by Shay Savage
“You didn’t have to walk out like that!” she snaps.
“I did if you wanted me to keep my shit together.”
“Are you at least going to say something over him before they throw him in a hole?”
“Maybe. If I do, you might not like it.”
Nora grasps her upper arms with her hands and looks over toward the casket.
“He was good to me, Nate. You know that, right?”
“I know he was.”
“He never pushed, never demanded. I needed that after everything else. I’m not the easiest person to be with, you know.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.”
Nora smacks me on the chest.
“I’ll say something if you really want me to.”
“No,” she says, “don’t. I’m sure you’d say something clever, and then the whole east side will start gossiping about how I was laughing at my own husband’s funeral.”
“Can’t have any gossip, can we?”
“They’ll talk anyway, you know. I saw the reporters outside the funeral home, taking pictures. I’m pretty sure that one guy got a shot of me.”
“They’ll blur them out before printing. I’m sure it will be a nice write-up about what a great guy he was and all. If they don’t, I’ll personally burn down the building. How’s that sound?”
“Like overkill. Seriously, Nataniele,” Nora says, her voice slightly calmer, “if you want to keep up pretenses, you need to learn to control that temper of yours.”
“What pretense am I supposed to keep up?”
“The pretense that you aren’t exactly like Pops.” She turns on her heel and stomps toward the parking lot.
“She’ll get over it,” Pops says. “Nora is trained to this life, and she knows the rules.”
“She never talked to you like this,” I grumble.
“Your mother did.”
“Nora isn’t my fucking wife; she’s my sister.”
“Still family.” Pops leans in closer. “If you had a fucking wife, maybe Nora would have someone else to bitch to instead of you. You gonna get that done?”
“I’m working on it,” I say with a sigh. “I told you that.”
“I don’t see her here.”
“She’s new to town, Pops, and we only just met. I’m not about to introduce her to this lot at the cemetery.”
“Maybe she isn’t the right one.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Pops! You’re the one who put a damn target on her before I even decided to talk to her!”
Pops glares at me, but I don’t back down. Father Brian’s voice calling from the doorway pulls me away from my father and to the car behind the hearse.
The ceremony at the gravesite is tedious. I keep telling myself it can’t last forever, but I begin to wonder. As Nora cries, Twos rubs her shoulder compassionately, whispering in her ear. I have no idea what she might be saying, but it does seem to calm Nora down a bit.
Father Brian stands stoically beside the casket, Bible in hand. The afternoon sun hits his mostly bald head, casting shadows around his lined face. He finishes his readings, we pray, and my sister walks slowly to the casket to retrieve a rose from the arrangement.
“Finally,” I mutter.
Family members hover around, waiting for me to give them leave, but I’m not about to do that until Nora is ready to go, and she’s still standing next to Jack-in-a-box. I press my lips together to keep from laughing at my internal joke and step away.
Twos places her hand on the casket, eyes closed, and Nora smiles at her. She reaches for Twos’ hand, and they take a few steps away, but Nora refuses to go far. Threes walks up to his sister, speaking quietly to her, and Antony stands nearby, head bowed. He’s much better at feigning grief than I am, clearly.
I stand off to the side in blissful solitude for only a moment before I feel a presence behind me. I glance over my shoulder and tense.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask in a low voice.
Janna Ramsay leans up against the tree next to me, arrayed in a long black dress and a veiled black hat. The heels of her shoes sink partway into the soft earth.
“Why, paying my respects, of course,” she says, unable to stop smiling. “I do appreciate it when you Orsos kill each other off.”
“You are not supposed to be here. Go back to the west, wicked witch, or I might have to drop a house on you.”
“The treaty says Cascade Falls Cemetery is neutral ground,” Janna says, as if I need the reminder. “Besides, I bought this dress just for the occasion!”
She does a small spin with her arms held out. It catches Antony’s attention, and he makes a beeline for us.
“This is a private, family engagement,” Antony says as he walks up, arms crossed over his chest. “Leave.”
“I only just arrived,” Janna says with a hint of fake innocence in her voice. “I haven’t even delivered flowers to the gravesite yet. Jay has them in the car.”
She nods over to a black SUV parked down the road.
“You both need to leave,” Antony repeats. “This is disrespectful.”
“Are you the one who gutted him?” Janna asks, eyes sparkling at Antony. “Does that mean you have to get married next?”
“Look, Ramsay,” I say, gritting my teeth, “if you think I won’t kill you right here and now—”
“Yes, I do think that.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” She isn’t, of course. I could hardly pull out a gun and shoot her in the face with Father Brian less than a hundred yards away.
Janna Ramsay raises an eyebrow at me—challenging.
“Leave,” Antony says again.
“Fine.” Janna sighs. “I just wanted to let you know that we are quite aware of your activities in Cincinnati, and if you try to meddle with our shipments, there will be hell to pay.”
“We haven’t gone against any terms,” I tell her. “You know we haven’t. Just keep your shit away from the east side.”
“Make sure you keep your Cincinnati business to documents.”
