by KB Winters
His face colored and I saw the nervousness in him ratchet up. Way up. Sean pulled a stool over from the bar area I assumed was a kitchen and sat down. He looked at me with eyes that had widened slightly and licked his lips.
“What about, Flynn? Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly, Sean,” I said.
I could feel the gun resting on my hip, tucked away in its holster. It was heavy but familiar and even a comfortable weight. One I’d gotten used to over the years, and it was there if I needed it. But hopefully, things wouldn’t break that way. Sean was just a stupid kid. But a rat? I wasn’t convinced. Not yet, anyway.
“What is it, Flynn? Something with the syndicate?”
He seemed genuinely lost as if he had no idea what had happened or why I was there asking him questions. Was this just an act? Sean had never struck me as the best liar, and he often said the wrong thing at the wrong time. He was a good kid, but he was often clueless. I had trouble believing that his guile was calculated and premeditated. But then, maybe I was just trying to find any reason to not believe he’d be a snitch. I silently reminded myself that I had to remain open-minded and accept any possible answer in order to get to the bottom of this.
“I’m going to be blunt and honest with you, Sean. The Russians believe we have a snitch,” I said, watching his face closely as I said those words, looking for any tick or tell in his features. His eyes grew large and afraid, he was shocked—or at least looked it. “And I don’t need to tell you how bad that would be for us, now do I?”
“No, no you don’t,” he said quietly, licking his lips again as he stared at me, almost as if he was afraid to say too much. Or too little. “Who do you–who do you think it is?”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know yet. That’s why I’m here.”
“Why? Because you think I might know something?”
Again, I shrugged non-committally. I didn’t say anything else. I glared at him and waited for him to respond. Sometimes silence was your best friend. Sometimes the guilty implicated themselves when you gave them time to do so.
When Sean didn’t reply, I asked, “Do you?”
“Fuck, man,” he said, standing up and pacing the room. “I don’t know shit. I promise you, Flynn. No one has said a word to me about working with the cops. You know I’d tell you if they did—”
I wanted to believe him, I did. But he was freaking out. He paced the room, back and forth like a caged lion, and every time he went toward the door, I feared he might run. I stood up and walked over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. His eyes were wide, almost frantic, and beads of sweat dotted his brow.
“Snap out of it, Sean,” I said, shaking him a bit so he’d stop mumbling. Now he was acting weird. A little too weird for my liking. “Snap the fuck out of it. This is serious shite, and if you know anything or if you’ve talked to the cops–I need to know!”
He looked up at me, almost like he was surprised to see me standing there. “You think I fucking snitched? What kind of person do you think I am? I may be a lot of things, but I’m no fucking rat, Flynn.”
He struggled against my grip, trying to break free from my grasp. I had no other choice but to push him up against the wall and pin him there. I leaned in closer and narrowed my eyes, trying to convey just how serious this shit was.
“Listen, Sean, if you don’t tell me the fuckin’ truth, you’re gonna be in a lot of pain, you hear me? The brothers, they don’t care much for snitches, and they won’t make your death short and sweet. Oh no, you may be our brother, but if we have any doubt, your death would be far more excruciating than some common enemy.” I growled, my voice dripping with anger.
“We wouldn’t just shoot you and throw your body into the fucking river, man. That’s for punks and trash. If you’re a fucking rat, we make sure you regret your choices in life first. We damn well know exactly how to break a man. How to make him scream and tell us everything he fucking knows. Is that what we need to do to you, Sean? Do we have to make you scream to get you to talk to us, eh?”
“What’s it matter, Flynn?” Sean said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What the fuck does it matter? I’m dead no matter what I do or say. You lot already have your minds made up, it seems.”
“We haven’t made up our minds about anything yet. Are ya telling me you’re guilty, Sean?”
“Did Colin tell you about me?” Sean asked, his voice growing desperate. “Is that who it was?”
