Children of Redemption Page 11

  “No, the secret is and always will be the money,” I reminded him before accepting the flask and taking a long swing from it. When I paused to breathe, wiping the corner of my mouth, I continued, “They put up with the abuse because they want the money. What is death and pain to poverty? People would sacrifice their own children at our feet if it meant they could get even 1/100th of our wealth.”

  “Maybe that’s why everyone is now thinking they can be us,” Darcy responded seriously, sitting up to the edge of his seat, leaning in closely to me. “No one has checked their greed.”

  Tilting my head to look directly into his brown eyes, I asked, “Then why am I the mad one? Mahdoc? I’m a Callahan. We are Callahans. Everyone knows the rumors, and yet even still they are testing us. Everyone. Our own people. Our city. The goddamn police. They know who we are and what we can and will do, and yet they still come to die. They are the mad ones.”

  “Moths to the flames,” Sedric said while walking over to the one-way mirror, watching as the guards tried to wake Greyson’s sorry ass up. “Just like moths, they can’t help themselves. They are programmed to seek out the light because that’s the only way they know how to survive. We’ve been raised to be flames; they’ve been raised to be moths. They aren’t loyal to us, they are loyal to anything that shines bright.”

  Again, I looked to Darcy, and he gave me the same look. As I put the flask down on the table beside me, we both began to clap, causing Sedric to turn back around.

  “Bravo.” I nodded to him.

  “Who knew you could be so deep?” Darcy said with a laugh, leaning back into his chair.

  Sedric flipped us both off before crossing his white arms over his chest. He leaned up against the window. “I’m not. The first time I saw my dad…at work…I was scared and confused. So I did what I normally did. I played outside in the woods until it was dark outside, and even then, I didn’t want to come back in. I wasn’t sure how to explain to my dad. But Ethan came out and sat next to me. He told me not to see them as the same as us. They were moths. We were flames. Moths that try to touch us must burn. That is the way of the world.”

  “How old was he?” I questioned.

  “Ethan? Sixteen,” Sedric answered.

  “A natural-born Ceann Na Conairte,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “I would have just told you I don’t know why they do the things they do and to just suck it up and get back inside before you freeze.”

  “It was summer,” he shot back, and this time I flipped him off in return.

  “You would have thought of something,” Darcy cut in. “You have your moments. Problem is, you don’t realize when you’re having them.”

  “It’s the mark of a true genius,” I said, winking at him. Rising from the table, I thought for a moment. “It’s late to deal with the Chicago rats. The shipment was today. It will be on the streets by morning. It seems I’m not even going to get a chance to fight the southern cunts anytime soon. After all, I must defend the homeland at all cost.”

  I said the last bit with an Irish accent for my own amusement.

  “Should we take a tour of the Chicago Police Headquarters before it magically…I mean accidently catches on fire?” Sedric asked.

  I gasped in fake concern. “I would never waste the tax dollars of my fellow citizens like that!”

  “So how are you going to find the traitors in blue?” Darcy questioned, now much more serious.

  “Good question,” I replied but didn’t answer the question. I could tell they were waiting, but I pretended I didn’t know. Instead, I looked at my watch, only to see blood had gotten on it. “Goddamn it! I swear these people are the reason I can never wear nice things!”

  Taking it off, I tossed it to Sedric and moved to the mirror, pressing the intercom. “Call the clean-up crew, then have the usual doctor come and have them both checked out…I need them alive. Well, truthfully, I only need Emilio alive, but you all seem fond of Greyson, so I guess he can stay alive as well. Then one of you...actually, no. Let me just end there seeing as you all haven’t been able to even walk and chew at the same motherfucking time.”

  Releasing the intercom, I felt myself tense up again. I flexed my finger. “Darcy, I’m leaving my dog in your care.”

  “I’m not a fan of dogs,” he started to object, until I looked over my shoulder at him. He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine, I’ll happily dog sit while you’re off killing cops.”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone.” I walked over to the elevator. “Didn’t you hear Sedric? We are flames. Therefore, they are killing themselves. Tell Nana I apologize for missing dinner tonight.”

