by J. J. McAvoy
“Step one, get Ethan and take him out on a date,” she replied.
I looked at her, and she was luckily watching the road. “A date?”
“Yes, a date. You know that thing where two people who like each other go out and spend time together in public.”
“You are not a fan of dates.”
“No, Calliope Orsini was not a fan of dates. Calliope Callahan is.”
“Calliope Orsini and Calliope Callahan are one and the same, aren’t they?”
She glanced at me seriously. “No. Both are very different people.”
“One would think you were bipolar the way you try to separate yourself.”
“I do not care what one thinks…I care what you think.”
“I think this not a good time for a date.”
“Nonsense. This is a perfect time for a date. I’ve been waiting for you to take me out, but you are too busy choking me and leaving me to deal with your family.”
“I am—”
“I reserved us tables at le Morceau D'ambre,” she replied, cutting me off as if I were not speaking. “I heard they have the best breakfast in the city. I am very interested in their pancakes. I heard the chef layers them with lobster, caviar and truffles, and finishes with Dom Perignon Rose hollandaise sauce—this fucker!” She honked loudly at the minivan in front of her.
And as if our lives were a comedy and not a Machiavellian opera, the old woman in the van happened to be a nun, carrying other nuns. I looked at Calliope, whose face bunched up as she was also not expecting that. She slowed down as they looked at the car disapprovingly. They couldn’t see inside since the windows were tinted, but from Calliope’s expression, you would have thought they’d singled her out. I couldn’t help it…I snickered a bit.
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“I did not say anything.”
“Yes, but I can feel you thinking it.”
I rolled my eyes. “The pancakes at le Morceau D’ambre are overrated.”
“Don’t tell me that! I’ve already made the reservation.”
“You should have asked.”
“Well, I didn’t because I wanted it to be a surprise. So, you are just going to have to sit there and eat them again as I decide if they are overrated,” she huffed, getting off the interstate.
“And here I thought we were going to actually get serious work done this morning,” I muttered, looking out at my city.
On the main streets were numerous militarized police, with their armored cars on what seemed like every other corner. Calliope drastically reduced her speed, now following the road laws. But other than that, she pretended as if she did not see them. This was not the time for a date, so I was sure this wasn’t just a date, though the fact that she brought it up in the way she had meant she wanted dates. This was new.
“And we are here with four minutes to spare. That’s why I took the Bugatti,” she said in front of the restaurant.
The valet came to my door.
“What is step two of this plan?” I asked.
“Eat, of course. Come on,” she replied, stepping out of the car.
When I stepped out, the valet’s eyes widened as he looked at me with confusion. As if we were the very last people in the world he ever expected to see. Calliope walked around the car, linking her elbow with mine.
“Just let it sit there. I’ve already spoken to the owner,” she told him.
That feeling that something was off came back with might as he nodded, nearly tripping over himself as he went to the back.
I did not say anything as we walked inside the restaurant only to see—every fucking other rich and powerful Irish family already sitting, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. That was until they noticed us. Then, as if the devil himself had slit their throats, they sat in their seats like frozen cadavers. Which was perplexing to me for several reasons. One, I was the wealthiest and most powerful Irish family of them all, so why were they shocked to see me here? Two, why were they all here to begin with, when most of them hated each other? Three, didn’t they know how to fakes manners, at the very least? Staring at us made them all look guilty of something. Four…were they guilty of something?
I glanced over at the only person who could clear my confusion, but she was too busy talking to the red-haired hostess.
“I’m sorry, ma’am but all of our tables are full—”
“We’ve made a reservation. Table nine, by the windows,” Calliope demanded as she gave the hostess her coat and gloves.
The hostess stared at her, confused; however, a tall, square-jawed man with light-colored eyes behind circular-framed glasses and brown hair came forward. But the glasses were hardly enough to make him unrecognizable.
“Mrs. Callahan,” the man said loudly, so loudly, everyone else at the tables could also hear. “A sight far too great for us mere mortals as always, my restaurant is honored by your presence.”
Calliope giggled, holding onto my arm. “Ethan, this smooth talker is—”
“Vinnie Napolitano,” I answered, already knowing the man’s face. “I was not aware you were the owner here.”
Because he wasn’t, or at least, the last I checked. The owner here was a small old French woman who swore she would never sell her business in the local paper.
“It was a recent acquisition. Welcome, Mr. Callahan, I shall show you and your wife to your table.” He nodded, taking the menus from the server who came up and led us through the crowd, to the only free table, elevated from the rest, near the windows.
I stepped forward, pulling out the seat for Calliope before taking my own place opposite her. It was only now because the gloves were off her hands, that I notice the red diamond engagement ring she had on her finger. She had chosen not to wear it, yet, mostly due to the uproar my family was still having. She said she was waiting for the perfect moment to show off the great, red-diamond ring of Melody Giovanni. It seemed today was that day.
But why? Was the question I thought as our eyes locked.
“Your menus. Is there anything we may start you off with to drink? Perhaps some Wuyi Oolong Vintage Narcissus tea or Esmeralda Gesha?” Vinnie asked us passionately as if he had been a restaurateur his whole life and not a military muscle man.
