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Chuck was getting frustrated. Where the bloody hell had his thrice dammed physics book gone? He had just had it hadn’t he? After a flurry of searching everywhere he usually put such things, and then a sweep of the unlikely places, he still had no luck. In despair he flopped down on his bed dramatically.
“Where the hell is it Max?” he asked aloud. Max didn’t even open an eye or twitch an ear. “That stupid assignment is due tomorrow…” he ran through his head all the places it could be again. Oh! Right, he hadn’t checked Striker yet. He trotted down stairs and past his Mother who gave him a quizzical look. He was clearly in mission mode, but she couldn’t imagine why he would be going outside. Chuck didn’t even bother to put on shoes, he just stepped off the deck and into the lush grass as he walked his way down the side of drive way to Striker’s usual spot.
Wait. Something was off. He had reached Striker’s spot, but there was no Striker in it. What the actual fuck?! He stared blankly for several heart beats, with his mouth open, hyper focus broken.
Where…was….Striker….
“Oh shit…” that was right. She had started leaking power steering fluid last night after practice and Dad had her flat bedded to the shop this morning. Right. Why had he forgotten that? Maybe he had really hit his head during scrimmage the other day…
With a disgruntled sigh he returned to the house. “What are you looking for sweetheart?” Angela asked looking up from the cake she was frosting.
“A book….I think it’s in Striker.” He frowned.
“You forgot didn’t you?” Angela looked at him with some concern.
Chuck shrugged and stuck a finger in the bowl of frosting, laughing as she tried to swat him with the frosting spatula and he danced easily out of range. He licked his finger mockingly then retreated to the safety of his bedroom to make a call.
He dialed Dad’s office number and waited through a bazillion rings and got voice mail. Three more tries also got him nothing. What the hell was he doing that he couldn’t pick up his phone? Bah. He needed that damn book.
Charlie sighed and scrolled down through all the contacts in his phone, his thumb hovering over an extension number. Ugh. He didn’t want to do this but he was desperate; Dad was leaving him no choice. He dialed.
“Becket.” The overly cheery voice answered. Ugh. Why was he always perky? Well Chuck could fix that.
“Hello Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaleigh,” the boy drawled.
There was a pause. “Hello Chaaaaaaarlie. Can I help you?” Raleigh sighed, “Your car isn’t done…”
It was Chuck’s turn to sigh, “Great. Well…can you do me a favor?”
“That depends,” Raleigh was suddenly 90% more interested in this conversation.
Oh great. Becket smelled blood in the water, fuck his life. “I think I left a book in Striker, can you go check and see if it’s in there?”
Raleigh groaned, “Don’t you have a Dad for that kind of shit?”
“He’s not answering.”
“Fine.” Raleigh grabbed Striker’s keys off the rack and walked down the lineup until he reached the all too familiar beater. Stupid thing looked rattier every time he had the unfortunate occasion to see it. He unlocked the door, opened it, and it creaked so loudly Chuck heard it on the other end of the line.
“Hey, Rals, can you grease that for me?”
Ugh. God damn this kid. “Sure. If it will make you happy.”
Chuck ignored the sarcasm. “Do you see it?”
Raleigh wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of dog and teenage athlete. He was loathe to have to stick his head all the way into the cabin. “What exactly am I looking for?”
“A book. Have you ever seen one?” Chuck shot back with sugary sweet back biting acerbity.
Someday he was going kill this bitch kid. Really he was. “Okay jackass which one.”
There was a stretch of silence, “There’s more than one in there? That’s weird.” Chuck tried to puzzle out which ones could possibly also be misplaced in the car. “I need the physics one.”
Raleigh rummaged around on the floor where all the books had congregated, probably because of a sudden stop in the recent past and looked for the desired volume. “I have chemistry, and global history…no physics.” He reported, even has his hand found the desire of Chuck’s heart under the passenger seat. Let the little demanding twerp stew on that.
“Son of a fucking whore…” Chuck cursed loudly.
“Kiss your mama with that mouth?” Raleigh laughed. Like Father like Son. “Keep your pants on kid, I got it.”
There was a little huff from the phone. That was a weird thing about pants….further proof that Raleigh Becket was some sort of pervert- as Chuck had always suspected. “Are there notes in it?”
“Dude, there are a bazillion fucking pieces of paper in this jalopy. It looks like a hurricane went through here. Do you ever clean this thing out?!” The mechanic rifled through the papers which were mostly illegible scribbles and doodles of robots- there was nothing here that made any sense. There was a quick solution to this whole problem. Cradling the phone awkwardly Raleigh jumbled all the scraps and books into a heap and grunted under their weight.
“Are you dying?” Chuck asked, “Hello….”
Raleigh kicked Striker’s door shut rather viciously, enough to make the car bounce in place. “Shut up! I’m just taking the whole pile to your Dad okay? He can bring this shit mess home to you. Are you happy?”
Actually he was. Oddly enough. But it wouldn’t do to let Raleigh Becket know how big a favor he was doing him. “Thanks Ray you’re the best.” Chuck said sweetly, with just a hint of the insincerity that was expected and always implied.
“Yeah yeah,” Raleigh said, “You better remember that next time you ask for Yancy. You cut me deep Charlie.”
Miles away Chuck rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt. “Don’t forget about the door.”
Raleigh considered dropping his burden right into the trashcan he just walked past. “You are a pain in my ass. And the reason I’m never having kids.”
“Ha. Good.” Chuck laughed manically. “You’re welcome.”
“Hanging up now.” Raleigh cut the connection and let his phone fall to the top of the books. It really was an ungodly heavy pile of crap. No wonder kids these days struggled in school, who could read all this stuff? Though to be fair, he knew Charlie Hansen was a straight A honors student and probably on his way to an Ivy League- if he didn’t go and get himself killed in that rattle trap.
Becket kicked Herc Hansen’s office door open with his foot a little more violently then he intended. Herc jumped six feet and stared at him, his blue eyes wide and half of his coffee now pooling on the desk next to his key board.
Before he could even say a word, Raleigh let the arm full of books and note papers drop onto the already pile laden desk with a loud whump. Herc gave him a quizzical look, “What hell is this?”
“Your problem now.” Raleigh answered cryptically.
Herc pulled one sheet of paper loose and stared at the elaborately crafted mech that was drawn in the margins of a calculous assignment. What the hell? He looked up at Raleigh just in time to catch his back on the way out.
Raleigh headed back to his bay, dusting his hands off and feeling like he had done his good deed for today. As he came around the end of a pickup truck suspended six feet off the ground, an all too familiar scene caught his eye…
Yancy was outside in the queue, bent over in Striker’s front seat in a surreal pantomime of Raleigh’s earlier escapade. The tell-tale phone was to his ear and the same exact frustrated expression on his face. Son of a bitch kid had done it again, only this time roped Yancy into doing his bidding. One of these days they would turn the tables and take Chuck for the sucker, but today clearly wasn’t that day.
“What do you mean the black one!? Their ALL black!” Yancy’s exasperated voice carried on the wind and Raleigh just rolled his eyes and vowed to check the caller ID before answering the phone for the rest of the day.