by B. B. Hamel
“How about you let me go? That’d make things even.”
He grinned at me, head tilted, and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “You don’t want that, little diamond. Come on now.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
He leaned over the table. “Because you’re hard and beautiful. Even if you don’t know just how much you sparkle.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
“Good line.”
He bowed his head. “Thank you.”
“I guess I’ll come up with some new ideas for the store. How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Month, probably. In the meantime, I got another spot you can work.”
I sat very still and stared. “Excuse me?”
He looked toward the football game. The announcers sounded excited.
“I got another store. It’s a little piece of shit bodega, but you can work out the back.”
“You almost got me killed and you’re still going to make me sell drugs?”
“You won’t be selling anything. That’s not the job.”
I threw my hands up. “What the hell is the job, then?”
“You’re going to sit in the back room and watch TV all day until the Jackals come. Then you’re going to call me.”
I dropped my hands and leaned back in my chair staring at him. I could barely understand what he was saying. My ears started ringing.
“You want… me to be bait?”
“Pretty much.”
“Owain. What the fuck?”
“They know what you are. They know you’re my little shop girl. So wherever I send you, that’s where I got the stash, right? They’ll follow and they’ll come again. Different guys, same goal.”
“They’re going to kill me.”
“No, they’re not. I won’t let them.”
“They almost did last time.”
His eyes turned toward me. I saw a strange, hard intensity in his expression as he leaned closer. “I wasn’t ready before. And now I am.”
“Come on. I’m not being bait for you. No way. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Then consider this a new deal.”
I clenched my jaw. “I won’t do it.”
“Too fucking bad. Hedeon said I’m on my own, and this is the plan. We lure them out, we kill them, we move on. This is your part and you’re going to play it.”
“I want more then.”
His eyebrows lifted. “More?”
“More money. I want more. You said two million, right? Ten percent? I want twelve percent.”
He barked a laugh. “Fuck that.”
“Fifteen then.”
“Careful.” His voice was dangerously sharp.
“I’m not joking. You want me to risk my life? Then you better pay up.”
He opened his mouth but slowly shut it again. I stared back at him and crossed my eyes. My heart raced so fast and my mouth felt dry, but I couldn’t back down. I might pass out or puke, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t give him what he wanted without getting something in return.
Otherwise, he’d walk all over me and take anything he wanted.
“Twelve percent,” he said. “That’s more than you deserve.”
“Fine.” I held out my hand.
He took it and shook, and held on longer than he should have. He stared into my eyes and leaned forward.
Then pressed his lips against my knuckles.
I felt a strange pulse of something exciting rush through my chest as he looked back up at me.
“Don’t fuck this up.” He let me go.
I pulled my hand back. “All I have to do is sit around and look pretty, right? I can handle that.”
He smiled. “Especially the pretty part.”
“I set you up for that.”
“But I took it willingly.”
I leaned back in my chair and tried to calm down. I felt sweat break out along my arms.
“I mean to ask you before. What’s the deal with Hedeon?”
He cocked his head and sipped his drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why are you so loyal to him?”
He didn’t speak for a moment then reached out to push the glass of whisky toward me. “Drink with me and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
I hesitated, but took the glass and sipped it. The liquid burned a smoky smooth rope down my throat.
“Why Hedeon? He looks like a math teacher. I don’t get how he’s the head of your little… what do you call it? Crime family?”
“We’re just the Crew,” he said. “And I know how Hedeon looks. But there’s something hard in that man.”
“I still don’t get it.”
He leaned back and swirled his drink. “Hedeon brought us together. He found us when we were all young and stupid and still looking for a place in this world. He brought us all together.”
“How many of you?”
“Ten to begin with. Lots more now.”
“So he’s the brains?”
Owain gestured in the air. “He’s the… conductor. You know, like at a symphony?”
“Hearing a classical music reference come out of your mouth is a little weird.”
He grinned and kept going. “He keeps the whole thing running. Keeps us all bound together. And yeah, in a lot of ways, he’s the brain. But he’s not the only brain. We have a sort of… council.”
“You have a council.”
“We meet a few times, talk about the direction of things, and go from there.”
“Democratic.”
“Not exactly. Hedeon still has final say, but he takes guidance.”
“Where did you all even come from? How’d he manage to find ten guys that wanted to get into a life of crime?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I met Hedeon when I was young. It’s not a nice story.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He cleared his throat and finished his drink. I sipped mine as he stared down at the table for a long moment.
“I told you how me and Clifton got into some shit back in the day. Well, I met Hedeon one morning while trying to rob a liquor store.”
“Trying to?” I made a face. “Doesn’t sound promising.”
“I was fucking drunk. Still drunk from the night before. Had no money and nothing to lose, so I figured, why not? I waited for it to open and I just… held the gun out. Wasn’t so hard, you know?”
“But it didn’t go right.”
