Hard Place: HARD PLACE, #3

By R A Jacobson

When your day starts with a close friend stopping by and trying to kill you, you know the rest of your week can only get better. 

 

Unfortunately, for Jacob, that's not the case. 

 

*****

Hardened and tired from so many years of pain and anger, Jacob wants nothing more than to spend his days making 'shine, sitting by his field, or sharing stories with his buddies. Unfortunately for Jacob, his haunted past includes real demons and the fresh blood on his driveway screams more trouble to come. When the people around him start dying and Jacob is forced to question everything he once knew, there's only one thing he can be certain of: The Judge is to blame. 

 

Meanwhile, Matt has just begun his career as a private investigator and already has a trench coat and a big case. His mentor, Allan, is missing. Between the strange phone calls, the unsettling men with manic smiles, and the increasingly unnatural circumstances, Matt may be in over his head. With a newfound love on the line, however, the young PI may have to risk it all to get to the bottom of what's going on. 

 

Jacob and Matt want answers; there's a lot at stake. When Mr. White and The Judge meet at the crossroads, Jacob and Matt could lose everything. 

 

Hard Place features a series of illustrations by R. A. Jacobson, the author. For the fully illustrated graphic novel edition, please see Hard Place: The Graphic Novel

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R A Jacobson
• Release date: Sep 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781990182082

Book preview

JACOB SHOOTS BILLY

A smudge appeared on the horizon. It was still far away, but he knew his afternoon was about to be ruined. 

Jacob had dragged a chair from the porch into the lee of the garage to sit in the weak warmth of the early spring sun and drink a beer. He had thought it might be a good afternoon to have a couple. He leaned forward in his chair. Doc lay beside him, didn’t move, just gave a low growl like a warning. Jacob looked out across the fields. The smudge was now a small cloud. A growing shape of dust kicked up from an approaching vehicle. He had time. It was still a ways away. He took a swallow and squinted at the cloud of dust moving fast on 78. Too far still to see who was kicking up the cloud, but a warning was sounding in his gut. 

Looking away from whatever was approaching, he scanned the fields. God, has it always been winter? When he thought back, all he could recall was winter, and not the cold, deep, clean winter, but the mucky end where everything is grey and dull brown. When nothing has begun to wake, but the air occasionally holds a hint of life, of warmth, a promise of spring.

He couldn’t remember a time of crisp, clean snow. A time when the air smelled so fresh it hurt. When the snow muffled everything, the quiet dropped around your ears like a heavy blanket. When your breath frosted the second it left your body, and your footsteps squeaked like rubbed glass. Nor could he remember a time of sun, warm and bright, of bare skin and green leaves, sunburnt shoulders, and cold beer. He had seen photos of himself smiling, arms around a friend with his shirt off, his young skin tanned, but it didn’t feel like it was him. It felt like a fantasy, something that had happened to someone else in a movie he watched once and vaguely remembered. 

His Gran used to say minutes get smaller as the years press down on them. That’s why, as you get older, time moves faster. He hadn’t understood then, he does now. Jacob smiled at the thought of her. 

Beer in hand, he leaned back in the chair and pushed his cap up. He smiled, enjoying the small taste of warmth and imagined he could smell the musk of waking earth. He looked out across the fields. Some snow clung stubbornly to the half-frozen muddy ground, the occasional bare patch of dry crop poked through. The trees with their branches like dark skeletal fingers scratched at the steel grey-blue sky.

A photo came back to Jacob. One, he remembered well. In the photo, he stood in front of Clyde, weight on one hip. It was a few days after he had made his stupid deal and got Clyde. What an arrogant little fuck, still completely unaware of how stupid he was. 

That wasn’t him now, but he still could remember that boy, his whole life in front of him. He was filled with anger and unearned confidence, convinced he was right. He knew in his heart the entire world was wrong, and he alone knew what he was capable of. He would change the world. His dad couldn’t know, how could he, he was old. Jacob winced at the memory of the words he spat at his father. He remembered the pain he had seen in his father’s face, and at the time, he had thought he had struck a chord. Now, as he looked back, he knew. It wasn’t his words that had cut his father, but the knowledge that his son was still a boy, not a man, and was doomed to repeat the mistakes he, himself had made.

Jacob smiled, he always seemed to drag his wisdom a year or two behind himself. At the time of the photo, it was days from Grad, and he was looking forward to the night. Mary Lou would be waiting for him. He was going to pick her up in Clyde, his brand-new truck. Until then, they had gotten a bit sweaty on her parent’s couch, never going too far. A brush of a steely nipple, a heated tangle of hair but always the hooks, buckles and zippers in the way. Miles of dusty moonlit road would have been the only witness to his defeat of those barriers. Nothing he had planned for that evening had turned out. 

