Tecumseh
By Tidia & MOG, May 2006
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Chapter 14/18
Dean slumped in the passenger’s seat of the Impala, drumming his
fingers in a staccato rhythm on his thigh. “You could drive a little
faster, ya know.”
Sam shot his brother a reproving glance, but wasn’t surprised that
Dean’s aches and bruises hadn’t slowed down his eagerness to claim
Scarlett’s payment. “You could relax a little, ya know.” He looked back
at the road. “The money’s not going anywhere.”
“The speed you’re drivin’, we’re
not going anywhere either.”
Sam purposefully let up a little on the gas just to spite his brother
and checked the rearview mirror for Cracker’s Explorer. Ten minutes
later, he parked the Impala in front of Scarlett’s house and Dean was
out of the car before the engine was off.
Sam jogged to catch up with his brother, who was already on the porch,
ringing the doorbell. They’d each made a conscious effort not to make
eye contact with any of the gnomes, flamingos, or other plastic
paraphernalia decorating the lawn. They’d had enough creepiness for one
day.
As a testament to their weary conditions, neither Winchester flinched
when Frankie answered the door wearing nothing more than a white tank
top and shorts.
Sam paused just inside the front door, hoping they had not come at a
very bad time. He really didn’t want to picture Scarlett and Frankie
‘together’.
“Damn, Uncle Frankie,” Dean said as he breezed into the house, “it’s
the middle of the afternoon - put some pants on. Scarlett’s got guests.”
“Hold up there, peshewa.” Frankie reached out, catching Dean’s chin and
tilting it to inspect the bruises on the younger man’s face and his
split lip. “If Ben is such a lousy doctor why do you want to give him
so much business?”
Dean pulled away. “Nothing’s broken.” He held his arms away from his
body, as if inviting inspection. “I just need a hot shower, some Advil
and I’ll be good.”
A knock on the open door turned their attention to Cracker entering the
house. He held out his hand. “You must be Uncle Frankie. I’m Cracker.”
“Cracker? Like something you eat with cheese?”
“Uh, well…not quite,” Cracker started.
“Nickname,” Sam explained. “He’s the consultant - a psychic.”
Frankie shook the hand that Cracker had started to withdraw. “What am I
thinking now?”
Cracker furrowed his brow, unsure of what to make of the man before him.
Uncle Frankie interpreted the silence as not knowing and frowned. “How
about now?” When the psychic didn’t reply he added, “I can give you a
hint.”
“Uh, it doesn’t work that way for me. I usually deal with dead people.”
Cracker glanced at Dean and Sam for help, but both merely stood
silently, looking amused.
Uncle Frankie sighed in disappointment. “I was thinking that it’s
always the homeless people who have the best shopping carts.” He
clasped his hands briefly before rubbing them together with enthusiasm.
“Well, I must be psychic ‘cause I figure you’re all here for the money?”
Dean shot him a dry look. “Yeah, mind reading powers and listening in
on the phone call Scarlett got twenty minutes ago.”
Frankie just shrugged at the accusation. “She kicked me out of her
boudoir while she opened her safe.” He glanced down the hall towards
the bedroom. “It hurts that she doesn’t trust me.”
Scarlett came from the room, holding a large stack of bills. “Honey, my
momma said never trust a man when it comes to money or marriage.” She
doled the cash out into two even piles and rested them on a nearby
table.
“Hey, shouldn’t this be thirds?” Dean said, pointing to himself, Sam
and Cracker. “We split it three ways – one, two, three.”
“Man, I don’t do the kinky thing,” Cracker quipped. He took one pile of
money, secured it with a hair band and tucked it into his messenger’s
bag. “You guys are a team, I’m solo.”
A perceptive expression colored his features. “Ya know, I meet a lot of
‘hobby hunters’ in this field. You know – clueless geeks who saw
‘Ghostbusters’ and ‘Poltergeist’ as kids and now spend lots of money on
equipment but who are still just…well, it’s harsh but - clueless geeks.
“But you two,” he revealed a slow smile, “man, you guys got some
craaazy energy. Like fine-line mojo, ya know? That was some nice work
back at the mission. Kept your heads and used what ya had. You’re
naturals, man. You could do this full time, really help people. And
you’d still get to travel…you just don’t have to write a review about
it.”
He looked at his watch, then to Sam. “Listen, can you spread the ashes
over the grave? I would so be there, but I’m due on a plane for England
and I still have to return the rental.” He gingerly handed Sam the
pouch he’d retrieved from his bag. “You guys know how it is – a hundred
grand is a lot of money.”
“A special guy like you into materialism?” Dean asked acerbically,
glaring at Sam for easily accepting the ashes.
“A psychic’s gotta eat.” He bowed to Scarlett and took up her hand,
kissing the back of it lightly. “Thank you. I think the bed and
breakfast will be a great success, but you should think about hanging
some crystals.”
“Ohh, crystals,” Scarlett nodded.
Cracker shook Dean’s hand, but paused briefly before letting go. He
tilted his head slightly. “Man, you really are still bent outta shape
because 'Stacey' wasn't a member of the Swedish Bikini Team?”
Dean couldn’t prevent the startled look that flitted across his face.
Sam leaned towards Uncle Frankie. “Dean hasn’t exactly been Mr.
Friendly - he thought Cracker was going to be a hot chick.”
The older man placed an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Son, you don’t
know the difference between a boy and a girl?”
“Shut up,” Dean mumbled, removing Frankie’s arm from his shoulder.
Uncle Frankie shook his head, and went back down the hallway.
Cracker shook Sam’s hand. “Remember man, we are all special. Call me if
you, ya know, wanna talk or anything.”
He patted Dean on the arm. “You should work on building up a protection
aura so you're not so easy to read."
He exchanged a knowing grin with Sam, but Dean didn’t see the look. The
idea of being easy to read jarred him and he could only focus on
clearing his mind.
Scarlett walked with Cracker to his car. "You were really able to pick
up on that?"
The psychic shook his head with a smile. “Oh, not at all. Sam told me.
It was actually pretty tough to get anything off of Dean.” He shook her
hand. “But, you should really get those crystals.”
Sam laughed when he caught Dean looking out the window, watching
Cracker’s SUV pull away.
“What?” Dean asked, feeling like he was missing something. “I don’t see
what’s so funny; thanks to you we’re stuck making another trip to the
cemetery.”
Sam tightened the drawstring on the small pouch. “I gave him my
cellphone number.”
“Greaat,” Dean drawled, “your own psychic network.”
“And yours too,” Sam added.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy,” he advanced on his brother, but
restrained himself, “why do you torture me? ‘Cause you know I can kick
your ass.”
He ceased his tirade when he saw Frankie coming down the hall. The
cowboy boots and jeans weren’t out of the ordinary, but the
slicked-back hair and loud, striped orange shirt gave Dean pause.
“I’m coming with you boys,” Uncle Frankie said as he buttoned his shirt.
Dean sniffed the air, but regretted it instantly and tried to waft away
the strong fumes. “Did you put on cologne to go the cemetery?”
Sam winced as he got a smell of the pungent aroma.
Uncle Frankie took in a deep breath, happy with the scent. “Yeah, you
never know who you’ll meet.”
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