The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1) Page 5

  He fingers squirmed on the edges of the sink as thought to himself. He was tired of his routine. He was tired of going to class, writing papers, and going to parties which made him feel like a fool. He needed a vital role in the God-forsaken planet. More than anything he wanted to quit his self-destructive behavior. He would throw away all his cigarettes and his stash of drugs if he was guaranteed more importance in one form or the other. He could be something greater, but those drunk morons seemed to be the type who took over and made the decisions. One day he would take over and fix everything. He could not tell whether is current intentions were kind or malevolent, but that didn’t matter. He just needed someone, angel or demon, to raise him up.

  He dragged a disposable towel over his face, and tossed it into the trash. Under a tissue box, hanging over the garbage bin was a business card. It was labelled “Elder Incorporated” and had a phone number at the bottom along with the phrase “Question Everything. Fight for Something”. Gary remembered that that was the company who had been working with Dr. Black with the unconventional methods. He wondered whether a company like Elder Inc. would be the company to inspire him. But he wasn’t one to believe in fortune cookies.

  He placed the card snugly back into its place and went back to the party. Everybody was still either in the other room or outside, so he had an easy time grabbing a can of beer out of the fridge. He popped the can open and quickly drowned half of it in a few gulps. Outside there was not the least shred of sunlight left and the full moon was shining brightly through the gray clouds. Gary looked at the clock. It was already 8:55.

  Patrick and the gang pulled up to the curb at 8:27. Lindsey was behind the wheel with Slate in the passenger seat, which left he and Johnny in the back seats. They’d figured that the house would have perceivable levels of extravagance, but nothing quite like this. Beyond the black gate that surrounded the lawn was a luxurious white home with a beautiful display of flowing water as performed by the fountain in front. At first glance, Patrick would have believed Doctor Black had an income somewhere between Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. One by one, they exited with impressed eyes.

  Lindsey wished them luck. “Good luck you guys! Just call me when you want me to come pick you up.”

  They said their goodbyes and went onward up the wide path, which took them to the front door. Patrick was shocked by the quality of inebriated people clogging the pathway. They had a hard time pushing themselves through, not to mention the chorus of “Ay!’s” generated by those who thought the gang was trying to start a fight. In the end, the three of them plowed themselves to the large door.

  As big as the house was on the outside, it almost appeared to be larger on the inside, as if they were living in Doctor Who and Black was a Timelord. It could have just been an illusion with the great amount of people congregated in the first section of the house.

  Johnny was astounded “This is really not what I was imagining.”

  “There are way too many people here.” Slate was uncomfortable. “Let’s not stay any longer than we need to.”

  “Yeah.” Patrick concurred. “Plus it’s gotta be thirty degrees hotter in here than outside.”

  Slate continued forward, squeezing through a couple people. “But I doubt Gary’s that hard to find. He radiates discontent.”

  Amidst the massive alcohol ingesting crowd, Patrick was at least happy there was good music being played. Projected from a massive speaker on the other side of the room was “Paint it Black” by The Rolling Stones. Looking from that direction and then gazing all around the rest of the front room, he scanned the crowd.

  “How are we going to find Gary in this crowd?”

  “I say we split up.” Johnny resolved. “I’ll look in the kitchen.”

  “You just want to go get a beer.” Slate grunted while looking over everyone.

  “I would have brought you guys one too.”

  “Let’s stay together.” was Patrick’s verdict. He looked over at the side door. It was wide open. “There are a lot of people outside. We should go over there.”

  The three of them went along with that plan and headed out the door. The back yard was even nicer than the front yard. They ended up circling the area by going passed the basketball hoop and around the pool slide and crept between the large crowds. Gary was nowhere to be seen. After their failed mission in the backyard they went back in the same door they came from, leading them back inside. They made the same strategy with the crowd inside the large living room and ended up ovaling their way around and back towards the area by the library. The whole thing began to seem like a pointless cause.

