Page 16 of Letters Book Two
I laughed but didn’t look back as I made my way out of the station.
I noticed a female passenger and a professional suit-wearing gentleman in the driver’s seat. The black sedan and its occupants weren’t the usual type of customers of the station. It had an importance to it that we usually missed to the gas stations on the highway. I came around to an open driver’s side window.
“Welcome, sir. Fill-up today?”
The female passenger held a small tape recorder in her hands. I heard aclick, and I gave her a brief glance before returning my attention to the Clark Kent wannabe.
He ignored my question about needing fuel. “Are you Lucas Chase Jenson?”
“Yes, sir. That’d be me. In the flesh,” I said, wondering how this stranger knew my middle name.
“You have officially been served, Mr. Lucas Chase Jenson.” He shoved a large manila envelope at me out of his window. Where it’d been two seconds before, I wasn’t sure. The lady in the passenger seat clicked off the recorder.
“You have that recorded, Verlene?” he asked.
“Yes,” she responded, smiling like a villain from a James Bond film.
“We won’t be needing any gas. Have a good day, Mr. Jenson.” He rolled up the window and proceeded to drive away. I stood in the drive staring at my name typed on the face of the official looking envelope. The return address was fancy and typed with three different names.Dewey, Screw-em and Howe.It didn’t actually say that, but the point was it came from lawyers. High-price, big-city-type lawyers. The kind with big offices over at the state capital. I fucking hateletters.
Mr. Howard stood behind the glass entry door to the station, presumably eyeing the last visitor. I turned the envelope over in my hands and stared at it before heading his way. I walked back into the station and found him standing behind the counter.
“What’d they want, Lucas? Pretty fancy vehicle for our town.”
I held up the envelope. “They gave me this. Comes from some lawyers up in Columbia, sir. Doesn’t look like good news, does it?”
“Maybe someone left you another fortune?” He laughed at his joke, but I also saw signs of concern. “What you done, boy?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I sure hope it’s not about another parent. Momma was my real momma last time I checked the birth certificate from the state.” I made a joke, but I was nervous too.
I walked over to the counter and moved a large glass container of hard-boiled eggs outta the way and set the envelope down. “Check out those fancy names,” I said, pointing to the upper left corner.
Mr. Howard leaned over and stared at the label. “Looks fancy for sure, kid. Let’s have a look. Open that thing up.”
He handed me his pocket knife from his coveralls, and I carefully opened the letter. I began to read what appeared to be Latin. Paragraphs of legalese and blah, blah, heretofore, blah. And so on and so on. However, typed on the front page was Lucas Chase Jenson v. The Honorable Lieutenant Governor, Mr. Boregard Tilton II.This can’t be good. Letters? Why do they always suck?
I handed the stapled seven or eight sheets of paper to Mr. Howard. “Can you make sense of this, sir?”
I watched as his eyes scanned the front page, his lips moving as he read what I only knew had to be shit news. “They want their money back, kid. Plus interest. Greedy bastards. I never much cared for the Tiltons. Sorry kid, but you know what I mean.”
“It’s ok, sir. I’m still a Jenson as far as I’m concerned. But it sounds like the Tilton side has heard the gossip.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t think it’s gossip any longer, son. Looks like they’re unleashing the big dogs on ya now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Perry
“Am I a total douche?” I asked, putting a forkful of salad in my mouth.
“As compared to what? The dudes at the gym with their drug-enhanced muscles, or the high school friend that talks about pussy all day?” Chad asked, picking a seed off of his orange slice. “I love you, so you can’t be too douchey.”
“Gee, thanks.” I stared at Chad and his still bare chest from working all morning. His skin glistened with just a hint of perspiration. “Good thing we’re eating outside. No one should come to a meal in your state.” I pointed at his messy appearance and complete lack of caring.
“I take my answer back. You can be a douche.” He reached for the green bottle of water and twisted the cap off. “And not just because you lunch poolside with nine-dollar-a-bottle Italian water. On a weekday, no less.”
“I’m serious. I think my staff thinks I’m not friendly or maybe too uppity.”
“Well, are you?” he asked.
“Jack handled that stuff. I’m not good at that,” I admitted, watching as Chad surveyed my expression.
