Note: I don’t own Four Brothers or Kiss Off by the Violent Femmes

Chapter 24

I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record

Jack rolled over, dislodging the last little bit of the sheets that had managed not to get untucked during the course of the night. Lazily stretching out into the space next to him, he groped around, eyes half closed, confused. He couldn’t remember why he should be surprised that the other half of the bed was empty, just that he was.

Groaning, he dragged himself up until he was sitting against the headboard, running his hand roughly through his hair, trying to wake up. Mornings were always tough for him. Hell, early afternoons sometimes proved a challenge and once or twice he’d slept clear through daylight, only to wake up in the dark and wonder why Bobby was bitching at him to get dinner ready. He wanted to blame his shitty sleeping habits on getting shot, but he had never been particularly enthusiastic to greet a new day, no matter how old and healthy he was.

He squinted at the clock, but it was blank. He tried the lamp, but that didn’t work either. Right. The power was out. He knew that. Something else tickled at the back of his sleep-muddled brain, something important, but it was just out of reach. The half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table provided one clue and the lacy red bra that was tossed next to it provided the second. He still couldn’t help thinking there was something else he was missing, though … something more than getting drunk and getting laid.

His cigarettes were right where he usually left them, next to the clock radio, his lighter on top. At least he got that much right. He had one lit when the door suddenly banged open, bouncing loudly off the wall with a bang and ricocheting back, blocking the intruder. The door swung back open again and Jack’s heart dropped to his stomach like a boulder.

“Shit,” he muttered around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. It all came back to him in a rush. The bar. A guitar. A girl. The cops. Bobby. “Shit,” he said again, flinching like his brother had already taken a swing at him.

Bobby glared at him from the doorway, nostrils flaring, ready to charge. “Jack.” His voice was low, ominously low.

Jack sat up a little straighter, grabbing a pillow and wrapping his arms around it, the world’s most pathetic shield. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to look nonchalant. “Bobby.”

His brother didn’t move, just stood perfectly still in the doorway. Jack couldn’t get a read on him – couldn’t tell just how fucked he was. He suddenly wished he was … well … dressed and not just sitting in bed, naked, defenseless, and holding a pillow.

Bobby looked like shit. His clothes were wrinkled and rumpled, like he’d slept in them, which Jack figured he probably had, if he’d slept at all - the cots in holding cells usually sucked and Jack just would just lay there and stare at the ceiling the few times he’d been in one. He could see from there that Bobby needed a shave, shower, and probably a good ten hours crashed in a bed. But first things first. There was no way in hell Bobby Mercer was going to let his baby brother get away with leaving him to rot in jail for a night without at least acknowledging it.

Silence stretched between the two of them – the kind of silence that could only mean one thing: all hell was about to break loose. Swallowing the bile creeping up the back of his throat, Jack figured he should be the first to speak, just get it over with. “They, uh, let you out, huh?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bobby barked back. “Too bad they’re just gonna have to send me right back … after I rip your fucking head off!” He walked into the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the blinds on the window rattled and the remote fell off the TV.

“Um …”

“You better have a good fucking excuse, Jackass, because --” Before Bobby could finish his threat, the bathroom door opened, distracting him. A blonde emerged, wearing a smile and not much else. The towel was a joke, leaving not much to the imagination, not that Jack needed to use his – last night came flooding back to him in full Technicolor, complete with a slow jazz soundtrack and a triple X rating.

“Did I leave my bra in here? It’s hard to see with the lights still out.”

Jack’s excuse stopped in her tracks when she realized Bobby was standing there. “Oh, I know you.” She pointed at him with the hand that wasn’t clutching the towel closed. “The little guy.”

“The what?” Bobby narrowed his eyes and Jack coughed loudly, trying to mask a laugh that threatened to escape.

“Jack’s brother,” she said cheerfully.

“And who the hell are you? Jack’s cleaning lady? Do we gotta tip extra if you do it topless?”

“Bobby,” Jack said, a warning in his voice, despite not having much to back it up with at the moment.

“I asked a simple question. Who the fuck is she?”