“No, it didn’t. Hedeon was there, in the store. He just watched. I remember that, him just watching, like it was interesting. He wasn’t scared at all.”
“Creepy.”
“Yeah, he kind of was creepy. So I’m robbing the store and waving the gun around, and I turn my back on the cashier to grab a bottle I wanted— and that was when the guy pulled a shotgun on me.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yep, he had me. Could’ve blown me to little pieces. Except Hedeon threw a bottle at him as he brought it around. It was like slow motion, the bottle in the air, the shotgun aiming toward me, and I couldn’t turn to face him fast enough.”
“That’s insane. Seriously I kind of don’t believe you.”
“Believe it. He threw a bottle and it smashed right into the clerk’s face. Knocked him back a step and gave me time to turn and shoot. Killed the guy right then and there, left him lying bloody on the ground. First guy I ever killed.”
I felt my breath hitch and covered it with a sip. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Jesus.”
“I had a hard upbringing. Drunk mom, dead dad. The usual fucked up story.”
“Sixteen though. And you killed a guy.”
“Hedeon was impressed. He helped me out, you know? Taught me the ropes, got me thinking straight. Made me realize that knocking off liquor stores in the middle of the morning was probably a bad idea.”
“Right so instead you’re dealing drugs.”
“Among other things.” His eyes met mine again and he grinned. “I know what you’re thinking. That’s worse, right? But you’d be so wrong. Robbing liquor stores is a high risk, low reward proposition. Selling drugs is high risk but high reward. We pull it off, we get rich. If I manage to rob a liquor store, I get a couple hundred bucks. Not a good gamble.”
“Glad Hedeon make you think of the odds more.”
“I am too. He gave me a spot in the Crew and let me bring Clifton along, at least until he left and formed the Jackals.”
I finished the glass of whisky and sat there for a second trying to get myself together. I felt a little dizzy after his story. I tried to picture a sixteen-year-old Owain murdering a liquor store clerk in cold blood, but it was surprisingly hard. The problem was, I couldn’t picture Owain as anything but a muscular, hard-eyed man. The kid he used to be was too far removed from the man he’d become.
But we all had a past. We were all kids at some point, even the big scary gangsters.
I pushed the glass away and leaned back. “So he saved your life then. Hit some guy with a bottle and saved your ass.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“And here you are now, thriving.”
He laughed and shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Guess I owe him too. If it weren’t for Hedeon, my brother never would have met you.”
His eyes darkened a touch. “Your brother would’ve met someone like me sooner or later.”
“You really think so?”
“Your brother was broken. I know you couldn’t see it, and maybe you don’t want to hear it— but that’s the truth.”
I felt a stab of anger rush through me. He could dangle me out there like bait in his little war and he could talk about murdering innocent people all he liked— but talking about my brother that way was a step too far.
I pushed my chair back. “You don’t know him.”
“I know him, little diamond. I know lots of guys just like him. And they always manage to find a score whether it’s me or someone else.”
“Maybe he would’ve done drugs. But you trapped him with money.”
“Would’ve been someone else then. I know you hate to hear it darling, but it’s the truth. Your brother was rotten and stupid, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
“Go to hell, asshole.” I walked around the table, trying to get away from him.
He reached out and grabbed my wrist. I barely had time to suck in a breath as he yanked me toward him. I stumbled off balance and fell into his lap. I tried to get up, tried to pull my hand away, but he held my tight and kept me there.
I whipped my free hand up and out, slapping him across the face.
He grimaced and his eyes burned fire. I held my hand there then slowly dropped it back to my side. The bruising around his nose and eyes was a faded mustard yellow from where I smashed him with the metal rod but I could tell it still hurt him.
“Be mad all you want, but I’m not the enemy.” His voice was soft but still tinged with a flair of rage.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping me captive.”
“Your brother dug this grave. You’re just the one that has to lie in it.”
I struggled. “Let me go.”
He held me there another second, staring up into my eyes. Then released me.
I got off his lap and took a few steps away. I turned and looked at him, prepared to give him more shit.
But in a flash, I saw all the things I’d missed:
My brother, high as a kite one night, laughing about nothing.
My brother coming into work late, week after week.
My brother borrowing cash from the register and never paying it back.
My brother taking product from the shelves for friends.
All the little things that would’ve added up to something if I could’ve seen it.
Instead, I was so sure that he’d gotten better.
Maybe I wasn’t so innocent in all this. If he hadn’t brought money in, I would’ve said something sooner. But because he kept finding more checks, I was happy to let him screw around and be a dick.
All I cared about was the store. I never asked him where the money came from and I never questioned his own mental health or what kind of trouble he was getting himself into.
I couldn’t step back from my own problems and my own world long enough to see that he was suffering.
I failed him in a lot of ways. So when he turned to a guy like Owain for money for the store, I couldn’t even begin to see what was right in front of me.