  “Are you absolutely sure that he was going to be here?” Patrick asked. His anxiety and irritation were beginning to show.

  “I’m positive. We just need to hit the lesser crowded places.” said Johnny.

  Before they knew it, the clock had struck nine. And the music stopped.

  The lights began to rearrange themselves around the room and everybody turned their heads. Patrick and company watched the lights migrate across the crowded room and eventually settle on the second floor, as if a live musician was about to play. There was a reasonably young man with gelled back hair and a black suit standing before everyone, on an arching stairway that gave it a balcony-like appearance.

  “Hello everyone.” the man greeted pleasantly. “I’d like to thank you all for coming. My name is Dr. Jefferson Black and I am the host of this night’s entertainment.” The doctor spoke with a smile on his face. He seemed to not mind the size of the crowd that invaded his home. “To anyone who is interested, the presentation will begin in half an hour in the garage. There are more than enough seats there, and the sound from the rest of the party will not be a problem. The door is soundproof.”

  Everyone was still looking up towards the second floor. Patrick was lost in the strangeness of the scene until Johnny spoke.

  “Can you believe this guy?”

  “He could get busted for everything going on here. He’s acting like it’s no big deal.” Patrick replied, not taking his eyes off Black.

  The host continued his speech “Now, I know it’s Thanksgiving, and that means you should feel free to indulge yourselves to your heart’s content, but please set limits or my wife will have my ass tomorrow.” A wave of soft laughter spread through the crowd. “But please, enjoy yourselves tonight.”

  With that and a goodbye grin, Doctor Black walked away and the lights went back to their original positions. Everybody returned to their partying.

  “Well that guy was interesting.” remarked Slate. The party music was turned back on. “He’s not quite what I expected. He’s so young.”

  “You know he went to Weller?” Patrick inquired. “There’s a plaque with his name in the science library, but back to our situation. At least we know where Gary’s going to be in the next thirty minutes. In the garage.”

  “Why wait till then? He’s standing right over there.”

  Patrick followed Johnny’s gesture to the kitchen. There, tossing away an empty can and opening the fridge was their nemesis, Gary. The accused thief plucked another beer from the side slab and sipped with little interest. The sight of Gary ignited a spark of Patrick’s emotions. What began as a soft flicker was becoming an unquenchable flame pit. He cooled himself down, not wanting his friends to see a bad side of him.

  “I can’t do this, you guys. What am I supposed to do? Just go up to him and say ‘Give me my watch back’? And what if he doesn’t? I can’t start a fight at a party.”

  Johnny clearly took his uncertainty as some kind of signal. He reached over to an abandoned Bacardi bottle resting on a wooden ottoman. It was still half filled, and three fresh shot glasses circled it.

  “See this?” boasted Johnny, holding the bottle up to his friends. “This will take all that reasoning right out of you. You’ll be able to confront him with just a couple shots of
this stuff.”

  Patrick’s look at Johnny was one of abasement. “Are you insane? I’m not going to talk to Gary while I’m drunk!”

  “Believe me. It’ll help you, plus Gary doesn’t really look very sober himself.”

  “As much as I hate to say that I agree with Johnny, I agree with Johnny.” Slate confessed. “Honestly, it could work to your advantage. After you’ve had a couple shots, Gary would probably underestimate you. He’d have no idea how serious we’ll be.”

  Patrick was beginning to think this was that peer pressure his parents warned him about. “I think that at least one of us needs to be sober. What kind of impression will I leave of myself if this is how I handle my problems?”

  “Fine, dude. You can do whatever you want,” his booze enthused friend was concerned, in his own way. “But let me tell you that I know you. You back away from problems too quickly. You’re too scared of confrontation. I don’t want you to back away, since this means getting back something you love.”