Jack stared blankly at her, realizing he couldn’t answer. He had no clue what her name was.

“Jolene,” she offered, the name smooth and sexy in her slow, twangy accent. Jack couldn’t have known that because there was no way in hell he would have forgotten it.

“Please to meet you, Jolene,” Bobby said, his voice laced with a fake sincerity that Jack didn’t buy for a second. “So you and Jackie-boy here had a good night together, huh?”

Still smiling and still half naked, she nodded and Jack just wished he could go back to sleep a wake up in a different nightmare.

“Aw, that’s nice.” Bobby plopped down on the end of the bed and Jack couldn’t help but notice that his brother smelled like the backroom of one of the dive bars he played at in New York – musty, smoky, and beer drenched with a slight tinge of week-old piss. “Wanna know how I spent my night?”

Jack shook his head slowly and mouthed the word no, but Bobby had his back to him and couldn’t see him. Jolene could though, and she bit her lip and amusement flashed in her eyes.

“Fine, how did you spend your night, sweetie?” she asked, her voice dripping with honey.

“Well, I’m sure Cracker Jack here can fill you in, since he watched them haul my ass away in a cop car while you had your tongue stuck down his throat.”

Jack sighed and banged the back of his head against the headboard. “Bobby …”

Turning to look at him, Bobby did something Jack would have never expected, not in a million years. He grinned. “Hey, I can’t blame you for getting a piece of ass while I was sitting on mine in a drunk tank.”

“Seriously?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick the shit out of you,” Bobby added.

The blonde had her hand on her hip and she was studying the two of them, her eyes narrowing. “Hey, did you just call me a piece of ass?”

XxXxXxXxXx

Clothing more or less in place and hair dripping wet from a shower in the dark, Jolene left after a lingering kiss good-bye with a Jack. “When we meet again, dangerous,” she murmured against his lips and Bobby let out a strangled laugh behind them.

She looked over at Bobby and biting her lip, she winked. “Maybe we can get to know each other better next time, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be sure to pencil you into my engagement calendar,” Bobby said dryly as she left the motel room, her shoes in one hand and her bra hanging from the back pocket of her painted on jeans. Jack stared after her, half wondering if he’d imagined her.

“Cute chick,” Bobby said as grabbed a bag and started packing it with the stuff that was scattered around the room. He lifted up the mattress and grabbed the two guns he’d hidden there. Checking both magazines swiftly, he tucked one in his jeans and stuffed the other one in the bag on top of his jeans and sweatshirts.

Jack still wasn’t finished getting dressed and he threw the covers off the bed, looking for the sock he’d somehow lost. It wasn’t there. Grimacing, he lowered himself carefully to the floor to look under the bed.

“She’s not your type though,” Bobby observed as he tossed Jack’s duffle bag over to him, smacking him in the head with it as he emerged from under the bed, sock in hand.

Pushing himself up off the floor, he flopped onto the bed to pull on his socks and boots. “And just what is my type?” He regretted the question as soon as he asked it.

“For starters …”

Jack sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

“She’s gotta have a dick.”

He rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable, man. You just can’t let it go, can you?”

“I was going to, until you left my ass behind to rot in jail.”

Jack shook his head as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I did not leave you to rot in jail. They wouldn’t have let you out anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What difference does eight hours make?”

“Nine.”

“It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve spent the night in jail.”

“Not the point.”

“And it’s not like it’ll be the last.”

Bobby’s mouth opened and closed, like he was fishing for his next argument. He settled for a shrug. “Fair enough.”

“Look, just do whatever it is that you’re gonna do so I can get on with my life.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do to you?”

Jack shrugged, a flash of matches and gasoline and flames going through his head. His brother wasn’t one to let go of things easily. “I dunno. Beat me up.”

His brother grunted and shook his head, checking the dresser drawers, even though they have yet to put anything away in a drawer or a closet in the string of dive motels Bobby insisted on staying in. “Right,” Bobby said, his mouth twisting into an almost grin.

