Tuesday, August 9, 2016
The Dark Heart ~ Part 3
“I’m out of my league,” said Jackson, gazing up to the house.
“Just enjoy yourself,” said Tucker, “Now come on, we’ve got us a Genna to catch.”
“For the love of God man,” said Jackson shaking his head as they started up the stairs. “She’s not a fish.”
“Isn’t that what this whole game of love is?” said Tucker. “One big fishing trip. You cast out your line and hope you get something tasty on the other end. You get a catfish, you throw it back and hope for a nice rainbow trout.”
“What if the rainbow trout doesn’t like you?” asked Jackson.
“See, that’s your whole problem with Genna,” explained Tucker. “You’re so caught up on whether the fish likes you, you forget you’re the fisherman. You have all the power.”
Jackson stopped and raised an eyebrow at Tucker. “That’s barbaric.”
Tucker paused and shook his head. “No, it’s life. You want something, you’ve got to be the fisherman and take it, or you end up being the fish.”
Jackson chuckled, shook his head and started walking again. “How are we friends?”
“Because, I’m a fisherman,” said Tucker giving Jackson a playful punch on the shoulder.
Before Jackson could responds a tall man stepped into their path. He was dressed in all black, with his black hair slicked back. If it weren’t for the twinkling lights around the front door, Jackson was sure all they would be able to see was the man’s pale white face.
“Invitations, please,” the man said in a bold bass voice.
“Hi Igor,” said Tucker, grabbing the invitation from his breast pocket. “You always work the door these things? You’d think your lady boss would let you enjoy the party from time to time.”
“Aw yes, Mr. Hearst the comedian, I see my hopes you had a previous engagement were in vain,” said the man. “I’ll remind you once again, my name is Alister.” He looked Jackson. “I need your name please, sir.”
Jackson held out his hand. “Jackson Hunt.”
Alister shook Jackson’s hand and then scribbled his name on a clipboard, Jackson hadn’t noticed before. “Hunt … an Anglo-Saxon old name indeed, originally from Shropshire, I believe?”
Jackson gave Alister a smile. “Wisconsin is as far as I go back, I would have to ask my mother about Shrophire. She’s the family historian and I’m afraid I haven’t given it much thought.”
“You should remedy that,” said Alister.
Alister handed the invitation back to Tucker and Jackson notices some silver writing on it that hadn’t been there before. The pen Alister had used when writing on the clipboard had been as black as the man’s hair.“Your invitation is both your ticket in and out. Please do not lose it,” said Alister. He looked directly at Tucker. “Mr. Hearst, the upstairs chambers are off limits, consider this your only warning. We are not running a brothel.”