Revved Up Soul

Chapter 37

Luke

The wind howled in the twilight of morning, the sun only just starting to crown the horizon of Sequim. There was fire churning deep in his belly. Why would he do this? Luke could feel the desperate ache in his knuckles as he sped down to Robert's apartment. It had to be him, it had to. Why else would Able say what he said? Needles of doubt pricked away at his psyche, was what Jasmine said truly what his brother had breathed in his dying breath?.

Pulling up to the street in which Robert resided, Luke killed his engine a couple of houses down from where he needed to be. Where Able's killer was hiding. You're nothing more than a cockroach, he thought. The hour of twilight still shrouded Luke as he swaggered top heavy to the traitor's dinghy little house; the outside was old and it's white paint chipped away, most residents had probably used it as a whore house and a crack den. Luke was ready to bring the value down even further, how much would homicide tick down the price of something already next to worthless? Even from here he could hear the thump of bass and the thick, grainy mids of guitar.

Stepping to the front door quietly, he placed his hand on the brass knob. Surely he wouldn't be that stupid with a neighborhood like this, Luke turned his head both ways and then shook the handle.

Locked.

Luke put a hand to his face and stroked before retreating a couple of steps and looking over the yard. Grass was overgrown and there were suspicious holes scattered about, leaves and trash – mostly cans of Pabst – made their home wherever they pleased. Glimpsing the shed, Luke stalked over to it and gave the door a quick check. He felt the hot licks of anger against his chest again and moved over to the side of the shed, spying a couple of tools that the man must have been too lazy to return.

Going past the shovel, Luke procured the crowbar partially hidden amongst the thick grass. He weighed it in his hands and gave an absent nod of approval before creeping to the side of Robert's house. He could see the blue light of Robert's TV coming from out the window, him and two whores sitting on the couch making out, taking swigs of a bottle of Jack. Twin, fiery serpents rose up Luke's back and he doubled back the way he came, to another window where there was only darkness. Music'll do fine for cover, thanks Mick Mars. Luke brought the rusted crowbar to the windowsill and shoved it into place, applying a great force. Splinters of egg-white wood broke off as the window violently jerked upwards.

Waiting for a moment of time, Luke listened as best he could to see if any of the three might have heard something. Dropping the crowbar into the dark room, his pulse began to race and he pushed the window up all the way, as far as it would permit, propping his hands against the windowsill and pushing himself up; his muscles straining from the force – he hiked his legs up and swung them inside.. From there Luke cautiously slipped his person inside of the dark room, landing soundly on his boots.

Luke picked up the crowbar and felt his way blindly about the room, his free hand coming across something round and hard, it was no bigger than his fist. Luke picked it up and played with it briefly, ruminating what it might be – his eyes straining to glimpse it properly. He realized then, what it was, and chuckled to himself, putting the paperweight inside of his jacket pocket.

When he finally found the door, he carefully turned the knob – his head heated and his muscles screaming for him to stop being so slow, so cautious. His breathing began to quicken, the image of Able's bloodied 'face' swimming through his mind's eye.

He opened the door slightly, peering out of it. They would have direct line of sight of Luke, but the three were distracted – it wasn't ideal but he knew that he could make this work. Taking one last breath . . . Luke swung the door open and strode forward, slipping his hand inside of his bomber jacket and producing the paperweight as he went towards the three. They hadn't even noticed him yet.