redfield

"JEEZ, MAN. THIS IS NUTS." Topper says as he, Kelce, and Rafe walk in his backyard. He points to a beaten-up sailboat resting on his back porch.

"Agatha's a bitch." Rafe speaks up, he stumbles over his feet in a constant buzzed state.

Chuckling Kelce agrees, "damn right, she is."

"I mean, I just— I can't get it out of my head. It's just on repeat." Topper says, motioning to his head.

"Oh, how's your ball sack by the way?" Rafe asks, laughing at Topper.

"Fuck off. You know, what are you gonna do about that bitch touron anyway?" Topper cringes, thinking back to the night of the kegger.

"Yeah, how do you know she won't go to Peterkin?" Kelce pesters, biting his lip nervously.

"Because that dumb cunt can't do anything to me. I'll probably get a week's probation at most." Rafe says nonchalantly, taking a sip of his morning alcohol.

"It doesn't help that she's got that crazy pogue pussy-whipped." Topper says under his breath.

"Bro, he's got a fucking semi-automatic."

"That's what I'm saying. It's insane."

"They're freaking pogues, man," Rafe adds. "You know you should get a piece." He turns to his younger friends, his face revealing a devilish smile.

"What do you mean?" Topper asks, confused about what he was going on about.

"Well, that faggot whore has been getting a little too close to Sarah. Who knows? She might fuck her too."

"What? Wait, are you talking about Martha?" Topper asks, holding his hand out on Rafe's chest, to make sure he heard that right.

"Yeah, you didn't know? Sarah's a little fag. Martha's a big titty fag, who has a crazy little shit of a pogue attached to her hip. Whatever. You gotta fight fire with fire and defend the homestead." Rafe rambles on.

"Listen, guys, I-I'm gonna get 'em back, all right? I'm making it a little project of mine. Just don't bring Sare into this."

➵ ➵ ➵

"AND WE WERE RIGHT OUTSIDE LIKE THIS." JJ reenacts dramatically as he shuffles down into a squatting position against the brick porch wall. A rooster crows in the distance. "And all we hear is just, Bam! Bam! Bam!"

Martha is diagonal across from him, sitting on the edge of a brown recliner. She's nervously bouncing her knee as she watches him retell the story of earlier today. John B is standing right next to her, his fingers clutching around the rusty compass he's grown so attached to. Kiara sits across from Pope, on a teal green woven chair, as he is on a dark teal couch.

"Knocking paint off the wall, G! From the inside." He pushes himself off the wall and gestures dramatically over to John B. "All right? And I'm just looking at him, like—"

"Wait, first off," he bends down and walks quickly over to the pair. "Look at this shit," he harshly brushes his fingers through his hair, allowing an obscene amount of paint to drop from his head onto the floor.

"That's dandruff, disgusting," Kiara mumbles under her breath.

"Look at all that, all right?" JJ finally finishes as Pope pushes him away. "That's paint."

"At that point, I was just, like..." he looks up at Marty. "I'm waiting for death." He blurts out. His eyes are red from fear.

"Oh, okay, so you saw the guys that shot at us, right?" Pope asks, trying to move the story along.

"Yeah, they were them," Marty speaks up, trying to give JJ a breather.

"Um, did you- did you get a good description of them? What'd they look like?"

"Yeah, anything?"

"Anything we can bring to like a police report, maybe?" Pope turns his head to look upon a frozen John B, a nervous Marty, and a pacing JJ.

"Burly." JJ blurts out, his eyes on the marsh.

"Burly?" Pope deadpans, he was hoping for something more.

JJ nods, "you know, like—"

"That's not very helpful," Kiara scolds.

"Well, give us a break Kie," Marty asserts. Kiara turns around, flabbergasted. "You're lucky we're even talking right now, cause I'm still processing what the fuck happened."

"Okay, well, no, like the type of guy at my dad's garage." JJ defends, adding to the description of the two burly men. "I mean, you guys know he made cargo hides for drug smugglers." JJ discloses, his face growing red as he blushes from guilt.

"Yeah. Yes. No, we know." Kie agrees with him.

"So, I can tell you with full confidence guys, these boys, these killers," his breath becomes heavy as he sinks back on the brick wall. He quickly holds his vape to his mouth, sucking the fumes at a swift pace, and breathing out smoke. "They're square groupers."

"They're square groupers, like narco square groupers?" Pope counters, sounding done with this whole conversation. "Like, Pablo Escobar square grouper?"

JJ relishes in another hit of his vape. "Yeah, man."

God, he looks so hot.

"You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie," Kie chimes in.

"Yeah, I really wouldn't call them that. But, they are bad news." Marty says, shifting in her seat.

