Chaos

by J. C. Cliff

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The sound of the alarm grows fainter the further I get from the drugstore. Reeling from the adrenaline high, I push myself to run as fast as I can, making sure to stay off the main streets. Paranoid, knowing Blade has an advantage over me and that I’m on foot, I must’ve ducked and dodged numerous times, hiding behind dumpsters and deserted alleys.

  I run about a half-mile before stumbling upon one of those hole in the wall diners. Deciding to slip inside, I catch my breath and give my weary legs a rest. Before finding a seat, I make my way to the bathroom first and allow myself to calm down some. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, and I’m somewhat composed, I take a seat at one of the tables, keeping my back to the wall and my sight on the entrance. My eyes do a quick sweep around the dining room and notice that no one seems to pay me any attention.

  “Can I get you something,” a voice sounds at my left. Startled, I almost jump out of my seat before recovering and offering the waitress a smile.

  “A cup of coffee would be nice.”

  As the words leave my lips, I try to remember the last time I had a cup of coffee. Blade is not exactly a barista and I refuse to swallow a sip of that instant crap he keeps in his room.

  “Sure thing, honey.”

  Not a minute later she returns with a warm cup of coffee and handful of creamers.

  “Sugar is to your right,” she says. “If there is anything else I can get you, just holler.”

  “Actually,” I begin. Pausing, I draw my lip between my teeth and eye her with caution. “I dropped my phone in the sewer outside, would you mind calling me an Uber?”

  Raising an eyebrow, she looks out the window, towards the street.

  “Please, I just got word my father is very sick and I need to get to him before he passes.”

  Her eyes warm as they divert back to me.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you’re having quite the day, aren’t you?”

  That’s the understatement of the year, but I keep that bit of information to myself and offer her a sad smile instead.

  “Let me go grab my phone, honey,” she murmurs, “don’t worry about the coffee either, that’s on me.”

  “Thank you,” I say with much relief.

  She leaves my side to retrieve her phone and I sip the hot coffee. When she returns, I give her my parents’ address and she calls for a cab, explaining an Uber would charge her card. I apologize as she pours me a refill and tells me not to worry. Realizing she must be taking pity on me, that I look like a wreck, especially having run almost a mile, I ask her to break the hundred-dollar bill.

  By the time the taxi comes, I’ve just taken my last sip of coffee and I drop a few bills on the table before thanking the waitress again.

  Sliding into the taxi, I give the driver an address in Long Island and he whistles loudly while peering at me from his review mirror.

  “That’s a good ways out, you sure you want a taxi for this trip?”

  “I’m sure,” I say, nodding. “I’ve got the money.”

  “Okay, then.”

  He pulls away from the curb, and I slink against the leather seats. I close my eyes and for the first time since the whole ordeal started, I try to relax. I spy the taxi driver’s cell phone mounted to the dashboard in some handsfree device and the urge to ask him if I could borrow it strikes.

  I want to call Trish, tell her the truth and that I’m on my way home, but I don’t. Pulling her into this mess would only put her in danger and I won’t do that. Besides, I’ll be home soon enough.

  By the time the taxi pulls into my parent’s driveway I’m a basket case. The man barely puts the car in Park before I throw him what’s left of the hundred dollars and jump out of the backseat of the car.

  “What the fuck!” The man yells from the window as I jet toward the front door. “What the hell am I going to do with this? Wipe my ass?”

  Ignoring him, I snatch the key from under the flower pot and quickly open the front door of my childhood home. I don’t bother announcing my presence. Nor do I look around for someone to greet me. Instead, I run up the stairs and head straight for my parent’s room.

  When Trish told me my father was sick, she didn’t get into specifics and as I approach his bedroom, I can’t help but fear the worst. Turning the knob, I draw in a deep breath and enter the master bedroom. There my father lies in the center of bed, peaceful and sleeping. Knowing I’m not too late, that he’s still with me, causes me to breathe a sigh of relief. With quiet steps, I walk through the dimly-lit room, making my way to his side and lean over him, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter open and when he realizes it’s me, he gives me a frail smile.

  “Hey you,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “We’ve been worried about you.”

  “I could say the same thing,” I whisper, brushing away the tears that unwillingly escape from the corners of my eyes.

  “We haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought your mother was going to tear apart New York trying to find you,” he says, pausing to take in a gulp of air. Noting the exhaustion in his features and that speaking seems to be too much work for him, I take his hand and give it a squeeze, assuring him no words need to be spoken on his behalf.

  “I’m here now.”

  “I’m so glad,” he replies.

  Noticing there’s a small cannula tube that flows oxygen underneath his nose, I give him a moment to catch his breath before asking him any more questions. My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer many years back and with several rounds of chemotherapy, he went into remission. Now, it seems to have come back with a vengeance and I can’t help fear his days of fighting for his life are numbered.

  “What’s going on, daddy? Please tell me you’re going to be all right and pull through this again.”

