Pepper Potts was wrong.
Even if that waitress at the restaurant wasn't a witch, there was already another one in New York City—one who had just arrived and was preparing to start a brand-new life.
A genuine, high-quality, certified witch.
Carrie White.
Not the Carrie White born and raised in Maine; that girl was officially "dead." The Carrie Locke spoke of was also from Texas. Or, to be precise, she was about to beco Clinton Chester's illegitimate daughter.
*Pfft!*
"You said what now?"
In his classic Arican detached ho, bearded Clinton Chester sprayed a mouthful of Lone Star beer across the room. He stared at Locke, who was sitting on his sofa with his legs crossed, sipping bourbon.
"Illegitimate daughter?" Chester's face soured. "When the hell did I get one of those? I don't know anything about this! Besides, I have a granddaughter, for god's sake!"
Locke shrugged. "Your granddaughter is only five. Carrie is seventeen. It's not like she's younger than your granddaughter, so there's no biological impossibility. Relax, I've handled the details."
Chester's thick beard practically twitched in anger. "Handled the details? My ass! I knew it. All that talk back in Texas about being 'pure' and 'waiting for the right person' was total bullshit. You just didn't think Texas girls were high-class enough for you, didn't you? You've been in New York for less than a year and you're already trying to stash your won at my place?"
Back in Texas, before Chester moved, he used to tease Locke constantly about experiencing the "taste of love." Locke's answer had always been: I'm waiting for the right person.
Chester had actually believed him. Now? He suspected Locke just looked down on Texas girls who could handle a rifle and pin a bull to the ground.
"Hypocrite!" Chester wiped the beer from his beard. "Locke, I'm retired."
Locke interrupted, "I know. And I've always said I'm the one who's going to take care of you in your old age and bury you when the ti cos."
Chester let out a cold laugh. "And this is how you take care of ? An illegitimate daughter? Think about the logistics! If this gets out, where am I supposed to hide my face?"
He was nearly sixty. A seventeen-year-old daughter? His own grown daughter would explode. His wife had only passed away ten years ago; this would imply he had been unfaithful while she was alive.
"No." Chester shook his head firmly. "Handle your own sses. You promised you wouldn't bother . Is this your idea of a guarantee?"
"Really? No?"
"No."
Locke leaned back, watching Chester huff and puff. A slight smirk played on his lips. "Are you sure you just don't want an 'illegitimate daughter' interrupting your... extracurricular activities?"
"What activities?"
"Chester, there are four boroughs and hundreds of strip clubs in this city. Every single one of them knows you're 'vintage but vigorous.' I heard you called for five girls in one night recently. Can your heart even handle that?"
"...Are you spying on ?" Chester's eye twitched. He stood up and stomped toward his bedroom.
Locke didn't move. He just took a slow sip of his bourbon. A mont later, Chester ca back down.
"Where are the bugs?"
"What?"
"How many listening devices did you put in my house?"
"I didn't put any."
"Bullshit! Then how—" Chester stopped himself, coughing to clear his throat. He sat back down across from Locke, his Texas-bred "mountain man" eyes glaring intensely.
Locke chuckled. "Chester, seriously... using a credit card? If you're short on cash, just tell . I'll give you so. I thought it would be hard to find you out, but then I pulled your credit card statents. I couldn't believe my eyes."
Truly, the bright lights of the big city had corrupted the old man. The funniest part wasn't that Chester paid for his 'services' with a card; it was that he labeled every transaction as "Consultation Fees."
Technically, sexual health is a form of consultation.
Chester snorted. "You don't know a damn thing. That's how the guys on Wall Street do it. You save a fortune on taxes co April."
Locke shook his head. "The people on Wall Street are jackals. Are you one too? Those girls work hard; using a credit card is just tacky."
"Five thousand a night, kid. They take Visa."
"..."
Five thousand a night? That wasn't just high-end; that was top-tier. Locke felt a brief flash of envy, then let it go. He had no prejudice against the profession, but he wasn't about to drive his "Little Locke" onto a public racetrack. Everyone knows public roads have the most accidents.
Locke looked at Chester. "Look, I'm not asking for Carrie to live in your house. Haven't you noticed the house next door was bought recently?"
Chester looked through his window at the white house across the yard. "You bought it?"
"Yes."
"Deep pockets. What if Gwen finds out?"
"I'm not a cheat," Locke rolled his eyes. "I think of Carrie as a sister. And besides... are you so retired that you don't even watch the news?"
"I watch the news," Chester grumbled. "But my cable package is entirely adult channels. I don't watch anything else."
Locke's brow furrowed. "So you haven't heard about the things I've been up to in New York lately?"
Chester paused. "You've been doing things? What things?"
Locke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. On one hand, he was glad Chester had made a clean break from the underworld. On the other hand, the old man's complete lack of concern for his protégé's life was incredibly irritating.
He thought back to the credit card statents—specifically one from a famous gay club in the city—and quickly shook the image from his mind. So people get hornier as they age; Chester seed to have lost his "standards" entirely.
Chester reached for his phone. "What kind of ss did you make? Let see."
"Don't bother. You won't find it anymore."
SHIELD might be incompetent at many things, but when they wanted to censor sothing, they were terrifyingly efficient. In just two days, all ntion of the Peerless Assassin had dropped to near zero. The tabloids had been gagged.
Locke looked Chester in the eye. "Carrie is a witch."
Chester froze. "Co again?"
"She's a witch. Rember that 'explosion' in Maine I went to investigate?"
"You an..."
"Yes." Locke nodded. "I faked her death and brought her to New York. She's been with Dr. Hans Keller. The surgery is almost finished."
Chester frowned. "Hans Keller? The underworld's premier plastic surgeon?" He looked at Locke with confusion. "Since when do you associate with witches?"
As a Texan, Chester was no stranger to the supernatural. Texas had seen its share of demons and cowboys; the last official witch trial in the country had been held there.
Locke saw the concern in Chester's eyes. "Relax. Carrie is a very kind person."
Unfortunately, the world had mistaken Carrie's kindness for weakness and pushed her too far.
Chester wiped his face. "If she's so kind, take her ho yourself. Why dump her on ?"
"I'm an orphan, rember? My 'family' is just ."
"So? You want to show off?"
"No," Locke laughed. "I faked her death, but creating a 100% airtight legal identity is difficult and ti-consuming. However, if she's your illegitimate daughter... as long as you don't deny it, her identity becos ironclad the mont you claim her."
Locke gave him a thumbs-up. "Smart, right?"
"Smart my ass!" Chester stood up, his finger pointing at Locke's nose. "So, for the sake of your little witch, you're willing to ruin my legendary reputation? You're betraying your master!"
Locke blinked. "The master who taught you to be an assassin... is he still alive?"
Chester's jaw tightened. "He's been dead a long ti."
He'd killed him. That was why he'd never let Locke join a formal assassin organization.
Locke nodded. He waited for Chester's anger to subside, then looked him in the eye with perfect clarity. "Chester, in this world, you are the first person I trusted unconditionally."
Chester looked at Locke's innocent face and sneered. "And the first person you've decided to unconditionally screw over."
Locke smiled. "Chester, you're the first person I cared about. I'm not screwing you over. Do you really think I'm just asking you to babysit her?"
Chester squinted. "Aren't you?"
Locke's smile widened.
***
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