I turned away from him and stared down at the floor. I was angry, so angry, and I knew I had no outlet. I wanted to rage and scream and fight, but it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t bring Jason back to life. It wouldn’t absolve me of all the guilt I felt.
Instead, I walked to the stairs and disappeared back into my room.
Back into my cage.
But at least I was alone and didn’t have to squirm under Owain’s intense gaze.
I could stew in my own self hated and self-pity as much as I wanted.
9
Owain
I almost felt bad for the girl.
She was still in mourning. That much was clear. The next day she moped around the house and tried to pretend like she didn’t have a hangover from a single glass of whisky. I hadn’t even filled it to the brim. She didn’t meet my eye and didn’t speak, and I didn’t bother trying to pry words from her pretty lips.
She hated me, wanted me gone. So I left for the afternoon.
Rolan and Viktor stood in her shop, sweating through their t-shirts. The place still stank like melted rubber and smoke. I leaned inside the door and watched as Rolan ripped out some dry wall and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“You guys good?”
He looked over. “What’s up, boss?”
Viktor stopped worked, took a cigarette from his pocket, and lit up. “When I joined this merry band, I didn’t know I’d be doing this sort of fucking work.”
“You do whatever you got to do,” I said. “That’s how this goes.”
He shrugged and took a long drag.
“I hope you got a backup plan.” Rolan kicked at some crumbled drywall on the floor. “I can’t imagine this place is ever gonna be the same.”
“We’ll manage. Anyone stop by asking questions?”
“Couple guys, actually, but I think they were just curious tourists.”
“I’m surprised the fire marshal hasn’t been here yet.”
Viktor grunted. “You know how it goes around here. You don’t talk to cops or fire marshals.”
I laughed. That wasn’t strictly true. South Street was an affluent area and wasn’t exactly the hardcore Cosa Nostra controlled parts of deep south Philly. But the silence still held, I guessed, and that was good enough.
“I want this place finished in a month. Whatever it takes.”
Rolan snorted. “It’s gonna take a lot more than the two of us.”
“Hire guys. It’ll come out my pocket.”
“And materials?”
“Same deal.” I hesitated, eyes scanning the space. The floors were scorched, the walls barren and half-ripped to shreds. “The girl wants a say in how it all comes out in the end.”
Viktor laughed. “You letting her be your interior designer now?”
“It’s her shop.” I gave him a look. “You want to do the design instead? You got some bright ideas in that stupid fucking head?”
“I got ideas.” He took a drag. “They’re all shit, though.”
Rolan laughed. “Whatever the girl wants, we can do, within reason. Just get us some ideas and I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine. Hire guys. Buy materials. Keep good records though, damn it. I’m not paying some random fucking number. I want receipts.”
“Got it, boss.”
I lingered and looked at them before taking a deep breath. “We’re hitting th
e Jackals back.”
That got Viktor interested. The sick fuck. Rolan turned away and got back to work, but Viktor drifted over.
“What’s the plan?”
“Girl’s going to be bait. We’re setting her up in that bodega over in Fishtown.”
He grunted. “Not a bad idea.”
“Stick her in the back. Make it look like she’s dealing. Then when they come for the stash—”
“We hit them and cut some throats.”
“Exactly.”
Viktor nodded slow. He finished his cigarette then flicked it onto the ground.
I walked over, stomped it out, and picked it up. “Keep this shit outside, you asshole.”
He shrugged, took it, and tossed it out the door. “How many guys we going to have on her?”
“I want three at all times, with more nearby to come as soon as the shit goes down.”
“I’ll spread the word.”
“Pick out the guys you think will work best.”
“Got it, boss.”
I nodded, turned t the door, but hesitated.
Something felt off. I couldn’t put my finger on it but there was an odd feeling in my stomach that twisted and churned. I gripped the door frame as Viktor got back to it and started ripping down smoke-stained and half burnt drywall.
Then I realized. It was guilt. I hadn’t felt guilt in a long ass time.
But I felt guilty that her place went up in smoke because of me, and guilty that I was going to dangle her like a fish on a lure. It felt fucked up what I was doing to her, trapping her deeper and deeper. But I was paying her and paying her damn well for all this, and in the end, she’ll come out better and stronger than she was before.
The tests work. They always do.
She won’t thank me. She’ll never got down on her knees and tell me how grateful she was for all the shit I put her through that eventually made her better than she was before. But it won’t matter. I won’t need thanks.
I took a deep breath and turned back. I took out my phone, snapped a picture, and slipped it away again. Rolan gave me a weird look but didn’t stop what he was doing.
I left and tried to push the guilty away deep down inside.
I found her sitting on the back porch with her feet up on a chair. She had her head leaning back and her eyes closed, the sun shining down on her face. I leaned up against the back door frame and watched her for a few seconds before clearing my throat.