The Incredible Aunty Awesomesauce

By J.S. Frankel

Sam Aushumness, sixteen, orphan and high school outcast, meets his long-lost aunt at his parents’ funeral—or the woman he thinks is his aunt. It turns out that she isn’t his aunt, isn’t from around here, and isn’t even from this galaxy.

It seems the person masquerading as his aunt is a refugee from a faraway world, and she’s being pursued by a small band of mercenaries who have been hired to bring her back dead or alive—preferably dead.

Secrets have to be kept, and only Sam and his girlfriend, Kym Kim, know who Aunty Aushumness—nickname Aunty Awesomesauce—really is.

However, the secret soon gets out, and soon the mercenaries, the police, and every branch of the government are on the hunt to find Aunty Awesomesauce, what she knows, and what secrets she carries.

Aunty A, though, isn’t one to back down from a fight, and when push comes to shove, the mercenaries find out how bad she can be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Aug 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781487419882

Book preview

You have no concept of how bad I can be.

Sam Aushumness, sixteen, orphan and high school outcast, meets his long-lost aunt at his parents’ funeral—or the woman he thinks is his aunt. It turns out that she isn’t his aunt, isn’t from around here, and isn’t even from this galaxy.

It seems the person masquerading as his aunt is a refugee from a faraway world, and she’s being pursued by a small band of mercenaries who have been hired to bring her back dead or alive—preferably dead.

Secrets have to be kept, and only Sam and his girlfriend, Kym Kim, know who Aunty Aushumness—nickname Aunty Awesomesauce—really is.

However, the secret soon gets out, and soon the mercenaries, the police, and every branch of the government are on the hunt to find Aunty Awesomesauce, what she knows, and what secrets she carries.

Aunty A, though, isn’t one to back down from a fight, and when push comes to shove, the mercenaries find out how bad she can be.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Incredible Aunty Awesomesauce

Copyright © 2018 J.S. Frankel

ISBN: 978-1-4874-1988-2

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

Smashwords Edition

The Incredible Aunty Awesomesauce

By

J.S. Frankel

Dedication

To my wife, Akiko, and to my children Kai and Ray—thank you for making every single day my greatest adventure.

And to Sara Beth, Emily, Harlowe Rose, Mirren, Lyra, Safa, Elizabeth, Eva, and everyone else, thank you for your unswerving support.

Chapter One: Farewell and hello

Portland Cemetery, twelve noon. Present day, Friday. Summer, June first to be exact, twenty-two days before summer vacation.

The day was warm, and sweat streamed down the back of my neck, causing it to itch. I scratched away the offending water and returned my gaze to the coffins. Plain wooden boxes, they housed the bodies of my parents, both the victims of a senseless drunk who’d decided he was ready for the road instead of getting ready for a nap.

Jesus, what was wrong with people, anyway? That was my immediate thought as I swept my gaze around the area. The kids at my school couldn’t be bothered to show up. Only Kym, whom I’d known for the past two years and who stood at my side crying silent tears, had come.

Her parents were also there, her mother short and slender, and her father, medium height and slim. Both of them wore black, as did Kym. They’d come with their daughter, maybe out of respect, or maybe out of duty. We didn’t talk about the whys. They’d shown, and that was enough.

No one else showed, though, save a stocky woman standing near the exit of the cemetery. With her hair tied up in a bun and a round body that resembled a beach ball, she wore a rumpled frock and looked to be in her forties, maybe older. It was impossible to tell. Perhaps she was lost, but after catching sight of her, my thoughts turned inward, and they were ones of rage as well as despair.

Class spirit? Getting the feels for someone who’d suffered loss in their lives? Make me laugh... not. When something bad happened to them, it was hey-can-we-talk and all that, but when it happened to me, sorry, kthanksbye. I could rage all I wanted, but in the end, they didn’t give a crap, and I stood alone. That’s how it was and how it always would be.

The minister, a tall, wizened man who had to be over eighty, started in on the prayers and all I could do was stare at the holes in front of me, wishing things could be different, but also knowing they never could be. Death had come. It had taken its fill for now and left me behind...

