Home > All the Rage(10)

All the Rage(10)
T.M. Frazier

Not wanting to ruin the moment, I lowered my voice and whispered into the phone, “Don’t worry about a thing, guys.” Sirens sounded in the distance. I smiled a non-forced, not-for-show, rare smile. Warmth pooled in my stomach. “It’s absolutely…beautiful here.”

I sighed again, this time not out of aggravation, but out of a sense of deep and pure satisfaction I felt all the way through to my bones. “And yes, Mom, it’s everything I always thought it would be.”



Next to explosives, tracking people was my favorite kind of job. I thought it was odd that anyone needed help finding anyone anymore. It’s not like it’s hard. Most of the time, all I do is get online and turn on my inner Belieber fan-girl. Within minutes those chicks always knew where, how, when, and who their idol was with. I was the same way, except my clients paid me for my stalking and after I’d found who they were looking for, it sure as shit didn’t end with high-pitched screaming and a selfie.

Well, maybe not the selfie.

Babysitting, on the other hand, was my least favorite job. It was something I’d avoided for the entirety of my junior high and high school careers no matter how many times my parents told me the Jefferson’s were looking for someone to watch their twins after school. Yet the second Smoke called, promising me his next two explosive jobs, I agreed like Golumn with a fucking ring. Next thing I knew, I was high up in a tree, in ninety-degree heat, straddling a branch while waiting for my target (of my babysitting services) to make an appearance.

“You know how fucking boring this is, right?” I whined into the phone.

“Sure do, that’s why I’m not fucking doing it,” Smoke said, sounding amused.

“You suck.”

“Nah, that’s what the bitches are for.” There was a pause, and I heard a shuffling followed by the faint sound of a woman’s voice. “You sleep at all this week?” Smoke asked, changing the subject.

I sighed and adjusted my position on the branch, giving me a better view of the side of the house. I didn’t know why he always asked me that question. My answer was always the same. “I guess that depends on what you consider sleep.”

“Rage, zoning out for an hour or two sitting upright with your eyes open is not sleep,” Smoke scolded.

“Sorry to disappoint you then, Daddy, but no, I haven’t slept.”

In years.

“As much as I like to be called Daddy, I only like a woman calling me that when she’s underneath me and I’m holding her knees up while I shove my cock in her.” Smoke chuckled. “So unless you’ve changed your mind and given up your aversion to dick, then you best keep that shit to yourself.”

Smoke learned very quickly when we met that whatever he considered to be charms were completely lost on me, but he never stopped trying to get a rise out of me anyway. He didn’t understand that in order to be offended by something, you have to care about it first.

I didn’t.

However, it seemed to amuse the hell out of him, so good for him, or whatever.

“Uh-huh, sounds good,” I said, barely paying attention as a light inside the house switched on, bathing the windows in faded yellow. “What exactly am I doing here?” I asked again.

“Just keep an eye on the boy. If anyone who looks like his parents come to the house, you call me. You think he knows where they are, you tell me. It’s simple. I need you to watch everything and report back. Get as close as you can.”

I sat up on the branch and bit the side of my thumbnail. “You sure you don’t want me to just take him out? I’ve got to change the oil on my Vespa and—” Smoke cut me off before I had the chance to tell him about having to get back to watching the eBay auction where I was currently the high bidder on a six-inch serrated steel blade with Swarovski crystal handle. It looked just like the small tattoo on the nape of my neck and it had been on my wish list for months. Fuck if I was going to be outbid by SPONGE_BOB_DAD_6969.

“No. Don’t fucking take him out. Not yet, anyway. Wait for my word,” Smoke sighed, sounding frustrated. “And I’ll change the oil on your fucking pussy scooter after I’m sure this kid doesn’t know where the fuck his shit-bag parents are. But you don’t do shit until you hear from me. Got it?” I heard the distinct sound of a lighter sparking, followed by a light blowing of smoke across the receiver.

“How long do I have to be here for?” I asked, conceding to Smoke and reluctantly accepting my babysitting fate. The auction ended on Sunday, and I knew I couldn’t do it from my phone, not with the reception in this town that had Smoke’s every third word cutting out.

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