His question took me by surprise. “What’s it matter who brought your name up, eh?”
“It doesn’t,” he said, his voice defeated, sounding almost as if he’d given up on life altogether. “Nothing much matters. If they say I’m a snitch, I’m a snitch. Nothing’s ever gonna wash that stain off, man. Just fucking kill me now and be done with it. Flynn, don’t make me suffer.”
Sean reached for my gun, but I grabbed his hand, gripping it firmly. “Don’t you fuckin’ think about it, Sean,” I said. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you make me.”
“I’m a dead man walking, ain’t I? No matter what I do, I’m dead.”
I wasn’t an evil man—devious and wicked, but not genuinely evil. I did what was necessary to protect what was mine. My brothers—the men who gave their loyalty for the O’Brien syndicate—they were family. I protected what was mine without any hindrance to the consequences. But when it was the loyalty of a brother in question, we required proof before a decision was made against their betrayal. If they were found guilty of their indiscretions without a shadow of a doubt, then I was the judge, the jury, and the motherfuckin’ executioner.
“Just like my brother,” Sean cried. “You’re gonna kill me just like my brother. I already know it, so just get on with it then.”
“Neil was different,” I said. “Neil was a traitor.”
“That’s what they said, isn’t it? So it must be true. Neil was a traitor just like me,” Sean said, wiping his eyes. “So kill me now, Flynn. Don’t let the brothers get ahold of me, please. Just end it now.”
I considered Sean briefly. Something about the unabashed way he pleaded for his life caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, or if I was furious that one of my own men would pussy out and beg for a swift death, rather than takin’ what was due to him.
I looked into his eyes, my hand hovering over the butt of the gun in my holster. Everything in me told me not to do it, that Sean wasn’t the snitch. But I was undecided. I just didn’t know if I could trust my instincts–or him.
Twelve
Ava
Dinner was in the oven. Just a pizza for tonight, something simple. Helping the Chicago Police department was taking over my life more than I cared to admit. It was grueling. Exhausting. And it was zapping every ounce of energy I had. Some nights I didn’t even have the energy to heat up a damn pizza and just went to bed.
I was always on call and didn’t even have time to run to the store to get things for a proper meal these days. Activity had ramped up, which was why they’d called me in. But they should have called me in sooner to prevent the deaths of two of their own cops. That, and to maybe help prevent some of the other crimes and violence that had gone down since then, including the busts of some more Russian warehouses.
My phone buzzed, and for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. Part of me hoped it might be Ian. But then I realized it was my work phone, and my heart sank. Business as usual. I turned the oven off, knowing full well that I wouldn’t be eating my pizza anyway. I grabbed the phone off the table, lamenting the fact that I was hungry and it wasn’t Ian calling.
“Yes, Chief,” I answered before it went to voicemail.
His voice came over the line, sounding both angry and depressed at the same time. Not to mention the fact that he sounded more than a little tired himself. He’d been putting in a lot of hours too, possibly more than me. Which was something.
“We found a body,” he said, his words clipped and short.
“Just give me the
location, and I’ll be there,” I said. I knew this murder involved the Irish or the Russians, or else they wouldn’t have called me.
I was already getting changed into something more work appropriate before he gave me the location. Downtown. A seedy part of town, a place I wouldn’t normally care to be this time of night. As dirty, crime-ridden and seedy as it was, it was the part of the city where young people and chronically underemployed often lived because it was one of the more affordable parts of Chicago.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
I hung up, double-checked to make sure the oven was indeed off, and headed out the door. My stomach was growling, but I’d have to get food later. If I wasn’t too exhausted or even felt like eating after dealing with a dead body, of course.
***
“What do we have here?” I asked, ducking under the police tape and stepping into the apartment. Blood ran down the wall in thick, red rivulets with meaty chunks of human brain splattered throughout the mixture. It was the first thing I noticed upon approaching the gruesome scene, and it made my stomach turn. No matter how long I’d done this job, it still made me queasy. It wasn’t something I could get used to.