He took a swallow of his beer, tipped his head back and closed his eyes. There was no breeze in front of the open garage door and the sun felt warm on his face. Behind him, Clyde sat partially shaded in the garage. 

Yes, this was nice, he thought. He relaxed a bit more, trying to ignore the memories, the regrets seemed to come back to him more and more of late. Nothing in his life happened as he had hoped it might. He supposed everyone thought the same at some time in their lives, maybe more than once. He knew he had, but unlike most people, he knew the precise moment it had all turned to shit. With that thought, the warmth left him. Suddenly, the sun was not as strong and enjoyable as it had been. He took another swallow of beer. 

Pulling himself from his reverie, he watched the dust cloud getting closer, still far off but definitely closer. In front of the cloud, the sun glinted off chrome and red metal.  

Hey, Clyde? Ain’t that Billy’s truck? An’ it ain’t Thursday. Whaddya think? Jacob asked over his shoulder.

Don’t look right, came Clyde’s reply.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t get up, Doc. I’ll be right back. Doc didn’t move. 

Jacob hated knowing this was trouble, most of all hated to abandon his plans for the afternoon. Something wasn’t right, something was coming. Doc lay still, head on his paws. 

Resigned, Jacob stood, stretched. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man who moved with a spareness, an economy that spoke of power. His steel eyes burned beneath a heavy brow and a long grey beard lay nearly to his chest. 

He sighed, he finished his beer, set the bottle down by his chair and went into the house. After a minute, he returned, the screen door banged behind him. In his right hand, he carried his grandad’s old shotgun. 

The dust cloud was closer with the distinctive red truck out front. Jacob watched the truck turn off township road 78 and onto his lane. He sat down with the cold barrel across his thighs and waited, watching as the truck came on. He recognized it. It was Billy’s, a friend and driver for many years. Any one who knew Jacob knew better than to use the front lane. It was a signal there was trouble. Jacob’s lane was long, straight and gave him plenty of time to prepare for unwanted visitors. If it were the cops however, there wasn’t anything to find today. All the shine had been shipped. There was the still of course, but that wasn’t going to add up to much.

He sat back in his chair. This didn’t feel like the cops. The dust rushed past him as the truck rolled to a stop. After a long minute, Billy and another guy got out. A guy Jacob didn’t know. Billy knew better, no new guys were brought without warning, not ever. Billy waved as he walked toward Jacob. The stranger held back a step, avoiding Jacob’s eyes.

Hey Jacob, Billy’s smile was forced.

What’s up, Billy?

Billy paused, glanced back at his friend then asked Jacob, Is that yer Coach side?

Yeah, this is my grandad’s old Stoeger. Is that why you came out this way?

Well, Jacob. Don’t rightly know what’s goin’ on, but I hear tell that Clyde’s up for sale.

Clyde? Jacob frowned. 

An’ your contract is expiring.

What the fuck? Clyde said.

The movement was subtle, but when Billy’s friend slid his hand to his back, Jacob saw it. Planting his feet, Jacob swung the barrel of his Stoeger around and up, pulling the trigger almost at the same time. The recoil from the Coachside nearly rocked him off his chair though he was set for it. Billy’s Beretta was halfway out of his pocket as the pellets tore through him. A black shadow like smoke from an oil fire, with burning eyes and bright razor teeth flew up and out of Billy with a scream that seemed to come from far below. Billy’s body hit the ground with a wet slap. 

By then, Jacob had swivelled and pulled the trigger a second time. Billy’s friend’s 9mm was out and aimed when Jacob shot him. With a roar, the shotgun’s recoil pushed Jacob and his chair back several inches, the wooden legs scraping in the gravel. Another long-toothed shadow screamed past as it left the man’s body, wild eyes glaring at Jacob before it disappeared like smoke.

Doc raised his head but didn’t move.

Jacob stood and looked down at the mess in front of him. What had been men were now puddles of bloody skin and clothes splashed across the driveway and the red truck.

They’re Skins! Clyde said.

Yup, with a swallow, Jacob finished his beer. So hows come you didn’t see that, Clyde?

Something’s not right here. I shoulda been able to see ‘em.

Well, Shit. An’ I was havin’ sucha good afternoon.

Jacob walked into the house. Brandi sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, naked as usual. Jacob had met her when she started working at the Ol’ Scratch Tavern on 11. He had thought she was something else, and he wasn’t alone, but she wasn’t interested in him, nor any other guy for that matter. Despite that or because of it, they had become friends. When he found out she was living out of her car, he said she could stay in his spare room. That was a couple of years ago, and she was still here. It wasn’t long after she moved in, he found out that she had a thing about clothes. Every time he came home, she’d be naked, hanging around. The first few times he came home to a naked woman he had enjoyed it, but now, it was kind of a pain.

