Tuct Side - 17. Chapter 13

Sunday, August 26^th, 2012

The next day was West and Kaspar’s first day volunteering at Tuct-In.

It was a rather anxiety-free welcome, knowing the children there, or at least some of them, were a part of the Jiving Four fanbase. Plus, their jobs were simple. Supervising a bunch of kids took a lot of time to get used to, but since the two teens had younger siblings, that experience box was checked off. Theresa was a big help as well, aiding them in getting to know each child.

One child, in particular, knew about them more than most.

Jack Kiersten, the little blond boy who was the first to notice the cousins the first time they came around, was shaping up to be their number one fan. He was a motor mouth, but in an adorable way. West felt his ego inflate when the kid seemed to attach himself to the captain, wanting to know the ins and outs of his individual talent. It didn’t take much time for the teen to make a best friend in the eight-year-old boy.

He wondered if it was because of their hair.

Sometime after lunch, while Kaspar spoke with Theresa as they watched the kids frolic around the backyard playground, Jack accompanied West to the restroom. The latter was sure the former went earlier, but his infatuation was so cute he didn’t bother pointing it out, happy for the kid to tag along.

“How are you so good at basketball?” the boy went on. “Me and Ian tried doing that one move where you steal the ball and toss it to another guy, then they give it back to you so you can shoot, but it’s hard…”

West chuckled as he headed into a stall and thought about it. “I think I do that twice a game only. The other team usually picks up on it.”

“Can you teach me? I really want to join the basketball team at my school so I can be famous like you one day.”

The older blond lit up at that.

“Say no more, buddy. Consider me your new coach, but you got to promise me something first.”

“Yeah!? Anything!”

West smiled. “A good teacher always knows their students. You can do that, right? Tell me about yourself? What you like and don’t like? Hobbies? I wanna get to know you better.”

“Mhm! I can show you my room. I have my drawings in there!”

“You’re an artist?”

“I’m starting to like it and Therrie says I’m good,” Jack giggled.

“Then, I already know you’re good. I’m excited to see them, little dude.”

West could feel the little boy bouncing on his heels in eagerness. Jack scrambled out as the older blond finished up. He was genuinely interested and serious about wanting to get to know the kid. As he got older, he was starting to see basketball as a money maker rather than a passion. Playing it was slowly losing its appeal, but teaching it and hopefully passing on his prowess to the next generation was a whole new and thrilling experience.

Now, West was sure he was only in the restroom for twenty more seconds, so he was perplexed when the hyperactive kid wasn’t anywhere close.

“Jack? Bud? You there?” he called as he peered down the three colorful corridors.

He couldn’t have gone that far.

He was about to head down right, which led to the outside playground, when his hearing picked up a couple of voices from the left, one high-pitched that could only belong to a child and a deep baritone, a gruff pitch of an older man.

There was a sudden weight in his stomach that felt like lead. His mind flashed to the recent AMBER alerts, which only served to make his insides grow cold. Last night, it had hit him how stupid it was to leave Ophelia in the house after finding out about the oddly scheduled warnings. Missing children were easy to find on their own, but when involving a second, older, sick, and twisted party…

West hurried toward the voices. Jack was definitely one of them, but the other was less familiar. That is until he turned the corner and connected eyes with Bran Morterero. The big guy had his hands on his hips, an amicable grin on his face as he listened to Jack yammer happily.

“Yo,” he mouthed and nodded.

West slowly moved forward. “Hey-”

“Clutch!” Jack beamed, pointing at the large man. “It’s Bull!”

“Bull?”

Bran chuckled. “Name on the court. Nice t’ meet ya again, Double Clutch.”

The older Morterero’s hand dwarfed West’s as they shook hands. It made the hairs on his arm and neck stand even straighter as if those wooden eyes cutting into him hadn’t set him on edge already. He’s never heard of any Tuct Side basketball player called “Bull.” That nickname was more fitting for football or wrestling. He’s heard of Hangman, but Bull?

Not a word.