“Our Cincinnati business is none of your concern.” I glare at her. “Now get the fuck out of here before I have Antony throw your ass into that hole.”
Janna Ramsay stills briefly, rolls her eyes, and then looks back to me.
“It’s good to see you again, Nate.” Janna smiles, showing all her teeth. “I hope we’ll get to see each other at a similar occasion very soon.”
Antony takes a step forward, hands balled into fists. Janna chuckles as she turns and heads back toward her car.
“Wouldn’t it be awesome if her heels got stuck in the mud, and she fell on her face?” Pops chuckles.
“Please tell me I can kill her,” Antony snarls.
“Not yet.” I place a hand on his arm.
“You know she killed Micha. At least, she had it done.”
“I know that. We all do, but we need proof before we move forward.”
“I want a fucking vendetta.”
“I know you do.” I pull on his arm, turning him away from Janna Ramsay’s retreating form. “You’ll have to settle for a drink back at the house. Go on ahead. I’ll drag Nora along shortly.”
“Okay, boss.”
Antony heads over to Threes, and I watch Janna Ramsay’s car as it disappears over the hill and then reappears near the cemetery gate.
“We should have eliminated them when we had the chance,” Pops says. “That fucking treaty was the worst idea in our history.”
“I wasn’t even born then,” I remind him, “so you can’t blame me for that one.”
“Back when my father was alive, we had them nearly crushed. It was your Grandmother Orso and Kelvin Ramsay who orchestrated a treaty, divided up the town, and let them continue on. It never should have been done.”
“If they weren’t dealing drugs in Cascade Falls, someone else would be. We don’t want that business. We don’t want to deal with the fucking cartels, and if it wasn’t the Ramsays, it would be some shitbag gang runn
ing the west side. It’s better this way.”
“Is it?”
I don’t answer him. I’ve had enough of all of this, and I march over to Nora to haul her back home so she can start the wake at the house, and I can get a damn drink.
Twos steps to one side as I take Nora’s arm.
“Are we done here?” I ask. “Can we leave?”
“I want to go light a candle for him,” Nora says.
“You go right ahead. Just don’t take too long.”
“You are going to drive me,” she says, her tone much more demanding.
“Me? Why me?”
“Because this is all your fault, and maybe if you go to church with me, I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.”
“Fine.” Sometimes it’s easier to give in than to keep fighting. “I’ll go, but after we leave, we toast your husband, get drunk, and you stop berating me about this.”
“Fine.” She glares daggers at me but finally moves away from the burial site.
I drive Nora to Saint Peter’s Cathedral and park in front of the tall brick building. The sun is beginning to drop below the trees, and the air is too cold in the shade to stop myself from shivering. Nora pulls her black shawl around her shoulders and marches through the front door without a word to me.
“Go on,” Pops says. “Get it over with,”
“Fine,” I mutter as I follow Nora inside.
I lean against one of the pews in the back, hoping she isn’t going to take too long. Nora lights her candle, crosses herself, and then kneels before the altar. I sigh and cross myself before sitting in the pew. I share no thoughts with God but try to at least give the appearance of respect.
I hear soft footsteps coming up behind me and glance over.
“You have something to confess to me, Nataniele?” Father Brian places his hand on my shoulder.
“Usually, Father.”
“Come along, then.”
“What? Now?”
“Now.” The priest walks off toward the sanctuary.
I take in a deep breath, annoyed that my Catholic upbringing won’t allow me to ignore his “request” and follow him to the confessional. I drop myself onto the bench and close the curtain as Father Brian opens the screen between us.
“Confess, my child,” he says without prelude.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…I dunno, a couple of months since my last confession.”
“Yes. Please continue.”
I huff out a breath, looking away from him and tapping my foot against the wall as I try to remember what all I’ve done since the last time Father Brian dragged me in here. Though I was brought up in a devout Catholic family, I try to avoid the church as much as possible. If nothing else, I recognize the hypocrisy of our lives versus the teachings of the church and don’t really like having it shoved in my face. I can’t do what I’m supposed to do if Father Brian is constantly telling me not to go forward with my plans, or he won’t be able to offer me absolution—as if there is any hope for my soul.
My list of sins seems too long, so I figure I’ll just go with the most recent transgressions.
“Well, let’s see.” I lean back, rubbing my chin with my hand. “I drank far more than I should have last night. Not sure if that counts as a sin, but I suppose it’s as good a place as any to start. I’ve watched a lot of porn—that’s always a good one. I shoved a knife into my brother-in-law’s chest. Oh! I’m also doing my very best to con some poor girl into my bed and, theoretically, into a marriage proposal, but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself there.”
Chapter 11—Fakes
I roll over, head pounding from my overindulgence at the wake last night. I glance at the clock, but it’s blocked by a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. I shove myself into a sitting position, groaning, and prop myself up against the pillows. The water is cold, ice cubes still floating at the top. I wonder who left it here.
The clock reads a quarter past ten.
“Glorious,” I mutter.
I should have been out at the warehouse an hour ago.