Two days ago, five-thirty PM.

Sixteen now, ready to enter my junior year this coming September, things had been going as planned, homework done, I’d been chilling at home while my parents were preparing to go on a food-shopping run. My mother, short and dark-haired with a pleasant face and kind manner, had asked me if I’d wanted anything. Pizza’s good, I’d answered. Pizza always made things better.

She’d mimed writing something down. Then it’s pizza. Anything else?

Right away, I got the message. Any time she’d ever done the mime getting-the-pizza thing, I knew she wouldn’t get it, but it was a game we’d played since I was small. Sometimes she’d surprise me. Usually she wouldn’t, but it never bothered me. All that mattered was she was there for me.

My father, tall, slender, with a head of close-cropped blond hair, opened the door, his lean, almost hatchet-like face wearing a smile. People said I looked like him and after assessing my face in the mirror, yeah, they’d been right.

I was short for my age, five-seven, skinny at around one-fifty, with the same pale gray eyes and blond hair. I never saw anything special in how I looked, but whatever. Kym, my girlfriend, had seen something in me. That was what counted.

On the short side of five-one, a little chubby, she had a mane of long, black, silky hair that cascaded around her round, pretty face. Some people commented that she looked like a doll.

To me, though, she resembled the pop idols she was into—idols meaning Korean pop music idols. We were talking big-time into. She was Korean in descent, after all, although she’d been born in Chicago. She liked to say Korean girls were special. I didn’t know about anyone else, but I thought she was hot.

We’d met during my freshman year at Lakeview High School, a small school located at the edge of the city, twenty minutes away from my house on foot. It boasted a small park nearby with a forest, a beautiful view, and a student body that prided itself on ignoring people like me, people who never fit in.

Terminally shy and unsure of what to do or say, I’d gone through school life without making many friends, and my first year at Lakeview had been no different—except for Kym. I’d wandered around homeroom just before nine while the other students had staked out their seats. As always, I wondered if anyone would ever speak to me. A surreptitious glance told me everyone had already paired off.

Two seats were left at the back of the class, near the window. I took one, and then a short, chubby girl slid in beside me. Our teacher read out the roll call, and while he went through the names, she leaned over and whispered, My name is Kym. It’s with a y and not with a small I, okay?

She’s cute and, oh, what to say? Hi, I’m Sam Aushumness. Do you have a last name?

Not the smartest question around, but she didn’t seem to be offended. Yeah, it’s Kim.

It took a few seconds to register. Your name is Kym Kim?

Kym... Kim, the teacher intoned, and the class broke up laughing.

Kym’s mouth tightened, but she stuck her hand up. Here.

Some members of the class continued to titter while the teacher ran down the list. Kym, now stone-faced, probably due to embarrassment, related the rest of her story in a harsh whisper.

My parents are from Taejon, Korea. They didn’t speak English very well when they moved here, so they named me Kym, short for Kymberly. It was a spelling mistake on my birth certificate. I grew up in Chicago, and then my father transferred here for his job. I’ve heard all the jokes before, so if you’re thinking about making one, don’t.

Fine, I wasn’t thinking about making a joke. I’d endured a lot of teasing over my name. It was supposed to be Croatian.

Apparently, my great-grandfather on my father’s side had emigrated from somewhere in Croatia many years ago. At customs, he could barely speak English, and his name got mangled. His original name had been Andrijasevic. Perhaps the official on duty had been hard of hearing or drunk—or a total jerk—because he wrote down an entirely different name. From that point on, my great-grandfather was known as Mr. Aushumness.

Like Kym, I’d taken a lot of teasing for my name, though. Nicknames like awning and awfulness were common, and the class jerk—there always had to be one, and in this case, his name was Ralph Minto—called me Awshitless.

Ralph was a big dude, almost six feet and around two hundred and twenty pounds of flab and muscle. I could run, but I couldn’t hide. Ralph knew that, and he liked to smack me around or insult me on a daily basis.

If he didn’t do it, his older brother, Chuck, did. Larger than his brother and just as mean, he’d always say, My name’s Chuck, and you’re out of luck. Then he’d belt someone.