She stood up and walked over to Jacob as he put the Stoeger up on top of the fridge.

Was that Billy, you just shot? she asked.

Naw. Wasn’t Billy. A Skin.

A Skin? They haven’t been around for a while.

Been years. I’m heading over to Billy’s to check.

What’s to check? If it’s a Skin, then Billy’s gone. You better take Clyde.

Shit! No. I’m not taking Clyde. I fucking hate taking Clyde. You know that. Jacob angrily pulled on his leather jacket and headed for the back door.

You should take Clyde. Jus sayin’.

Inside Jacob’s head, he heard Clyde say. I should come along.

I’m not taking that fucking traitor. He’s from The Judge, Jacob stormed.

Get dressed, Brandi, and go to work. I’ll call when I get to Billy’s, Jacob said over his shoulder as he walked down the back steps. He ignored Clyde. 

Outback, he threw his leg over his bike, took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. The day had started out ok, but now... Jacob rocked his bobber upright. He stood, putting his heel on the kick starter, toggled the choke to half, pulled back on the throttle, rose and shoved down. The bike started immediately. He sat and smiled briefly at its rumble. He loved this bike. It was his escape every time he rode it. He and his friend Steve had built it up from parts they had scrounged. It was basically a 1940 Harley with a 34 front end and a rebuilt knuckle. Billy had helped weld the frame.

Shit, jus sitting here ain’t gonna help, He knew Billy was gone, but what the fuck? Why were the Skins back? And why now?

In minutes he tore down the lane, east on 78, through the crossroads, north on 89, then turning out on 11, heading towards Billy’s farm. The farm was west of the Ol’ Scratch tavern on 11 and about a half an hour north on the gravel road that took you back to town, eventually. 

Billy had lived alone after his wife packed it in. His trailer was up on blocks with grey weathered plywood surrounding the base stuffed with hay bales to keep the cold out. It wasn’t pretty. It was beaten down with a corner partly bashed in from when he had come home a few sheets to the wind and run into it, but it was enough. It sat next to his garage, where he spent most of his time when he wasn’t out delivering for Jacob.

The afternoon was slipping as Jacob pulled up, the air cooler than he had figured. Jacob leaned his bike and walked up to the trailer. The door was open.

Billy? Jacob called quietly. 

Like most trailers, everything was cream and brown, even the shag carpet under Billy’s recliner. The place smelled bad, like the shop around hunting season, with the unmistakable iron smell of blood and meat. Jacob walked past the surprisingly clean galley kitchen to the front room. Most trailers had its furniture built-in, so nothing would bounce around when you moved. Billy had no intention of moving his, so he had pulled much of it out to fit a couple of big overstuffed black leather recliners. One was covered in magazines and empty beer cans. The other held Billy. The blood beneath the chair had spread and soaked into the carpet. Billy sat in his recliner like he had fallen asleep watching TV, except his skin was gone. He stared up at Jacob, grinning, no eyelids to close, no lips to cover his teeth.

Jacob was shocked how small he looked, somehow without skin, he was diminished. Billy looked more like a large child, not a full-grown man. His thin arms hung by his ribcage and legs dangled off the chair. The flesh had dried to nearly the same shine and texture as the leather recliner the body sat in. He couldn’t find the Billy he had known. He was shocked to notice his manhood was gone. Of course it made sense, it was skin after all, but somehow it made it all worse.

Shit, Jacob said. He looked around at the mess, but it was the mess Billy lived in; no sign of a fight or anything.

Jacob pulled his cell out. Yeah, I’m over at Billy’s, he’s looked better. Brandi, keep your ears open. Need to know if Billy was into anything other than the shine. Jacob peered behind the chair and was shocked to see Billy’s dog. And Brandi, they skinned Boozer, so tell the boys to keep an eye open for it.

Jacob hung up, stood staring at Boozer lying on its side in a dark pool of blood. He had liked the mutt. It was old, its fur was always falling out, but it was a good dog. More than seeing Billy, the sight of the poor dog staggered Jacob and brought a lump to his throat. He stood unmoving. When the tear rolled down his cheek, he started. The smell of meat, pungent and heavy, was overpowering. He had to get out. 

Panic rose in him. He looked back at the body in the easy chair, not seeing Billy, only seeing meat. He turned, banging into walls in his haste to get out. The trailer bounced as he jumped down. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him. No point. Jacob stumbled, nearly falling. He pulled his cap off and bent forward. For a second, he was sure he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes, willing the sight of Billy and his poor old dog from his mind. He knew they would be there