"What does this square grouper look like? Specifically?" Pope queries, getting increasingly more upset.

"You weren't there, bro." JJ shakes his head, pacing to the railing.

"Cause apparently! You don't know what to look for!"

"Dude! I wasn't taking little mental polaroids the entire time, man! I was under duress, okay?!" JJ thunders, his face growing red because he was finally out of breath. Pope finally shuts up and allows the blond boy to explain.

"Okay? But I can tell you..." He pauses, holding his tongue for a moment to stabilize his lungs. Marty looks at him with worry. "I can tell you by the way that Ms. Lana was screaming, that these guys are serious, serious hombres, man."

John B finally rolls off the ol' porch railing and pops open the compass. Then he shuts it. Then, he opens it again. Marty can tell his mind is racing.

"It's a heavy vibe right now, okay?" JJ points out, holding his vape between his fingers. "I'm not liking this very much."

"Okay, but why do they want the compass?" Kiara quizzes.

"Right, it's a piece of shit. You couldn't pawn it off for five bucks if you wanted to." He pauses, "no offense, John B. I know it's in your family—"

"The office." John B mumbles out.

"What?" Marty speaks, her curiosity compelling her to stand up next to her friend.

"My dad. My dad's office." John B stammers, walking past his friends and into his house. "He always kept the office locked because he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research. I mean, we used to laugh at him all the time like he was gonna find it." He rambles on as the rest follow him towards the backroom. "But now that he's gone, I've just kinda.." he stops, staring at the closed door. "I just left it as he kept it."

"Yeah, for when he comes back." Kiara points out. JJ and Pope give her a strange look, unnoticed by John B, but it is stopped when Marty gives them a disapproving glance.

John B hesitates for a moment but hastily unlocks the bolted door and swings it open to reveal a little room filled to the brim with books and maps.

"Wow, I've slept over here like 600 times, and I've never seen this door opened." Pope gawks at the sight. Kiara hums in agreement.

John B shuffles around his dad's workspace, eyeing a family tree on the wall, grabbing it, and laying it out for all to see. "Here, look. This is the original owner, right here." He points to an old photo of a captain.

"Okay. Robert Q. Routledge, 1880 to 1920. There's the lucky compass, right there," Kiara points out the old pinchbeck compass in the coat pocket of the ancestor.

"Actually, um.. he was shot after he bought it," John B admits, gaining fearful looks from his friends. The rooster crows again. "Then the compass was shipped back to Henry." He points to the next suitor in line. "Henry was killed in a crop-dusting accident when he had the compass." Martha turns to look up at JJ.

John B continues, "after he died, the compass was given to Stephen." He points to a young Vietnam war veteran. "Stephen had the compass with him when he died in Vietnam."

"Let me guess, he died in action, right?" Martha asks.

"Sort of," John B trails off. "Uh, a-actually, he was killed by a banana truck. In— in country."

Martha sighs, shaking her head. "Great, just great. Spectacular, even."

"Uh, anyway, after that, Stephen passed the compass down to him," he points to a more modern photo, "my dad."

"Hm. Sounds like there's a recurring theme here," JJ muses.

"Yeah, um you have a death compass," Pope agrees.

John B scoffs, "I do not."

"You have a death compass," Pope repeats as JJ begs his best friend to get rid of the darn thing. "It's cursed, and made its way back to you."

John B shakes his head, turning away and pacing back and forth. "Look, my dad used to talk about this compartment in here." He sits down on an available stool, inspecting the gadget. "Soldiers used to hide secret notes." He adds, twisting off the cap to reveal an inscribed message in the metal.

"What's that?" Kie points out.

"That wasn't there before." John B murmurs. "This is my dad's handwriting." He smiles, looking up at his friends.

"How can you know that?" Pope asks, crossing his arms as if he's not buying it.

"Because he does these weird Rs with the—" he flashes the chicken-scratch word. "—See it?"

"Can I see it?" JJ asks, and John B shows him. He bends down, trying to read the weird handwriting, "Red— Rout— No, I think that's an A." Marty is right over his shoulder, deciphering it as he speaks when it finally clicks.

"Redfield."

"Okay, well, what's Redfield?" Kiara asks, looking over at Martha.

"Besides the most common name in the county," Pope deadpans as John B puts his hand on his head.

"Oh my God," Marty admits, breaking away from the group as she begins to pace. No way, no fucking way.

"What's up, McFly?" JJ asks, causing the rest to look up at the pacing brunette.

"J! No wonder I've been thinkin' about this fucking compass nonstop!" She laughs, realization flourishing her smile. "I knew I'd seen that knot somewhere before." She points to the tool, the object still enclosed in Johnny's hand.

"What? What is it, Marty?" John B questions.

"Redfield is my mother's maiden name."