Ralph had no catchphrase. He hated everyone, and he lived for the attention he got from beating up other kids. An incurable jerk, it didn’t matter if he got detention.

A few students were still buzzing about the Kym-Kim connection. The teacher cleared his throat and class—American History—started. During his lecture, a few stares came my way, but they were for Kym, not me. Call me Mr. Invisible. No friends, but no enemies, either, save for Ralph and his damn brother. I was just another atom whirling away in the cosmos of life.

Class finished fifty minutes later. At my locker, while taking my books out, someone rapped on the metal. I closed the door, and Kym stood there, a tiny smile on her face. Luck or fate or both had played a hand—maybe. Her locker was next to mine. You like K-pop? she’d asked.

Didn’t know a thing about it, but this was a chance to get on her good side. I’m always willing to listen to someone new.

In a flash, a smile crossed her face, and she whipped out an iPod from her jeans pocket and stuck the ear-bud in my left ear. Listen to this.

The music sounded like bubblegum-pop, with high voices singing in chorus and overlaying each other in solid harmony. Not bad, even though I couldn’t understand a word. This is in Korean?

Kym nodded. Uh-huh, you’re listening to A-Tone. That’s their hit song, Whispers. I also like Ladies Age, B-Blue, and C-Aria.

As if I had a clue—not. They’re pretty good.

In a deft move, she plucked the earbud from my ear and wrapped up her iPod. If you’re into it, you can hang with me, and we’ll listen together.

Whoa, this was happening pretty fast. Not that I had anything against it, but why me and why so soon? As if reading my mind, she said, You’re the only one so far who hasn’t made fun of my name. In my other school, everyone just had to say Kym-Kim. She mimicked the other kids, using a high, nasally voice. ‘It’s Kym-Kim, little Korean girl. You like kimchee?’

She snorted. Actually, I do, but I don’t eat it every day. Neither do my parents. They’re pretty traditional, but they like American food.

Her address soon followed. It sounded familiar. That’s Mr. William’s house, I said, realizing that it lay about a minute on foot from mine. He put the house up for sale about a month ago—

And my parents bought it, she smoothly cut in. So, we’re neighbors. You want to come over, it’s okay.

Part of me said yes, but then a word she’d said—traditional—echoed in my head. Uh, are your parents okay with you talking to a guy like me?

It seemed as if she was about to roll her eyes at my dumbass comment, but she didn’t. Look, my dad works with different people all day. He doesn’t care. My mother, though... she might not like it, but she’ll get over it.

Get over it. I wasn’t some disease.

At any rate, she’d duly invited me over, I listened to her sing in Korean, watched her bop around her room like a cat buzzed on catnip, and then, after her solo had finished, Kym latched onto my arm. You’re nice, she’d said, her voice suddenly soft. Do you have a girlfriend?

No, I admitted. Liking girls was one thing, asking them out was another, and getting them to go out with me had so far proved to be impossible.

Well, if you like, I could visit your house, and we could talk and, um, something. Her tone went from friendly to more than a little suggestive, but hey, she could suggest anything—and I’d agree to it.

Okay.

My throat practically closed up saying that one word, but from that time onward, Kym and I were together, not just as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as friends. That was really more important. We talked a lot about music and movies, took turns bitching about the people we didn’t care for, and enjoyed each other’s company.

My parents liked her, too, so her visiting us for dinner and snacks wasn’t a problem. Kym liked my mother, they cooked together at times, and things looked fine. We were supposed to have gone on a date that coming weekend, but then my parents had gone shopping and when they didn’t return, I got a little worried.

Then the doorbell rang. I opened up, and a policeman, short and stocky, stood there. Are you Sam—he looked at his notebook and carefully pronounced my name—Aushumness?

Yes, sir, I answered. Immediately, a feeling, something dark, something bad, came over me. Why would a policeman suddenly show up? Um, why are you here?

Dumb question, but the cop didn’t seem to think so. I’m sorry, son, but your parents were killed in an accident about forty minutes ago. I got the call and came over as fast as I could.