“Mr. Orso? You awake?” Andrea pokes her head in the door. The timbre of her New England accent pierces my skull. “Oh good, you found the aspirins. Now, I’m having chef make you an omelet and some bacon. Does that sound good? If not, I can have him do some waffles. You need a good breakfast after last night. Do you want it all brought up here?”
“No, Andrea, I’m fine.”
“You sure? I don’t mind bringing it up.”
“I’ll get it in the kitchen in a bit.”
“I really don’t mind at all.”
“I need to get up, Andrea. I’ll eat in a bit.”
“I’ll make sure it’s kept warm,” she says. She starts wiping down my dresser with a dusting cloth. “I put towels out for you in the bathroom. There’s a new shampoo in there as well. Now, I want you to be honest with me when you try it out. I can always go back to the other kind. Do you want me to get your clothes together? It’s a little chilly today. That damn groundhog is a liar.”
“I’ve got it.”
“All right, Mr. Orso. If I don’t see you down there, let me know when you’re done. I wanna get on the vacuuming in here.”
“I’ll be out soon. Go already!”
“Fine, fine! I’m going already!” She doesn’t leave before she finishes dusting the dresser and correcting the tilt on the wall art next to the door.
I shower, dress, and quickly shovel an omelet into my face while surrounded by the roar of a vacuum cleaner. Once in the car, I turn off the radio and drive in blessed silence for a few minutes. The air is cold, but I roll down my window a crack anyway, allowing the fresh air to further wake me up.
It’s going to be a long day.
I park behind a strip mall, right next to the sheriff’s car, and enter a white windowless door. The hallway beyond is narrow and barely warmer than outside. I can hear the running of machinery through the closed doors lining the hallway and open the one on the left.
Seven pairs of eyes glance up at me, offer shocked expressions, and then quickly go back to their work. Consistent humming fills the room as printers spit out reams of replicated material though the sound isn’t as loud as it would usually be.
“Good morning, Mr. Orso.” An overweight, brown-haired man with a beard approaches and offers me his hand.
“Hey there, Reid. Is this all that’s left?”
“The passport machines have all been moved to the warehouse,” Reid says. “What we still have here are the genuine driver’s licenses and title papers.”
“Good. Who is running the show at the warehouse?”
“Antony is overseeing it all,” Reid says. “Not sure who he has with him.”
“Are the orders being sent there?”
“Not automatically.” Reid points over to a teenager in the corner, hunched over a computer. “Right now, we’re sending them by courier, but we should have everything automated again before the weekend. The new kid’s been working on it.”
“Make it sooner.”
“We’ll do what we can, boss.”
“I said, ‘Make it sooner.’” I stare into his eyes until he looks down.
“Yeah, sure,” Reid mumbles and then looks back up, faking a smile. “Sure, boss! We’ll have it done tomorrow.”
“Where’s Kate?”
“Front desk, last I saw her.”
I find my great aunt behind the counter of the title agency, taking applications for passports from some family planning a trip to Toronto. I wait impatiently until she’s done, and we move into the closed office behind the counter.
“Give me this month’s numbers,” I say briskly. “Just the passports.”
“Three hundred twenty-seven, last I counted. That was earlier this morning.”
“Why the drop?”
“We still have a week left in the month,” Kate says. “A lot of orders show up toward the end, mostly from Eastern Europe. I did hear the orders
from Cincinnati arrived late last night, but I don’t have the counts. Antony said he was pretty happy with the numbers, but I didn’t get the details yet. It all went to the warehouse.”
“Antony said there were more licenses than expected.”
“The Georgia and Indiana ones, yes.”
“They’re cheaper.”
“Easier to fake.” Kate shrugs. “Too many changes, especially with everyone wanting the newer versions with the higher security on them.”
“They’ll have to buy the guaranteed counterfeits, then. I’m not going to put up with anyone bitching that what they paid for is only going to work for a few more months. We should probably stop taking orders for the cheap ones and push people to the others.”
“People will bitch.” Kate looks out the office window at the line forming at the counter.
“Not if they know what’s good for them. Anyone looking knows our documents are the best.”
“It does help to have all the state’s equipment working for us,” Kate says with a snort. “Is there anything else, Nate? I need to get back to the legal customers.”
“Come by tonight with all the document numbers,” I tell her. “I want a comparison going back six months.”
“It might take me a while to get that together,” she says. “I can do it, but we’re open until seven tonight, and I probably won’t make it to the house until after nine.”
“That’s fine.”
I make my way back to the car and head to the warehouse behind the lodge. When I arrive, Antony is leaning against the loading dock, smoking and flipping through his phone.
“Good news, boss,” he says when I get out of the car.
“What’s that?”
“The orders from The Natti are almost twice what we thought they might be.”
“It’s a good start, that’s for sure. Kate said the overall numbers are down though.”
“I don’t think they really are,” Antony says. “It’s just because we moved everything this week, and it hasn’t all been accounted for. I gave Reid a lot of shit for it, and he’s going to make sure the numbers are accurate before the day is done.”
“He’s got a lot to do. Is he handling his new responsibilities well?”
“For the most part, yeah. He doesn’t know as much about the document shit as he does about real estate, but I think he’ll catch on soon enough.”