  Entering the elevator, I leaned back against the panels, and just as the doors closed, I heard Sedric say to Darcy “A hundred grand he burns them alive, too.”

  God, I wish it was only that simple.

  SEDRIC

  “He isn’t going to burn them alive, though he probably wants to,” Darcy said after Wyatt left, tossing the core of his finished apple like a basketball into the air and across the room. It landed in the trash bin in the corner.

  “He’s barely holding himself back. You and I both know the longer Ethan isn’t here, the more reckless Wyatt will be. We controlled the OC. Apparently, we no longer control headquarters. That means he can’t go in there guns blazing just because they ticked him off.”

  “He wouldn’t—”

  “Are you sure?” I pressed, and he paused before rising from his chair, adjusting his trousers. Between him, Wyatt, and I, he was just slightly taller, but still shorter than Ethan.

  “There’s nothing we can do for now. He’s decided to deal with this his own way.”

  That was the problem. Wyatt’s way wasn’t always the most logical or reasonable way…actually it was rarely the logical or reasonable way. “Wyatt is the type of person to jump out of a plane without checking if he has a parachute on.”

  “Yet somehow, he has always managed to make it to the ground safely,” Darcy tried to remind me as he walked up beside me.

  “Somehow is Ethan. Ethan has always watched over him. Before that his parents. Our parents.”

  Darcy just shrugged his shoulders at me. “Ethan isn’t dead. If Wyatt gets in over his head, I’m sure Ethan will be back…even if not, there’s us. Both of them become tunnel-visioned when it’s this personal. That’s why we’re here. To see when they can’t.”

  “Glorified side-kicks,” I scoffed.

  A smile formed on Darcy’s lips as he nodded. “Yes. But even glorified side-kicks have their day. We already got what we wanted. We’re in, where we belong. Right now, I’m more annoyed about these ingrates.”

  He meant the people on the other side of the glass. Turning my back on them, I leaned on the glass again.

  “Have you spoken to your sister? It’s dangerous for her to be by herself with all of this happening.”

  Darcy shook his head no. “There’s no need. She’ll be fine. Besides, I pity the fool who thinks of going after my sister.”

  The moment he said it, I tried to imagine what would happen if someone did try to go after her. If Helen of Troy caused a thousand ships to sail, then Helen of Chicago could cause ten thousand bullets to fly.

  There was a price to pay for messing with the women of this family. Ivy hadn’t even been part of this family for three months, and her death already made Wyatt burn people alive. Turning around, I watched as Darcy gave orders to the guard who lifted the broken, bloody, and bruised Emilio from the ground.

  Why do I get the feeling that is still just the opening act?

  NINE

  “You're either at the table or on the menu.”

  ~ Al Capone

  WYATT – AGE FIFTEEN

  “He shit himself,” I said, looking in disgust at the man standing in the snow, in nothing but his now-stained briefs.

  “The weak ones do that a lot,” Ethan said, taking a step beside me, the snow breaking under his black leather shoes. He reached into his jack
et and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, tossing them to me. “You forget these?”

  “I didn’t forget them. I brought my own.” I showed him the dark brown leather gloves I already had on. His green eyes glanced down at them. He nodded but didn’t say anything, putting the black gloves back into his pocket.

  “Have you met my sons, Dentico?” Our father asked as he walked up behind, dressed in a black coat and scarf over his double-breasted suit, on his head one of those flat black caps. When I saw him, I thought we were going for dinner. But apparently not. “The one that looks like me…that’s the oldest. Ethan, introduce yourself.”

  “Hello,” Ethan said coldly, his eyes never looking away from the still shit-stained man standing in the snow in front of us.

  “This is the second one,” my father said as he rested his arm on my shoulder. “Wyatt, introduce yourself.”

