Knack (Benjamin Brown Book 1) Read online

  Published by:

  JETLAUNCH

  www.jetlaunch.net

  First Edition © 2015 by Tom Twitchel

  ISBN: 978-1-941142-81-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy. Requests to the publisher for permission should be addressed to [email protected].

  CONTENTS

  BOOK ONE

  Wake Up Call

  (Present day)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  BOOK TWO

  My Adventure Begins or How I Got To Seattle

  (Two years ago)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  BOOK THREE

  The New Paradigm or When Things Went Batcrap Crazy

  (Present day)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  BOOK FOUR

  My Summer of Discontent or Rip Van Brown

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BOOK FIVE

  Sophomore Year or From Bad To Worse

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BOOK SIX

  From Worse to Awful or Don’t Try To Be A Hero

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  AFTERWORD

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There is no way that I could thank all of the people who contributed to this book in some fashion.

  Thank you to my Kickstarter backers. Truthfully this book would not be in your hands without them.

  Lewis, Charlie, Dan, and Chris thank you for helping me to get this to print.

  Several people who worked at Streamers years ago…your passion for a very famous series that was popular at the time motivated me to write this particular story.

  To Ken, Ryan, Sean, Scott, Rob and Mom for reading through the whole (lengthy) manuscript, not pulling punches and giving me encouragement.

  But most of all to my best friend and the love of my life, Michelle. Every man should be so fortunate to have a partner like you.

  Lastly thank you for buying this book. Your interest and support are what inspires me to write.

  FOREWORD

  My name is Benjamin Brown. This is the first of my journals. If you're reading this, I'm older than I describe myself in this journaled story. A cousin of mine has my blessing to publish it after certain events have taken place. The references to time are contextual, so although Chapter One declares it is “present day,” that only applies to the beginning of my journaling. It does not refer to 2014, 2015, or any year thereafter. Some may read it and question whether a teenager would use the words I chose. To that I would respond: Don't underestimate the intelligence of the average teenager. I would add that to assume I was still a teen when I started writing this would possibly be a mistake.

  BOOK ONE

  Wake Up Call

  (Present day)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Things in my life haven't been, how to put it, normal for years. When stuff gets weird, and pretty much stays that way, normal takes on a different perspective I guess. On a school day during my freshman year in high school, when I'd adapted and built my own version of normal, I got the proverbial wake-up call and it reminded me that I am not the master of my universe and that there are other things in the big bad world that roll on no matter the cost to others.

  I was in my favorite place to hang out and just daydreaming while watching a man who I thought I knew. I started wondering how he had gotten to be who he was. I mean, I've often wondered what it would feel like to get old, like him. What would I look like? What would I be when I got old? Maddy and I have this debate from time to time. Like most days when I was visiting the shop she was with me and so was Baffle.

  Maddy's my best friend. A guy couldn't ask for a better friend because that would be so rude. My other friend is Baffle, boy genius (I'm not kidding), social klutz and nerd extraordinaire. He was the first friend I made in my new life, and we've been through a lot together.

  So the getting old thing. I always asked myself that question when I visited Goodturn's pawnshop. That's the owner's real name, Goodturn. It seems like he should have gotten into something else: handyman, traffic cop, driving instructor or even a priest.

  Mr. Goodturn is ancient, not really, but close, and short, really short. Like “don’t-call-me-a-dwarf” short, which, all things considered, is probably only an inch or two taller than a legit little person is. He wears glasses that had to have been cut from the bottom of Coke bottles because no one would pay good money for glasses that thick and that ugly. He’s a little chubby and wears old man type clothes, baggy pants, not gangster baggy but dress pants baggy, suspenders and a V-neck wife-beater. He doesn’t have much hair left, but what does still ring his noggin and grows out of his ears is red. So, he’s probably like sixty or seventy, which is pretty old, and close to ancient.

  The shop is cool and so is he. He lets me browse and doesn’t mind that I never buy anything—almost never. He’s chill about Maddy and Baffle too, as long as Baff doesn’t break anything, and he almost never does. Anyway, Mr. Goodturn is what I think old should be. He’s not cranky, and he treats everyone with respect. He owns his own business and his business is old stuff. No weapons though, no guns, no knives, swords, nunchuks, whips or military antiques. I asked once why he didn’t sell guns. He said, “It attracts the wrong element.”

  So, he isn’t dumb either, and come to find out, there is more to him than meets the eye, a lot more.

