August 10, 1994

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

"...don't we teach you not to do this?" Grifford sighed, staring down at the two wrinkly, wriggling infant twins swaddled side-by-side.

David grimaced. "It was not our intention, your honor."

"You're both too young for this. We need you David."

"...too young?" David clenched his jaw.

"Peace, boy. I don't mean you're a child. Your training was accelerated, was it not?"

"...to catch up with Karen, yes." David nodded.

"So it stands to reason you may not remember everything in the doctrines."

"I know the law. I also know that there's been exceptions. My father was an exception."

"...always with the Walkers and your distinct need to speak your mind. Yes, there's been exceptions. There used to be time. That was before the black glass, boy. Time is running out."

"...but our children."

"Peace, boy. I'm not in the business of stealing children from their parents. You are the future of the order. You and Karen."

"What about Ethan, and Jonathan-David?"

"Ethan and Jonathan-David..." Grifford regarded the twins. "I propose we put them in trusted hands."

"Who is left in our Order that can help us?"

"Desperate times, David. I am not to put them with anyone in The Order."

"What outsider could we ever trust?"

"Trust me, David. Nothing bad will become of your little ones. Now, if you'll permit me. Business. You have an assignment."

"An assignment."

"Destroy Lillian Plow's coven."

"Yout honor, some of the people in her circle are my friends."

Giffords's lip curled into a brief sneer. "Which is why they will trust you. You're going to leave The Order. You are going to join their circle. You will sew mistrust, dissent, and disharmony."

"Respectfully, your honor. If I can redeem any of them..?"

"If." Grifford spread his hands apart, palms open. "Those who take the black glass have made a pact with the infernal. Their only separation from it is death."

"Yes, your honor."

"Very well. Until your sons are old enough, you are the last blood of your line. Try not to get yourself killed."

✟ ☧ ✟

"...are you fucking kidding me?" L.C. glared at Grifford.

"I'm not talking to you, Detective."

Fallon sat at his kitchen table, beer in hand. "I don't know what to say."

"Say no, Bookie!"

"Come now, Detective Polovatski." Grifford's voice was dry. Tired. "We would be in your debt."

"My debt?"

"The both of you." Grifford walked to Fallon's table, and pulled a chair out. He sat into it with an uncomfortable expression. "What are we drinking?"

Fallon stared down at his beer. "NGD."

Grifford shook his head. "NGD?"

"Nilar Genuine Draught. Indian knock-off. Tastes almost like the real thing... I think there's hints of curry and cumin."

Grifford swiped the bottle of NGD from Fallon's hand before he could react. He poured a drink into his mouth and spat it out immediately over the table. "Disgusting. This tastes like a bad buffet soaked in piss water."

"Bookie, you don't have to put up with this bullshit."

Fallon waved a hand. "You woke me up on my day off - my one day off - to ask me to raise someone else's kids, and spit my beer all over the table."

Grifford regarded the half full bottle of NGD. "You're a decent man, Detective. Our David and Karen are too young to raise children just yet. There's much to be done."

Fallon sighed.

"Don't be a pushover, Bookie. Nothing they offer you is worth it... and Bane. Until we capture Bane..."

"It's not your decision." Fallon held his face in his hands.

"I can presume we're in agreement, Detective."

L.C. growled.

Fallon pulled his hands down past his face. "I guess this is a mitzvah."

L.C. smirked.

Grifford frowned. "You're Jewish?"

"No, raised orthodox Catholic. Why?"

L.C. shook his head and rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

"Well then, Detective Fallon. Mazel tov. You're going to need new accommodations. This environment - humble, homey and welcoming as it is - will not suffice. You'll be moved, post haste."

"Moved?"

✟ ☧ ✟

Moved.

At least it was furnished... furnished a little too well, and a little too much to his tastes. It was like the old man from Gallows Road had insight into his mind. The old man from Gallows Road. He now lived on Gallows Road. The palatial home was too much, too soon. and all because David Walker could not keep it in his pants.

Fallon sat in the nursery of his new home. "You two are going to be trouble."

Ethan slept quietly in his crib. Jonathan-David was awake, staring through the bars of his crib at Detective Fallon with big brown eyes.

"You don't cry much, do you?"

Jonathan-David gurgled, and drooled down his cheek.

Fallon flexed his neck. "I can tell I won't be sleeping much. Between L.C.'s case, and helping your parents, you two are going to be the death of me."

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net