With those words, my whole world caved in. I stood in the doorway, trying to process things, and nothing in the way of an intelligent response was forthcoming. The cop, tall and lean with a thatch of brown hair gazed at me with a look of concern. Son, do you have any relatives around, anyone you could call?

No, no relatives. My parents... maybe they had some, but they’d never mentioned anyone outside of my father’s sister. I’d met her once. Her name was Gunnerill, a name I never heard another person having. She’d come in for a visit after getting married.

That was about eleven or twelve years ago. I didn’t remember her well, but I did recall she’d gotten married to a Croatian guy and had moved to his home country. As for my mother, she’d been an only child, like me. No one, sir.

The cop nodded. If you want, I’ll take you to the hospital.

My voice came out as a faint, Yes, sir. Disassociation had already begun. They couldn’t be gone. They couldn’t! But all the same, I knew they were. Why would anyone lie about this kind of thing?

He drove me to the hospital where I viewed the bodies, silent and still. Massive trauma from the impact of one vehicle hitting another. Their bodies had been crushed, their organs destroyed. No chance of survival. Death had been instantaneous. That was what the policeman had told me in the hallway after the viewing was over.

They had to prepare my parents’ bodies for burial. At the very least, their faces hadn’t been mangled. I’m sorry, son.

Rage hit and hit hard. Where’s the person that did this? I couldn’t kick ass to save my life, but I’d have given it to kick the jerk’s ass, the scumbag who’d murdered my parents.

He’s over there. The cop pointed to a gurney at the far end of the room.

So much for revenge—I was too late. Was the other driver drunk?

He shook his head. According to the report, he had a heart attack and lost control of his car. He was dead at the wheel when it happened.

Suddenly deflated and angry and sad beyond belief, I broke down crying. I couldn’t even yell at the maggot who’d killed my parents. He wouldn’t have heard me. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have done any good.

The policeman took me home and asked me about a guardian again. No one came to mind, so he said he’d get someone from Social Services over. He left, and I sat in the silent and dark house thinking about my parents. They’d been alive only a few hours before. Now, they were two more statistics.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts of death and isolation. Coming, I said, and opening up, Kym stood there. Her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying.

I heard about your parents, she’d said in a voice on the edge of breaking down in tears. I’m sorry.

So am I.

With that, I totally lost it, and she put her arms around me while I cried...

Present

We stood at the edge of the graves, listening to the minister talk about the life and times of my parents. While Kym wept, I made the conscious effort not to break down. I’d already bawled my head off two days ago. My parents had made a pre-funeral arrangement, so after going through all the papers in my father’s study room, I’d found the contract, contacted the funeral parlor, and they said they’d take care of everything once the autopsies had been done.

Now I was here. Becoming an orphan was going to take some time to get used to. Crap like this always seemed to happen to someone else in the movies, but reality—it bit.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the minister intoned.

Wrinkled like a raisin left out in the sun, the minister spoke in a rich, strong, supposedly soothing voice. Soothing to whom, I wondered. To me? He didn’t even know me. He read out the names of my parents—Matthew Aushumness and Karen Aushumness—and then said, To Samuel David Aushumness, their son, I hope you will take comfort in your parents being in a better place.

Spare me. A better place—how could he say that? He didn’t know. He believed. My parents had been in their early forties. Was it their time to go to this better place? No, but this minister, this stranger, had said it like it made it gospel. Little wonder that my parents hadn’t gone to church and neither had I. I simply didn’t have time for it.

The service finished. Time to go home. Kym’s parents bowed politely in my direction and went on ahead. Kym and I walked out of the cemetery and onto the streets. Usually, they were crowded, but today being a workday—Thursday—many people were at their jobs and as for me... nothing.

Do you want me to stay with you? Kym asked, breaking the silence and the clop-clop sound of our shoes on the pavement.

I didn’t know what to say. Shock had settled in, made me numb, but a little voice inside said that being alone was better, at least for now. If you want to come over later on, like, uh, around six, it’s okay.

We parted at my house. Kym nodded.