  The shop is in a crappy part of town and that isn’t good. Goodturn’s has been burgled and held up a bunch of times. But the strange thing about that is that he’s never been hurt, there’s only been minimal damage and nothing has ever been stolen. I asked Mr. Goodturn how that was possible, the law of averages and all, and he said, “Good security.” I’ve looked for the cameras. They must be hidden really well.

  I’m personally glad that he hasn’t relocated
to a different part of town because that would make it harder for me to hang out in his shop.

  I live one building over, and I’m kind of slow. Slow moving I mean, not brain-wise. I’m actually pretty smart, although Maddy insists that she’s smarter. She might be. The fact that we attend different schools makes it hard to debate, and it would be kind of a drag if she were smarter than I am, because Baffle is easily the smartest one in our little band of geeks, and that would make me…the special friend?

  So, on this particular day, during what was at the time my fourteenth year on the planet, I had been doing a lazy survey. There is always something new, as in “old” new, and I like to look through the vintage books and records. That never gets old.

  That’s a joke.

  Mr. Goodturn was doing some tinkering with an old-fashioned piggy bank made of lead, depicting a bear and a gun. You load a coin in a slot on the top of the gun. When you pull the trigger, the bear’s mouth drops open and the gun fires the coin into the bear’s mouth. Maybe that’s why most kids have trouble saving money. They need an avaricious bear and a handgun. Okay, maybe not.

  Without looking up, he said, “Where’re Maddy and your other friend, Benny?”

  “In back, by the forty-fives.”

  “You told him not to handle them too much right?”

  That was him referring to Baffle, who was not only socially clumsy but was also extremely uncoordinated in all three dimensions. “Yeah. He knows the rules Mr. Goodturn.”

  “Good enough. Thank you.” Then he went back to working his magic on the old coin bank.

  The glass case he was using as a workbench has some of the best stuff in the shop in it. It’s all out of hock and can be sold for profit. I’ve had my eye on a particular piece in that case for a while. When my possessive gaze traveled to the little black velvet pillow where that special treasure had rested for months, I was more than a little upset that it was gone. My underwear was completely wrapped around my axle. I started to ask Mr. Goodturn who the hell told him he could sell it without asking me first when the bell at the front door did its little happy dance.

  There’s a rule almost as important as “Don’t break stuff” in Mr. Goodturn’s shop. It’s: “When a customer comes in, you and your friends need to be quiet.”

  So, I faded into the aisles out of sight and waited for the paying customer, if he really was paying, to get his business done and then get the heck out.

  What little I could see of him through the shelves, the customer looked different from most and not in a good way. He was tall and big, kinda fat but also tough looking. His down jacket was so dirty it looked black, but I was pretty sure it had been blue at one point, kind of smelly too, not just B.O. but also a sort of rotten meat smell and stale cigarette smoke. The earlier thoughts about pet food did not mix well with the new aroma that had wafted in.

  He walked by and I could see his pants and boots through the junk on the shelves between the front counter and me. The old jeans he was wearing probably hadn’t been for a spin in a washer in a month of Sundays. The boots had so much dried muck caked onto them that I couldn’t tell what they looked like when they were new. So, then I got worried because I highly doubted that this was a paying customer, more like a “give-me-your-money,” cash withdrawal type of customer.

  Large and greasy lumbered up to the counter and Mr. G asked him what he could do for him. Seems like an ironic question in retrospect.

  “You know why I’m here. You can shut your yap and empty the register while you’re at it gramps,” said big and smelly.

  “Sorry son. Can’t do it.”

  “Shut your hole. Open that till and bring it to me!” yelled Meat Stink.

  “You’re not listening, son. You’re not getting what you came in here for and you’re not getting the money either. Turn your sorry butt around and toddle on back where you came from and we can both pretend you didn’t come in here.”

  I couldn’t see the gun, but I heard the chamber being worked and bad-breath-boot-wearing-badass screamed at Mr. G. I didn’t really hear any distinct words, just yelling. I’m sure he said something clever, but I was a little freaked so I didn’t take the time to commit anything to memory.

  Then there was no noise: No more witty repartee, no gunshot, no yelling. Maybe a little gurgling sound that I couldn’t place. I waited a few minutes and then decided to sneak around the shelves and take a peek at what was happening.

  When I did, I was aware that Maddy and Baffle had snuck up beside me and were peeking as well. All three of us drew in our collective breaths. There was something seriously whacked going on. Big and, now easy to see, ugly was rooted to the spot. Not frozen like in the movies when something weird happens, he was breathing. I could see his chest moving. His eyes were bugging out, and the veins in his neck were popping out too, as if he was straining to open a jar of pickles and his life depended on it. He was also pointing a huge handgun at Mr. G.