“Watch your step,” Officer Vaughn said.
“Hard to do that when you can’t even see the floor beneath your feet, but I’ll do my best,” I snarked, rolling my eyes.
Jesus Christ, this person was a slob, I thought to myself. But as soon as I had that thought, I pushed it out of my head. This person was dead. By the looks of things, brutally murdered. A messy apartment was the least of their concerns now. Still, if the place would have been a bit tidier, it would have made finding clues a lot easier.
I stepped over some beer cans and a pile of laundry before I saw the body slumped against the wall, taking in the full imagery of his death.
“Gunshot wound to the head,” Vaughn said, standing next to me with his hands on his hips.
“No shit,” I said, reaching for a pair of gloves. “Any clue who he is?”
Vaughn shrugged and yawned, almost like he couldn’t care less about the fact that there was a dead man, somebody whose life had been snatched away, less than five feet from us. In all honesty, though, Vaughn probably didn’t give a damn. To him, this was just another dead body, more hassle than it was worth. He didn’t care because the victim was no one important to him. But the victim had been important to someone. He’d been somebody’s son, somebody’s brother.
My eyes fell on his shirt. Jameson Irish Whisky. He wore dark colored jeans with holes in the knees–intentional holes at that. I guessed was what the kids found fashionable and stylish these days. It was something I’d never understand, paying good money for clothes that looked to be in worse shape than those you’d find at a thrift store.
Even though I couldn’t make out his facial features, I knew he was just a kid. Just some stupid kid, probably taking community college classes or working for his dad’s company. Somebody who hadn’t even had a chance to do anything with his life yet. And now, he’d never have the chance. Of those thoughts swirling through my head, it was the shirt that stopped me.
“Is he connected to the Irish?” I asked.
The police chief was standing nearby and heard my question, thankfully so. “We believe he might be,” he said solemnly. “We just got a possible ID. Vic’s name is Sean Malone.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” I asked.
“His brother Neil Malone was killed about a year ago.”
I nodded. That was right. Neil Malone was found dead in an alley. It appeared he’d been running for his life before he was gunned down, though he’d suffered a devious torture prior to his death. He was missing some of his fingers, a few teeth, and had burns all over his body. It was only after he’d endured that torture that he’d been shot down and left to die all alone in the alley.
“Their poor mother,” I said softly.
“Their mother is dead, too,” Chief said. “Whole family is now gone.”
The Malones were just the type of boys who’d join a band of criminals. They were the kind of kids the Irish mob actively sought and recruited. Two orphans with no one else to turn to and little to lose.
But if that were the case and they were part of the mob, why would their chosen family turn around and execute them?
“The older brother, Neil, had been snitching for us,” the chief explained. “He was an informant in exchange for us dropping some pending drug charges against him.”
“And Sean?” I asked, standing up.
“No record of Sean working for us,” the chief said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “His criminal history is clear, surprisingly. This is the first time he’s shown up on our radar.”
“And the last time,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah,” the chief said softly.
“Well fuck me,” I whispered. Rollins’ eyes lit up with intrigue as his gaze turned to me, a smarmy smirk tipping his thin lips. “Relax. It’s just a figure of speech.”
“So, if you weren’t a snitch, then who did this to you, Sean? And why?” I asked as if the dead could somehow answer me. “Was it your brothers? Why would they turn on you like that?”
“Any witnesses?” I asked.
“Of course not,” the chief replied, bitterness coloring his words. “No one’s talking. No one saw anything.”
“What do you need from me, Chief?” I asked.
“Right now, nothing much,” he said. “We just want your opinion. Do you think it’s the Mob?”
I sighed. It was hard to deny the connection, but something was still bothering me about the case. We’d never managed to convict anyone for Neil Malone’s murder a year ago, either. Could it be the work of the same person? Was it the work of the syndicate? I had enough scraps of evidence that gave me reason to believe it was them, but I knew the court wouldn’t see it that way. Scraps of evidence that could easily be poked and pulled apart by any defense lawyer with half a brain. Nothing I had was concrete.