“Oh, I would love some Esmeralda Gesha.” She grinned, and he looked at me.
I nodded. “The same.”
“Right away.” He nodded to the server who was waiting behind him.
“Vinnie, I know you’re busy, but today you are all so packed, what’s going on?” Calliope questioned.
“It is—”
“It is my wife’s birthday,” came a much louder voice, belonging to a portly, gray-bearded, yet balding man, grinning as he came up to us.
“Séan Dorgan MacQuillan,” I said, recognizing the old man, looking to the much younger woman now at his side. “I thought your wife was dead.”
“I thought yours was, too,” he shot back, and I chuckled, nodding, though I did not say more, outstretching my hand to where Calliope sat.
“Calliope, this is Bullnecked Dorgan. He and my father were friends,” I introduced them.
“Not good enough friends, apparently, if he can throw a birthday party and not send us an invite. Mr. MacQuillan, I’m hurt.” Calliope pouted, and I looked at his wife.
The more I looked at her, the more I even wondered if she was of age to be married to anyone.
“Mrs. MacQuillan, happy birthday. If we had known, we would have brought you a gift… Actually, Ethan, what do you say we pay for everyone’s meal? I feel rude coming in like this.”
Lie any harder, my love, and your whole body may combust, I thought as I looked at her.
“Oh no, I could not have that.” Dorgan laughed. “Your embarrassment cannot match mine, Mrs. Callahan, for the misunderstanding. We sent an invite weeks ago to the first—”
Calliope’s eyes narrowed at him, and because he was acquainted with our family, he chose his words even more carefully. “We sent
an invite but so much has happened in the city since then, such a little thing as a birthday must have gotten lost in the mix.”
“That must be it,” I replied coldly, shifting my gaze to him. “So, there is no need for embarrassment. Enjoy your breakfast. My wife simply wished for pancakes.”
“Hopefully, we will all meet sometime later. Happy birthday again,” Calliope stated, her attention now on our coffee that had arrived. With that, Mr. MacQuillan left our table to go back to their guests.
It took a moment for everyone to leave us alone. Even though the muttering and slight laughter returned, I was sure they were watching us both carefully.
“They are not guilty of anything,” Calliope whispered to me in Italian as she buttered her bagel. “At least, nothing severe. Dorgan did send you an invite to his wedding, which was last night, and this breakfast, but, I’m sure you know who did not pay attention to those details. With what happened last night, I assume many of them thought you would be at home licking your wounds. So, seeing you out and about, perfectly fine, with a brand-new woman, of course, was a bit stunning for them. Now they all have to change their morning gossip.”
“Step three, distract me from the night before?” I asked her, lifting my coffee to my lips.
“No. Step three, never show anyone when you bleed,” she replied.
“That sounds more like a rule than a part of a plan.”
“Aren’t rules just guidelines for plans?”
“And Vinnie? I thought he was supposed to be a new guard, not a new businessman?”
“Why can’t he be both?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Because one is a full-time job as it is.”
“Old school is nice, but it is not the only school,” she replied. “Dino and Italo will be personal bodyguards. Vinnie’s specialty is more…covert. He is from this city, but just like me, hasn’t known much of it. If you wanted to right now, just give him the order, and he’d kill every last one of those ingrates watching us.” Her eyes were iced over. Her whole body was stiff, her face emotionless. “Not here, of course, whatever he put in their food, they would feel later, at home, on the way, the next day…maybe a week later. As a rising, rich businessman in the city, he would be in all the same circles we are.”
A bodyguard that did not look like a bodyguard.
“How creative,” I replied when our pancakes came out. I was not that hungry, but, the woman across from me nearly pounced on them.
I opened my mouth to say something, but she shot me another glare. So, I kept quiet and drank my coffee, trying to relax. But of course, Calliope’s plans for the day were ever unfolding. Dino entered the restaurant, his dark hair slicked back. And as if we had some previous understanding as boss and employee, he walked toward me. Nodding to me before nodding to Calliope, who pretended she had little interest in whatever he had to say. He simply gave me a phone.
Taking it without fanfare, I turned it on to see the footage. Miguel Munha, pacing frantically back and forth in a house, two women bound and gagged behind him. All of them wearing some type of device. I glanced from him to the woman now happily eating her pancakes, with her legs crossed and her whole body relaxed as if she owned the place—in a way, she did. But that wasn’t all. There were other houses, at least a dozen to be exact, with other people also gagged, also bound, also with vests on. Women, children, men, it didn’t matter. They were all frantically trapped within their homes, scared out of their minds.
“I do not know why you asked for half of it to be burned,” Calliope spoke up gently as her gray eyes met mine. “I do know you have people in certain places, who should be able to take certain things back for you. Unfortunately, I do not know those people. So, I will have to leave that to you and provide a good enough distraction to give you time to get you what is yours back.”
I did my best not to smile. She was right. I did plan to get the drugs back. I just did not have a proper distraction. “I thought you wanted the police to take him in alive.”
“Alive doesn’t mean whole.” She smirked, licking her fork. “The feds will capture him alive but seeing as how we nurtured him into the big bad wolf he is, I think for his final chapter, we should help him live up to his new reputation.”