Jack jumped up from the bed, suddenly angry. “Well why the hell not? You wouldn’t let Angel or Jerry get away with it?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“And you would have never let me get away with it, either.” It was true. Fights weren’t uncommon in the Mercer household, not with four rowdy boys living there; but unlike other households he lived in, the fights were always fair and the punches were usually well deserved.

“Don’t start that I don’t want to be babied shit.” Bobby pointed an accusing finger at him. “I’m tired of it.”

“Well, I’m tired of it too.”

“You want me to hit you?”

“Yes.”

“You seriously want me to hit you.”

“Y --” Bobby’s fist connected with Jack’s jaw before he could finish. Jack reeled back, almost falling on his ass, his knee threatening to give out on him.

“Shit.” Jack groaned, holding his throbbing face. “I can’t believe you fucking hit me.”

“Grab your shit,” Bobby said, showing no remorse what so ever. “We gotta get out of here before the phones come back on and that cop calls Detroit to find out about us. I want to be far from here when that happens.”

“Why?” Jack mumbled, his jaw already swelling a little.

“Man, here I thought you were all smart and shit. Chances are he ain’t gonna like what he hears. With Green gone, we can’t trust anyone.”

Jack laid back on the unmade bed, suddenly feeling very tired. “Great,” he muttered to the ceiling. “And the hits just keep on comin’ …”

XxXxXxXxXx

Jerry stretched back, pulling on the lever to raise the bottom of the recliner. The TV was on mute, a football game playing in silence, but Jerry could see that the Lions were losing badly, so it didn’t really matter what was going on anyway.

The sound was off so that Angel could talk on the phone without interruption, though the constant stream of notes and mimed instructions from Sofi probably counted as interruption.

“Yes, the pink tulips,” he practically stammered into the phone. Sofi swung and smacked him in the arm. “I mean, no. Not the pink tulips.”

She nodded and Angel’s shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Um … carnations?” He said and she jumped up from the couch, shaking her head violently. “No,” Angel said slowly, not taking his eyes off his fiancé. “We’re not gonna go with carnations.”

Sofi started pacing, her hands flying out like they did when she talked, her face turning an angry red that clashed nicely with the purple bruise darkening the lower half of the right side of her face. Jerry had no idea what she was saying, but he was glad he couldn’t hear it. She grabbed the notebook and marker she left on the coffee table and wrote something, underlining it three times before showing Angel.

“R-roses,” he read into the receiver.

Sofi threw here hands up in the air, triumphant.

“Oh.” Angel gulped and she turned to look at him, the air in the room still. “Those cost extra?”

Sofi stared at him, unblinking, a silent dare.

“That’s … um … fine. Anything for my baby.”

He hung up with a sigh, looking for all the world like he’d survived a firing squad. “No more, baby. I don’t think I can take it.”

She grabbed the notebook and wrote something. Angel glanced over at it, slouching down in his seat until his chin touched his chest and he looked like a five year old that was just given a time out. “Caterer?”

Jerry laughed at his brother’s pain, remembering how crazy Camille got planning their wedding. He stayed his ass far, far away all of that, leaving it up to Evelyn and Camille to get it right. Show up on time at the right church, in the tux she picked out for him and don’t screw up his lines. Simple as that.

The doorbell rang and he held out his hand to stop Angel from getting up. His brother glared at him, clearly hoping for a reason to escape.

“Don’t worry, little brother, I got this,” he said with a big smile. “You just keep doing what you’re doing there. Wouldn’t want to pull you away.”

He was still grinning when he opened the door, a man standing on the other side of it.

The visitor nodded at him, a polite greeting. “Jeremiah Mercer. Man, it’s been a long time.”

“Green?”

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A/N - Sorry this one took so long to update. In case you missed it, I started a Halloween story called Trick or Treat - it's short, only one chapter left to go with that one. Thanks, of course, for all the amazing reviews and feedback - you guys are awesome. I know a lot of you are wondering about Remy. Don't worry, I didn't forget about her, but don't be surprised if we don't find out what happened to her for a while. Gotta keep the suspense going ;-)