  “Why would a dead man need to know my name?” I questioned, uninterested in any of this. I expected him to snap at me for not following his orders, especially since we were in public.

  “As you can see, you and I have something in common,” my father sighed, still speaking to the man who I could only guess was Dentico. “Raising teenagers is a pain in the ass. They barely listen. They’re almost always clueless. They take advantage of the biological link between you, stopping you from snapping their little necks when they’re driving you crazy. I sometimes wonder why the hell I was so excited when my wife had them. They are like little leeches sucking the life out of you.”

  “We’re right here,” I said just in case he forgot. I shrugged him off my shoulder. Ethan, the prince of snow and ice, said nothing because either he didn’t care what our father thought or he knew my father was only talking about me. Either way, fuck him.

  “And there’s that lip,” my father said, stepping in front of us both, the snow crunching under his shoes as he walked. “When they’re talking back like that I think to myself, ‘What the hell is wrong with this generation? Where is the respect?’ It makes me think of how I treated my father. And I laughed because I was a little shit to him, too. Can you believe my luck, Dentico? I got one that looks like me and one that acts like me.”

  My father snickered, taking out a cigarette and putting it between his lips. I looked to Ethan, hoping he could speed this up. To my surprise, the mask on his face broke a little, and he seemed just as annoyed as me. I wasn’t sure, but I was willing to bet he was saying something un-prince-like in his head. Noticing me looking at him, Ethan’s eyebrow rose as he looked to me, as if to ask ‘what?’

  Shaking my head, I looked back to our father, but now he was looking at us both. I froze for a second, and Ethan stood up straighter.

  “Why do we keep these disrespectful brats? Because they are our past and future. I look at my sons, Dentico, and I’m so curious as to who they will become. Did they learn enough? Did I teach them enough? Will they remember this when they’re dealing with their own brats? I have so many questions…but I guess that’s a good thing. It means I know my kids are going to live that long.” He took the second-longest drag of his cigarette. “You aren’t that lucky, however, Dentico.”

  He nodded to someone behind us, and we turned around to see a family in a car. There was a woman and three teens inside, their hands zip-tied, mouths gagged. The teens were about the same age as Ethan and me. Tears were in their eyes as they stared at us. Two of the guards suddenly came to Ethan and I, two Colt M4 Commandos in their hands. They handed one to Ethan and then the other to me.

  “You see your family’s future ends here, Dentico. Mine, my family’s, my sons, it keeps going. No matter what.” I could hear my father step closer to us as he spoke. “On my mark.”

  Automatically, Ethan and I lifted the assault rifles up and aimed at the car—we had been waiting with our hands on the triggers. We heard the man screaming, sobbing through his gag.

  Our father flicked his cigarette forward, and both Ethan and I knew that was his mark. I pulled hard on the trigger, letting the bullets fly, moving closer until my magazine was empty. Lifting the barrel back up when I was done, I tried not to smirk.

  “Really?” I heard Ethan’s voice behind me.

  I turned to him, giving up trying and just full-on smirked. “What? It’s not like I spelt my name.”

  “FU is pretty close,” Ethan responded to the bullet holes in the side of the car.

  “He gets points for creativity,” my father said as he took his own gun, turned back, and shot Dentico between the eyes. He fell over instantly, his eyes positioned so that it looked like he was looking at his car. Putting the gun away, my father added, “You lose points for being sloppy.”

  “What?”

  He grabbed the sleeve of my coat, forcing me to look at my hand. The gloves I’d been wearing had somehow gotten snagged on some part of the rifle by my thumb. It ripped a seam on one of the gloves and even nicked me, drawing blood. Though it was a small rip, I didn’t know. I glanced over to Ethan’s gloves. They were still fine.

  “Those gloves belonged to your grandfather Orlando, didn’t they?” he asked me, releasing my jacket.

  I nodded.

  “How many times must I tell you, you don’t bring things you aren’t willing to burn and get rid of later?”

  I said nothing, knowing that if I said I didn’t realize we were going to work, that it would be a piss-poor excuse.