  The anxious Patrick peered over his shoulder to Gary. Determination flushed over him, because it wasn’t just about Gary. It was about the idea of him. He’d seen a lot of characters like Gary in his life. If he could go back and furiously tell them off, he might. He reached into his pocket, where the watch was sometimes kept. It was still gone, not at all to his surprise. The simple reminder was enough to make him grab the bottle from Johnny’s hand and pour some heavy proof into the tiny glass.

  “Fine. What have I got to lose?”

  Slate, feeling inspired by camaraderie, took the bottle away from him and poured a glass for himself.

  “I wouldn’t mind trying some of this.” Slate said.

  “Cheers!” They all clinked their shots together, the basic liquid wobbled up by the rims. In spontaneous gulps, they swallowed the burning fluid. Both Patrick and Slate forced back gags. Across the room the song “Doom and Gloom” by The Rolling Stones flew out of the speaker.

  Patrick waited for the burning to pass before speaking “‘That was actually not too bad. Is this cranberry flavored?”

  “Only kind I drink.” Johnny winked. He proudly poured everyone another full shot. “How about another one? They’re all on me.” None of them bothered to remind Johnny the drinks were free.

  They repeated the process for a second time. Slate looked like he was about to throw it back up but composed himself quickly to maintain his sharp snappy presence. “That one felt like it burned a little more.”

  The song continued across the room as they repeated the process for the third time.

  Their third shots were completed the most rapidly. The taste of access OH- ions were becoming as basic as water. The room began to spin, as if it were orbiting the three. Patrick shook his head and his sight was somewhat returned to sobriety. Thoughts were racing across his mind like formula one cars, chasing one another without ever colliding. Then everything slowed down as the alcohol began to take its full effect.

  He looked up once again at the lone Gary in the kitchen. In his newfound mentality, emotions were not so well caged. They were on the loose and no bout of rationality would keep them constrained. Patrick no longer cared if he got into trouble or not. He was beginning to feel invincible. And Gary was an obstacle on his path.

  “Alright. I’m ready.” a subtle boozy belch escaped his mouth. “Let’s get the thief.”

  The three of them, with an amount of difficulty, walked towards the hanging sign that read “kitchen” that would take them to the advertised place. Gary quietly stood near the slidable glass doorway, looking out into the yard. They passed under the archway with the intoxicated and angry Patrick leading the clan. When the three were halfway through the room Gary turned around, having seen them through the reflecting glass.

  The crew stopped in front of him, who wore an expression of surprise.

  For a moment, Gary looked around; at first thinking the group was looking for someone else. “What do you guys want?”

  “Hello, Gary,” Patrick greeting dourly while edging closer to him. “I believe you have something of mine, and I want it back.”

  “Yeah, you tell him Patrick!” rooted Slate. His drunk hand patted him on the shoulder.

  For the first time the group saw Gary’s facial muscles work a smile. He thought the encounter was some kind of farce. “I have nothing of yours.”

  “Just drop the act, Frost.” Johnny joined in as well. “We know.”

  “When you bumped into me earlier today, several things fell out of my backpack. You picked up everything that fell out. My watch fell out, meaning you must have taken it, and I would like it back.” he extended a cupped hand and his forefingers flexed to form the universal “hand it over” gesture.

  Realizing his drunken classmates were being serious, Gary retracted his smile. He knew what watch Patrick was talking about.

  “Your watch is missing?”

  The leader crossed his arms “You took it! Don’t act stupid, we saw you looking at it last night at the coffee place. You liked it and you’re a terrible person, so you took it!” His voice was growing into a yell. But his shouts were suffocated by the loud rock music, so no attention was given to them by other party-ers.

  “Patrick, I know we’ve had our differences but I’d never take that watch.”

  In a moment of fury Patrick shoved Gary against the glass door, the fragile framing rippled around them. “WE have not had our differences. YOU have had your differences. I did nothing to you.” he reached into the trash and pulled out an empty beer bottle, gripping it by the thin top. “Tell me why I shouldn’t smash your head with this?”