  Mr. G was standing in front of the guy, which looked pretty comical, like a miniature bulldog staring up at a mangy Saint Bernard. He was slowly prying the guy’s fingers away from the gun. He was really careful; a lot like when he worked on stuff that needed to be repaired before it could be sold. He had the pinky and the finger next to it bent loose, and he was working on the middle finger.

  Not bothering to look in our direction, Mr. G. said, “Don’t you young people make any noise or distract me.”

  While we held our breath, Mr. G continued to peel back digits until the gun was liberated. Stepping back, he popped the clip out of the handle, worked the slide and shook his head.

  “One in the chamber.”

  Walking back behind the counter, he unlocked a drawer using one of the keys on his huge key ring that hung on his pants, opened the drawer, carefully placed the gun, magazine and single bullet into it and gently pushed it shut, as though shutting it too hard might make the gun reassemble itself, load and discharge. After locking the drawer, he walked back to the man, who by this time had started to shake a little. Small bubbles of spit were collecting at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were tearing heavily.

  Mr. G grabbed a handful of his jacket and gently drew him into a bent position. He leaned close and whispered something in his ear that I couldn’t make out and then turned to me.

  “Benny, I need your help. Would you mind watching over the store while I take this man for a walk?”

  “How am I supposed to help your customers? I don’t know where anything is.”

  “I’ll hang up the “Closed” sign. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  I looked back at Maddy and she just shrugged. Baffle stood there with his mouth hanging open.

  “Sure. Okay,” I said.

  Mr. G gently pushed the big dude back into a sort of straight posture and took his hand. He looked back at me and smiled before he headed to the door towing his shuffling, smelly caboose behind him. They looked like an elderly father leading his mentally disabled adult son. When he got to the door, he flipped the sign around so that it read “Closed” and headed on out.

  “Geez,” breathed Baffle.

  “Oh, puh-leeze! Is that the best you can do? What the hell is going on Benny? What happened to that guy? Have you seen that happen before? Is it like your…stuff?” Maddy asked, her pert nose screwed up as if she had just smelled something bad.

  “Uh, nah.” Me of the eloquent wit and lyrical vocab.

  “OMG! You two!” she said as she hustled to the door. She opened it and leaned out using the door handle as a tether. We watched her hang like that for a while.

  “Close it Maddy. What if someone tries to come in?” I said in a whisper. Like who was gonna hear me?

  She rewarded me with a condescending look, an eye roll and then stuck her tongue out and sent a loud wet raspberry in our direction. She’s a multi-tasker that one.

  Baffle and I were getting nervous while she was hanging there and were about to sidle up and have a look ourselves when she leaned ba
ck into the store.

  “What’d you see?” asked Baffle.

  “Nunya.”

  “Huh? Nunya what?”

  “Nunya business!” She dissolved into a bunch of giggles, pointing at Baffle’s wounded expression. She played it off as a joke, but I could tell that she was a little spooked by what she had seen. I’d have to pry that out of her later.

  “That’s so funny,” growled Baffle.

  “No, you’re funny,” laughed Maddy.

  “No, you’re—” Baffle’s no doubt withering retort was cut off by the sound of the bell jangling nervously at the front of the shop.

  Mr. G walked in, started to reverse the sign, thought again and left it in place the way it was. One of his ropey-veined hands flipped the deadbolt and the other pulled the chain on the “Open” sign. The neon extinguished immediately and the storefront was noticeably darker.

  Turning to us, he said, “So, let’s have a chat. Shall we?”

  None of the three of us had a quick response to that. We just checked off on each other and watched him walk over to us. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but he seemed a little sad.

  “Well?” He peered up at us over the tops of his glasses because even though we were all just kids he’s a half a head shorter than I am.

  I was the first one to remember how to talk. “Um, sure.”

  “Okay. How much did the three of you see?”

  “See what?” Maddy quipped. “I didn’t see anything.”

  Baffle followed her lead, “Yeah. The big dude? What was so special about him?”

  “Ah, that’s encouraging. I know how smart you three are and I know you saw more than my recently vacated non-customer; but if you think you can consistently forget any other details I might be able to open for business tomorrow without any new worries.” He smiled and cocked his head to one side looking, for all the world, like one of Santa’s helpers.

  “What new worries would you be…um…worried about?” I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maddy rolling her eyes and shaking her head at my word choice.

  “Concerned parents for one. Law enforcement for another. I’d rather avoid both, given the choice.”