  He simply shook his head and said nothing more as he walked away. Ethan handed the gun over to one of the guards and tried to walk toward our father, but I stopped him.

  “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”

  “I never told you anything,” he replied.

  I cracked my jaw to the side, but tried to stay calm. This was my fault, I knew that, but I was still annoyed! How did I not see this was going to happen. “Why didn’t you say anything? How did you know we were going to do this?”

  “I didn’t know when we left the house,” he replied simply.

  He was lying. “Then you just happen to wear the right pair of gloves and had a spare?”

  He shook his head. “I always wear this type of glove just in case, and I always have a spare in case I need a spare.”

  He wasn’t lying. What he was saying was that he was always prepared. And that I wasn’t. He said nothing else to me, then walked toward Father, closer to the car, and as he did, the snow started to fall. I watched them both talk, and even though they were close to me, they felt so far away.

  “Wyatt…Wyatt.” I looked to the guard who was pointing at the rifle in my hands. For a quick second, I wanted to ask him why he’d called me Wyatt but called Ethan ‘sir.’ I wanted to ask and shoot a bullet right through his face. But I was out of bullets, so I did nothing and gave the rifle back to him.

  Next time…I won’t screw up. I’ll be prepared.

  WYATT – NOW

  Opening my eyes, I looked up at the sunroof, the dark heavy clouds crawling through the sky and covering the moon.

  “Why do they call you Monk, Mannix?” I asked, lifting the cigarette I’d been smoking back up to my mouth as I leaned into the seat.

  His amber eyes looked back in the mirror at me. “It’s just a nickname, sir—”

  “No one just gets a nickname for no reason, especially in our line of work,” I replied, cracking the window slightly, the cold air rushing in as I blew out smoke. “Why do they call you Monk?”

  “I’m tall and lanky with the face of a teenager,” he said bitterly, looking in the car’s side mirror. “So, when I was an actual teenager, they called me Monk because they say no woman in her right mind would fuck me and so I’d be better off joining a monastery. When I started to work for your family, most of the other guys already knew me as Monk so the name stuck.”

  I sighed, trying not to laugh. “How did I know? I swear, everyone lacks creativity.”

  “What’ch you mean, sir?” he questioned, turning back to me. I just shook my head, asking another question instead.r />
  “If Monk is an insult, why do you let them call you that?”

  He grinned. “Cause it’s funny as hell when I’m fucking their women.”

  I grinned, too, nodding my head. “I’ll call you Mannix then, and since Greyson is…a little under the weather, you’ll be the go-to man between the family and the guards. You do understand how big of a job that is, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You understand what can happen to you if you screw up, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” I said, stomping out the cigarette on the back of my glove before checking the time. “Now tell them to begin.”

  I didn’t say anything more, flicking the cigarette up in front with him before stepping out of the car. The wooden door to Melody’s Garden was already held open for me, despite the fact that it was already well past closing.

  “Welcome, sir,” the old freckled-faced manager said to me as I walked inside. “Your guests are already here. Do you need anything else?”

  “No, this will not take long,” I said to him as I walked forward through the hall lined with Venetian bricks. I stopped when I got to the dimly light dining room. The glass dome above brought in no light, not even the moon. They sat near the saltwater Roman-style fountain, drinking, tossing poker chips on the tables, before laughing amongst themselves.

  “I’m telling you the fastest way to kill a man is to give him a wife. Fatimah has me drinking fucking kale twice a damn day and some fucking protein shake instead of coffee because she read some article by a hack who said there might be a link between coffee beans and cancer!” Major Gutpa replied, chucking a few cards in the center and gulping down the brown liquor in his glass. His brown face bunched together at the taste. His tie was gone from his neck. His black curly hair even more unruly than normal.

  “Just wait until she has you doing chair poses at yoga,” Governor Orton—aka The Alp, as he was even bigger than my Uncle Neal—huffed with a cigar in his mouth as he searched his cards.