And Sean’s murder? I didn’t even have a scrap, yet. It was hard to say who’d killed him with any certainty, but I had a feeling. A very strong feeling.
“I think so, but we need to find something more,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll take a look around, see what I can find.”
Thirteen
Ava
I had just finished up at the crime scene when my personal phone rang. With my heart skipping a couple of beats, I pulled off my gloves and disposed of them. I walked away from the assembled crowd to gain a little privacy and answered the call.
“My sweet Ava,” Ian crooned on the other end.
“Ian, how are you?” I asked, glancing down at my watch to check the time.
“I know it’s late, but I want to see you. Let’s grab a bite, aye?”
“It’s like you’re a mind reader. I’m starving, actually,” I said with a laugh. “I’m so hungry, I’m pretty sure I could eat an entire cow.”
“Well, would you fancy going out for a steak then?”
After everything I’d seen tonight, the idea of eating bloody, rare meat should have caused some sort of reaction. Or at the very least, a dry heave or two. But it didn’t. Which meant I’d probably been around the blood and gore a bit too often and a bit too long these days.
“A steak sounds fantastic,” I said. “When and where?”
He told me where to meet him, and I had just enough time to run home and change into something a little more date appropriate since black slacks and a button-up blouse weren’t the sexiest outfits in my closet.
I didn’t want to go too formal, be overdressed, and look like I’d been trying too hard. So, I settled for a slinky black skirt and a powder blue silk shirt that hugged my body in all the right places, showing off my curves. Black heels and a quick French twist with the hair, and I was all ready to go.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way out of my bedroom. I looked tired. I sighed. I’d been going for coquettish. Perhaps eve
n hot. But there was no way around it–I looked exhausted.
“Nothing a little concealer won’t fix,” I said, dabbing some underneath my eyes.
While I was at it, I put on some eyeliner and mascara to make myself look more awake than I felt. And for good measure, I put on some red lipstick, because why not? This was a date after all. A date with a dashing man, who always looked well put together no matter what he wore.
Now that my look was complete, I had to hustle. Not wanting to deal with parking, I hailed a cab and gave him the restaurant’s name and address.
I pushed the day’s work behind me and out of my mind. I tried to forget about the poor kid who wouldn’t be dating anyone ever again. Tried to forget the fact that his blood and brains adorned the walls of his shitty apartment. Tried to forget it all.
Sometimes it was hard to do, but as I watched the city around me, I tried to remind myself that feeling bad for him wouldn’t bring him back.
Finding his killer was the only thing I could do for him now.
And that was exactly what I planned to do.
Fourteen
Flynn
I knew it was last minute and getting late, but after everything I’d been through that day, I just wanted to see her face. I wanted something good in my world after all the goddamned ugliness. And she was that. She was pure. Sweet. Beautiful. She made me feel emotions I couldn’t understand. All I knew was that when I was around her, I felt good. And I needed that.
As I sat at the restaurant sipping a glass of red wine, I tapped my fingers on the tabletop, anxious to see her curly red hair and beautiful smile, knowing it would cheer me right up.
And then she was there. I spotted her walking across the dining room behind the host, looking as ravishing as ever. Just seeing her made my heart skip a beat–a reaction I wasn’t used to. Women had always been disposable in my life. Nothing serious. No attachments and no commitments. That had always been the way I’d operated.
But as I watched her approaching, I really believed I could fall in love with that woman. I knew it was a dangerous thought since she knew absolutely nothing about me. What would she think of me if she knew the truth about who I was? If she knew I was a monster? If she knew I was someone who’d killed men before and would kill men again? What would she think if she knew I was somebody who’d tortured others for information, or that I was currently working deals that could put our very city in danger every single day?