The P.t.t. Project.
By: Robert Young
For Jacob And Jazzrey, who’ve always been good friends to me.
Chapter 1
“Good morning Alaska! It’s a beautiful day up here in Eagle River, But there’s a 3 car pile-up on I-57, so traffic’s gonna be a bit slow today.”
“Man, this blows.” Brendan looked out the car window to his left and saw the traffic running on I-59. More like crawling, it was barley even moving. “Getting back home is going to take fucking forever.”
He was on his way to a job interview for a position as a blacksmith at The Sigil. His father used to own the business, so it felt right that he should work there. “Funny”, Brendan thought, “I hated this place when I was a kid. But since dad passed away…I’ve grown accustomed to it”
Brendan was feisty, brave and a bit of a smart ass, only tidbit of the many traits he had inherited from his father. He was blonde, just like his mother, had green eyes, and an athletic build. He was 146 lbs. And barley 5 foot 8. Short, but fierce.
He pulled into the driveway of The Sigil, its loose gravel crunching under the tires. It had just rained, and the smell of pollen mingled with the smell of the diesel to form a strangely pleasant scent. Turning the truck off, he put his head back against the seat, let out a big sigh, and pulled out a cigarette. He grabbed the lighter out of the glove box, lit the smoke, took a drag, inhaled, and blew the smoke at his windshield. The smoke curled around his head, only for a second as is quickly got sucked out the window by the wind. He put the cigarette between his lips, took another drag, and stepped out of the truck.
“What the hell?” Brendan’s boot landed in a puddle of water. Grumbling, he walked towards the front door, frantically trying to get the mud of his boot with every step. He took a hard hit from his cigarette when he reached the door. Fliers had been strewn across the wall, and a particular caught his attention.
“No smoking? Damn Kramer takes the fun out of everything.”
Kramer was Brendan’s dad’s best friend. Brendan’s dad handed over his business to Kramer when he was on his death bed. Brendan didn’t trust Kramer, he was a greedy sloth who only used Brendan and his dad for money. Still, he didn’t want to dishonor his father. He took one last drag, blew the smoke at the flier, tossed the cigarette into an overflowing trash can, opened the door, and was met with the familiar smell of oil and steel.
“Is that you Brendan?” Kramer was in the back office,
“Yes sir”
“I’m in the back. Come in here, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
The office was spotless, cleaned with upmost perfection. Adequate paintings were placed on the wall, and leather couches sat beside mahogany tables and desks. It smelled of lemons and hand sanitizer.
Brendan hated it, It made him miss the “dirtier than dirt” feel the shop used to have.
“I see you still don’t know how to wipe mud of off your boots Brendan. You need to learn some manners if you’re ever going to take over the company.”
“Oh shit! Sorry Kramer.” Brendan lied. He didn’t care, one he owned the shop, he would kick out Kramer and turn the shop back into the dirty, grimy shop that he had already come to miss. Not this prissy, Lysol gas chamber Kramer turned it into.
“Yes, I’m sure, Mr. Young,” Sneered Kramer. “I didn’t call you back here to complain though, I want to offer you a deal.” Kramer lit a cigarrette. “You want one?”
“No thank you, I got my own in the truck,” he paused. “Smoking that makes you a hypocrite, Kramer.”
“Hey I’m allowed to smoke in my own shop, kid. Your daddy used to own the place too, so I suppose that means you’re entitled to smoke here, too.” He took another drag.
“So, about the deal?” questioned Brendan.
“Ah yes. I got another phone call from a group of biologists who work at Northboros hospital a few miles from here. They want to buy the lot this shop is on.”
“Why?” Brendan demanded.
“They’re running a research group, something to do with anthropology, and their willing to pay a hefty sum of cash for this bit of land.”
“Why here? There’s plenty of empty, cheap lots near the hospital.”
“Valuable resources maybe? The fact that its secluded from most of the rest of town? Who knows? I’ve got land, and they’re willing to pay for it. Don’t ask, Don’t tell. That’s what I always say.”
Brendan slammed his fist into the wall out of anger, an audible crack was heard, but Brendan didn’t seem to notice. “That’s just like you Kramer!” He yelled. “Your greedy, self-righteous ass would sell my father’s shop in a heartbeat if someone were to wave a gold coin under your nose!”
Kramer stood up, he was much taller than Brendan and could easily hold himself in a fight with him. “Now listen here, boy. I was real good friends with your father, so I’m not gonna give you another chance. I won’t have you talking in that tone to me. Now sit down, mind your manners, and be glad I’m consulting you about the situation.”
Brendan grew angrier with each word. “Look at you Kramer, spewing all this bullshit. You were never friends with my father, you only wanted him for the convenience. His kindness made him blind, but I knew you. I knew you would jump at the chance to sell the shop as soon as he died. I fucking knew it!”
“You’re making some powerful accusations, child.” He was trying to hold his temper. “Best shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you.”
“Fuck you, old man.” Brendan took a step forward and forced his fist into Kramer’s jaw with all of his strength, cracking his fist even more, and forcing Kramer back a few steps. He was satisfied when he saw a drop of blood trickle down Kramer’s mouth.
“You just signed yourself up for the worst day of your life, kid.”
Kramer snapped his fingers and 4 men came into the room, 1 with a bat, 2 had ak-47s hoisted over their shoulders, and the other was unarmed. Before Brendan had time to react, the unarmed man hoisted him up and locked Brendan’s arms behind his back, making it impossible for him to move. He spoke in a foreign language, and gestured to the man with the bat, who walked up and hit Brendan in the gut with the bat. The man let Brendan go, who collapsed onto the ground, doubled over in pain.
“Again,” said Kramer.
“Une fois,” Ordered one of the men. Brendan picked up the French.
The man with the bat kicked Brendan over onto his back. He couldn’t move, one of his ribs had been fractured, and he was coughing up blood. “Burn in hell Kramer,” Brendan choked out. The man with bet struck Brendan in the ribs again, and he blacked out.