“You guys met already?” Jack piped up.

West had to stifle a wince, honestly forgetting the tiny kid was present for a second. “A week ago, right? We didn’t talk much because we just got there while you were just leaving,” he braved to look back at Bran in the eyes, placing a palm on the little boy’s head.

From the outside, it looked to be an affectionate gesture, but the sudden streak of protectiveness got harder to control the longer Jack was in Bran’s vicinity. It was a completely different feeling he had with meeting Neil, but there was just something… off about the older sibling. Something West could sense but wouldn’t be able to point out in words.

Thinking back to the night at Malt Chimney, he wasn’t going to doubt what his guts were telling him right now.

“Was in a hurry,” Bran pointed his thumb down the hall behind him. “Just got off from talkin’ with my girl, so I guess we caught each other at a bad time again.”

Jack pouted. “You’re not staying, Bull?”

“Sorry, Jacko. Not this time, but I’ll be back so you can properly introduce me to Double Clutch here, yeah?”

“When?” Jack asked as the man started backing away.

“Not sure, but you keep watch, ya hear?” And then, he was off. As quickly as he’d shown.

Off down the hall that West now knew did not lead to the exit. Or at least, the front side.

“Okay! Bye!” the smaller blond waved. The bigger one remained silent and unmoving until Bran was out of sight. “He’s so cool! Maybe next time, you guys can play basketball together! It’ll be like one of your games.”

West forced a smile. “You think so, bud?”

“Yup!”

As the kid talked, West’s mind ran over the short conversation again and again. “Just got off from talkin’ with my girl.” He must have meant Theresa.

However, the last time he saw Theresa, which was about six minutes ago, she was talking to Kaspar.

So, why the hell was Bran Morterero really here?

“We can do something for Isaak’s birthday,” West mentioned to Kaspar as he drove back home.

“Isaak’s birthday? I don’t think Uncle Fried and Auntie Sofie would appreciate that. Plus, I thought your big bro was reformed and all.”

“I’m not counting on Isaak to liven up the party. Dad will be there, and you know this whole town loves him.”

Despite always saying he was done with his party days, West knew his father wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hang out with his longtime friends.

“Oh crap, you’re right!” the redhead jolted forward, but sagged back down again. “It’ll be weird for your old man and his buddies to hang around with a bunch of teens, though. Unless we can host a big event for all ages. Maybe a basketball game with your dad’s old teammates.”

West shrugged. “If we do that, we might as well invite the entire town. No one’s gonna want to miss that.”

Kaspar thought for a moment. “We should probably save that idea for another party. At the start of the season, we’ll have another party during tryouts. That’ll surely turn everyone-”

“What… the fuck…?”

The redhead blinked in shock, rarely ever hearing his cousin mutter that particular swear word. “Huh-” But then his attention was drawn toward the Kuttner residence. “Meine Güte…”

West parked on the edge of the driveway, where his mother, father, Ophelia, Kaspar’s parents, and Kaspar’s little brother, Leonhard, looked on in a mix of anger, fear, and bewilderment. West’s mom hurried toward the two as they got out, their eyes not moving from the garage door.

“Oh my god! Boys, you-” a frantic and shaking Sofie looked them over, then back at her husband, who was furiously pacing their driveway while cursing in German.

Kaspar’s parents were nearby, Elmar, Kaspar’s dad, on their phones in a hushed tone despite the situation and Karlotta leading a perplexed Leonhard and Ophelia into the house, doing her best to shield their sights from the garage door.

“Mom,” West took her in like she did them, checking for any injuries. “A-Are you guys okay? What is… what happened? Who did this?”

“I-I’m not sure, honey,” she sputtered. “We… we took Ophelia and went out for lunch as soon as you and Kaspar went to work. It must’ve… I don’t know, it must’ve been done for the few hours we’ve been gone.”

It must have. And it must have only taken several minutes.

In purple and maroon spray paint were inscribed a threat that sent waves of ice-cold fear down West’s spine.

STAY ON YOUR FUCKING SIDE