin waved her off. “One of the other inmates tried to get fresh, and I told him I was flattered but not interested; that made him mad, and one thing led to another. You should see what he looks like.”

Julie scowled at Portman, who stood by the coffee machine. “Is this a police station or Thunderdome?”

Portman took a sip of some coffee, holding the cup with his bandaged hand. “Got injured myself tonight. We try to keep an eye on the prisoners, but I can’t help it if some of them try to treat jail like a dating service.”

Julie draped an arm around Franklin, helping him walk outside. She smelled like fried food. Going down the steps irritated the broken rib. He clutched them, trying to ease the pain. The thought of throwing himself down the stairs to put a quick end to the agony crossed his mind, but it’d probably do more harm than good. Mercifully past the steps, Julie led them over to her late model Chevrolet Camaro.

“Nice car,” Franklin said. It wasn’t a classic like El Cid, but with half his brain devoted to coming up with variations of the word “ouch,” a Mustang vs. Camaro debate was out of the question.

A small laugh escaped Julie’s lips. “Good to know they didn’t beat the humor out of you, Evan.”

“Franklin.” He extended his hand. “My real name is Franklin. Evan is just the name on my fake ID.”

It was easy to see the gears churning in Julie’s head, wondering if she’d made a mistake bailing him out. Franklin could see it in her brown eyes. She was trying to figure out if he meant to rob, rape, hurt, or kill her, not necessarily in that order. Julie’s arm dropped from his shoulder as she took a few steps back.

“I like to keep off the radar. That’s it.” He held up his hand. “Swear to God. I’m not wanted for murder, or anything like that.”

Julie didn’t buy what he was selling. “All right then, so why did you get arrested? Why do you go around using an alias?”

“It’s a safety net.” Franklin lowered his hand. “It lets me get in and out of places unnoticed.”

“Are you a bounty hunter or something?”

Franklin started to laugh, but the broken rib put an abrupt end to that. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“What’d you do to get locked up?”

“I broke into a museum.”

Julie crossed her arms. Her lips twitched. More gears turning. “That’s a pretty stupid thing to do.”

Franklin couldn’t tell if she was baiting him or not, but he was definitely losing her. “Look. You don’t know me from Adam, and it’s probably better that way.” He almost said that people around him tended to get hurt, but that wouldn’t exactly smooth things over. “Thank you for getting me out. Sincerely. If you want, I’ll tell you where my car is parked, you can get the money out of the trunk, leave the key behind one of the tires, and I’ll be on my way. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He held out the Mustang’s key for Julie to take, but she didn’t move; only locked gazes with him. It made him shiver, like she stared straight through life’s static and into his soul, seeing him for who he really was. The only other person to do that to him was Molly.

“What I saw last night was crazy.” She laid a hand on the roof of her car. “Beyond crazy. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Julie laughed.
Right?
“It’s why I bailed you out. I need to wrap my head around this. You don’t strike me as a creepster, and I’ll feed you your balls if you try anything, but whatever you’re into, I doubt it could be much worse than last night. Right?”
 

Franklin tried to smile, but the cut on his lip stung too much. Julie had no idea. There was too much time to make up, so if she wanted in, who was he to stop her?

“Take me to my car and there’s another five hundred in it for you,” Franklin said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Okay, Franklin.” Julie held out her hand. He shook it. “You’ve got a deal. But, I mean it. Any games and I’ll do more than break your heart.”

He rubbed his chest. “That won’t take much. It’s already a little achy.”

Julie opened the door and got in, groaning. “I’m going to regret this.”

The passenger door unlocked, and Franklin gingerly got into the seat, taking care not to upset his ribs or the fifty other spots that hurt. The car shook as the door slammed shut, the vibrations making his body ache for a second. “You didn’t like that one?”

“I’ve heard worse.”

She slid the key into the ignition and turned. The Camaro came to life. Franklin was happy to be free of the police station, though not so much about the hours lost. Breaking into the museum for the Shell was a calculated risk that didn’t pay off. It would’ve put an end to the Awakening much earlier than he’d initially thought, but now? Trenton had most likely reconnected with the Shell, completing phase one.

Julie took a right onto the street. The Camaro’s engine purred as the police station disappeared in the background. Julie flipped the radio’s volume down to zero. “Time to hear this story of yours.”

Franklin, lost in thought about the Awakening, took a moment to figure out what she’d asked. With his brain caught up, he explained everything. The Shell, Trenton, breaking into the museum, his true age, all of it. If last night bothered Julie so much, Franklin guessed she’d at least believe parts of what he said.

Julie nodded, taking everything in. She
hmmed
. “You’re an escaped mental patient, aren’t you? Is Dr. Loomis going to be knocking on my door, warning me about you?”

“Funny.” Franklin was disappointed. She didn’t believe any of the parts. “You’re safe. Halloween is a few months away.”

“Seriously. Have you ever heard a story like that out loud?”

“I guess my threshold for craziness is higher than most.” He touched a squishy welt on his forehead. Yep. Still hurt. He watched as they passed a closed strip mall. Didn’t matter if someone was two thousand years old or twenty, life was still life. Things rose, things fell, but life always went on.

“So, do you see everybody as kids?” Julie’s question broke his train of thought. “Being thousands of years old and all? I’m almost thirty and people a few years younger than me look like they just got out of diapers.”

“I used to, but I don’t age. After a while, people just become people, you know? Some just have more experience than others. To be honest, I still don’t really consider myself an adult. I’m old, no doubt about that, but an adult?” He made a
mezzo-mezzo
motion. “Eh.”

Julie snorted. “I bet you clean up on the senior citizen discounts.”

Franklin tightened his abs, trying to control the laughter. Once the moment passed, he decided to change the subject. “So, you own the Thirsty Alligator?”