  After the impromptu shift of interrogating technique Johnny and Slate gained some of their basic reasoning back. They motioned to try to calm their friend down.

  “Uh, Patrick, why don’t you put that thing back in the trash?” Slate put a hand on his friend’s bottle-holding wrist. “This can be resolved by other ways.”

  As Johnny attempted holding his other wrist Patrick shoved him aside, indicating that he could handle himself. He obediently released the bottle back into the trash bin, letting it slip pensively from his grip.

  “You’re right, guys.”

  As Patrick was about to turn around and peacefully let Gary to his own business he swung like a helicopter propeller, clobbering Gary on the side of the nose with a fist. He was aiming for his nose, but his inhibitions made his sloppy, along with the fact he had never punched anyone in the face before. Gary collapsed to his knees, clutching his upper mandible as he hoisted himself back upright. Johnny and Slate were already there to hold Patrick’s hands behind his back to ensure no more punches. But that strategy only helped Gary. As soon as he could Gary countered with a whopper to Patrick’s stomach, causing him to yelp out as he went down, struggling to find breath.

  “You’re going down, bastard.” he nearly wheezed between breaths.

  Slate was ready to come up with some kind of truce when Johnny threw a punch to Gary’s right temple. The attack was effortlessly evaded and Johnny was shoved back against Slate, making them both fall to the ground like dominoes.

  Between pained coughs, Patrick found an opportunity to throw Gary through the door that led to the garage. He saw that it was slightly open, so the clean shove would send his foe out the room and possibly bring the fight to an end. With an angry blow, Gary was forced backward, tripping on the half-foot dip in the floor that separated the two rooms. The slight dip caused him to fall backwards, taking down several folding chairs with him. As he leaped back up to force a counter move Patrick downed him again with a well-timed smack to his nose, sending him back down. Slate, Johnny and Patrick formed up at once, and when they saw what was on their opponent’s shirt their hearts stopped.

  Gary’s white shirt was completely covered in blood. The floor around them was painted in it. Gary looked down at his shirt in horror
, feeling his nose to see if it was splashing out like a faucet. The red substance was gingerly dripping down, undoubtedly due to the fierce impact of Patrick’s fist. Gary lifted his shirt to see if he had any wounds, and to his relief there was no injury. The gang was mystified by the scene. Their inebriated minds couldn’t properly analyze the situation, and panic was the only thing working inside them.

  “My God, what the hell happened?” shouted Slate.

  Over by the kitchen, a vague sound of people approaching seemed to be getting louder. The crew, not the least bit rational, continued to freak out.

  “We can’t let anyone see this.” Johnny helped Gary back to his feet quickly as if it were a dance move. “We could all get in serious trouble for assault.”

  Patrick eyed the doorway suspiciously. “What should we do?”

  Gary sighed. “I need a change of clothes. Let’s go upstairs.”

  With the buzzing chatter of a crowd getting louder, the four of them ran back through the main hallway to the stairs. They drunkenly staggered over the cushioned barrier, with one of them anxiously tugging the others along with him. Minutes later they reached the empty bedrrom of their host, Doctor Black.

  Upon entry Gary removed his shirt. The red liquid had almost full soaked through the shirt. He flung it over an antique wardrobe and changed into the first shirt he found. It was white button-down with a black vest tied to the hanger. Thinking they looked lovely together, he wore both. When no visible trace of blood found itself up the stairs with them the gang’s dull minds worked again. Gary had no bloody wounds, except for the bleeding nose.

  “Wait, what the hell was that? You’re not really bleeding?” Patrick eyed the clean carpet.

  Gary settled himself up against the side of the bed. “I guess I’m not. Must be spilled paint or something.”

  Boozy exhaustion slowly overcame them and everyone took as comfy a seat as they could find. They all had gotten up early in the morning, and the cozy nature of the room didn’t help. The four of them found themselves asleep on the floor within a matter of ten minutes, still hiding in the room for reasons none had realized.