“This might be more than his reputation can handle,” I said, looking at all the bombs.
“It was Darcy who gave me the idea with his little stunt,” she replied. “Besides, you need the time, while all the…good ones in the city are searching for their loved ones, your people can do what they have to do.”
I paused, looking down at all the houses again. My eyebrow raised as I realized these weren’t just any hostages—they were the families of police officers.
“The police are not the best negotiators when civilians are on the line,” I muttered.
“Which is why you have to use their family…or families,” she answered.
“And how do you know he will say what we want him to say?” I asked her.
“Those who want to live will do anything to survive. Especially if they’re strapped to a bomb,” she muttered the last part behind her cup. “Would you like to do the honors? The code is our anniversary.”
“Which anniversary?”
She shrugged. I glanced up at Dino, who had stood like a statue, blocking the view of the phone and myself from the rest of the restaurant with his body. Taking out my own phone, I typed a single message. “Be ready.”
I touched one of the houses, there were two old men strapped to their chairs; it was in the northern part of the city in Rearden. A small box on them appeared, and my hand trembled, but not from fear—typing in the code was too easy. One minute they were there, and the next, the screen was disconnected.
“There are a lot of upsides to being Mrs. Callahan,” Calliope muttered gently, looking out the window. “Those things lose all their charm when you are so far away. I mean, I planned so much, and I cannot even see the flames.”
“It’s beneath our pay grade,” I said, putting the phone the table.
“I know.” She pouted, looking at me. “But it’s not as fun.”
A second later, all around us, like a descending army, were sirens; all throughout the restaurant, people turned to face us. And we pretended as if we did not notice, or they were only looking out the window…as we were. The armored cars rushed past the restaurant and down the street. Seconds later, alerts pinged from our phones.
Alert: Bombing in Rearden.
“Excuse me, can we get another cup of coffee here,” Calliope asked calmly.
I just smirked.
This was the Calliope I knew.
CALLIOPE
“Johnson, after eight hours, the standoff between Miguel Munha, head of the Rocha Cartel and over a hundred FBI, ICE agents, as well as local police, has finally come to a gruesome end. As of now, the body count has reached twenty-seven dead and several others wounded. Miguel Munha held numerous family members of law enforcement captive, strapped with explosives, demanding a private car to the airport and a jet to Venezuela. To prove he was serious, Munha kept the hostages at different locations, spreading law enforcement across the state.
“When negotiations either failed or reached a standstill, it was said that members of the Rocha Cartel detonated the explosives. Law enforcement said it was only by accident that Munha detonated his own device, giving them a chance to save the other victims. There are conflicting reports as of now, some saying that Miguel was killed in the blast, others saying he was taken into FBI custody.
“Neither the interim Governor, Sofia Lambert or Mayor, Alro Conway have provided statements on this breaking news. However, with the suspect of Illinois’s most heinous crimes now in federal custody, all eyes are once again on Chicago. For decades, the city has been plagued with the reputation of death, corruption, and violence in which they have tried so hard to shed… And at one point, for a few brief years, it seemed to have changed altogether, with growth in both the city’s technological
and pharmaceutical fields. However, after the past few months, violence in the city is at an all-time high. There was the bombing in St. Peter’s Cathedral, followed by the assassination of government officials due to the corruption of one of those same officials. We must ask, is Chicago forever doomed to be the most dangerous place in America—”
“Excuse you! I was listening to that!” I snapped.
He turned back at me, his green eyes meeting mine. And it was annoying how effortlessly handsome he looked…especially when he was happy. “I think you’ve basked in your victory long enough.”
“There is no such thing.” I huffed, coming over to stand next to him he stood at the top of the warehouse office, looking down as one by one, men brought all the drugs back. “You are welcome, by the way.”
“It was a team effort.”
I wanted to kick him and that arrogant grin on his handsome face. “When I screw up, it’s me on my own. When I get the win, it’s a team effort?”
“That sounds about right—Ah…”
I kicked him and moved to punch him as well, but he grabbed my hands. “Since when did you need a pat on the head?”
“Since forever. Are you just noticing?”
He snickered, kissed my lips, and let go of my hands. “We will finish this at home, Mrs. Callahan.”
I rolled my eyes, pushing him away when there was a knock on the door. He walked to it, this time following Dino out himself. I said nothing, allowing them to play with their little white powder. There was no reason to let everyone know how much of a team effort this was just yet. Looking out the glass, I watched as they began to count every brick. Some were disguised as baby powder, others sugar, some even in detergent boxes. Ethan was keeping nothing on hand; everything was going out now.
The cops hadn’t reported the fact that they were robbed. They couldn’t. Not without losing the last shred of hope the people had in them. Yesterday, they were all bragging, taking photos of how much they had captured, and today, not only did many of their own lose their lives, but so did their families. Hell, if they let it be known, many of their own cops would lose faith, too. All their hard work, all their pride, trampled within a day. And such was the world. Either you were on top of it, or you were crushed underneath it. Everyone had to fight to stay on top, and there were no breaks—there were no calms. Either you were sliding down or rising up.