  He lets out a small cough before he speaks again. “I’m not sure where I stand with this disease,” he admits, truthful. “The doctors just finished running more tests to see if chemo is even an option anymore. I won’t know anything until next week.”

  He offers me a smile and it warms me to see the dimples in his cheeks are still so beautiful and prominent.

  “How do you feel?” I ask, hopeful.

  “I’m better now that you’re here,” he replies with conviction. “You’re the best medicine,” he rasps as his eyes fill with tears.

  Reaching for me, I fall into his embrace and sob, trying not to make a sound.

  “Ssh… none of that,” he consoles, stroking the back of my hair. “I’ve beaten this once, I can beat it twice,” he assures, and I wonder if he’s pacifying me or if he truly believes himself.

  My father has been the rock of my life, the one person I can trust and depend on. He knows firsthand just how difficult and domineering my mother can be. He’s had front row seats at her attempt to rule my life and no matter what he says, she won’t quit. The woman even threated to disown me when I announced I was divorcing Dean. It was because of my father’s unwavering support that I found the courage to stand my ground and sign those papers, freeing me from my disaster of a marriage.

  I don’t know what I’ll do, how I’ll go on without him. Life is short, and no amount of time can ever prepare us for death.

  “Don’t cry, my little girl. Everything is gonna be just fine. I love you dearly and you should know, one of the proudest moments of my life has been watching you reclaim your independence. Don’t ever let go of that,” he says, pushing me away just so he can stare into my eyes. “You’re stronger than you know,” he continues. “Never forget that.”

  Nodding, I lean down again and nestle my face in the crook of his neck. I breathe him in, I send a silent prayer to God, begging him to heal my father.

  “And another thing, I want you to promise me you won’t let anybody talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” he says, taking a deep breath. “That includes your mother.”

  I lift my head and look into his eyes. Brown like mine, they are full of conviction.

  “I promise, dad
dy,” I tell him, my voice cracking.

  “I know your mother is hellbent on your reconciling your marriage. She wants it more than her next breath, it’s all she talks about, but that’s because she was raised not to believe in divorce,” he explains, pausing to take another deep breath. “Do you love him?”

  “No, I don’t,” I reply. The immediate response surprises me and I realize then, how truly over him I am.

  “Then don’t do it. Hold your ground and don’t let your mother strongarm you into something that’s going to make you miserable.”

  I don’t think he knows the extent of my mother’s threats and that’s not something I’m willing to divulge considering the condition he’s in. Besides, he’s right. I’m stronger than I was before; I can handle my mother.

  Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I nod my agreement. Speaking of my mother, she should be at his side.

  “Where’s mom?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “She’s here somewhere. Maybe downstairs in the kitchen,” he says in a strained voice as he waves his hand about.

  “I need to go talk to her,” I say, as I start to pull away. Grabbing me by the arm, he keeps me rooted in place.

  “I want you to stay here at the house for a few days. Would you please do that?” he whispers in that same hoarse voice.

  By the tone of his voice, I can tell he doesn’t think he has much time left. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force a smile.

  “Of course, anything for you.”

  “Good,” he murmurs, dropping the back of his head against the pillow. It’s as if my answer puts his mind at ease because a moment later, he closes his eyes and sinks further under the comforter.

  “Can I get you anything from the kitchen?” I ask him.

  “No baby, I’m good. Everything I need, is right here in front of me.”

  It doesn’t matter how old I am, I’ll always be his little girl. Pressing another kiss to his forehead, I slide off the bed and leave him to rest.

  I make my way down the spiral staircase and search for my mother. As I round the hallway and near the kitchen, I run straight into Dean.

  Taken off guard, I gasp and press my hand against my chest. My heart pounds violently as I take a step backward.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, pushing down the fright building inside of me. “You’re no longer part of this family which means you don’t belong here.”

  “That’s no way to talk to your husband,” he sneers, offering me a sinister smile.

  “You’re not my husband,” I fire back. Taking him in from head to toe, I note not much has changed. He’s still the same asshole, dressed to the nines, sporting a combover.

  “Semantics,” he retorts, shoving one hand into the pocket of his tailored slacks. “It’s only a matter of time before that changes.”

  It’ll be a cold day in hell before I sign my life over to this man for a second time, but I keep that to myself, choosing to ignore his remark.

  “Why are you here?”

  With a look of disgust, he scrutinizes my appearance.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” he growls.

  Glancing down at my attire, I shrug. When Blade agreed to take me to the store I grabbed the pile of clothes that woman from the club gave me and threw on a pair of jeans and a Harley Davidson tank top. “You look like trash,” he sneers.

  “That's none of your business,” I remind him, my tone harsh.

  Dean closes the distance between us and in a flash his fist closes as tight as a vise around my arm. The pads of his fingers dig into my flesh, bruising me.

  “You’ll always be my business.”

  “You arrogant son of a bitch,” I say between clenched teeth. “Let me go.” I demand, trying to pry my arm out of his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Not happening,” he says as he pulls me through the kitchen. My feet drag across the floor as he leads me to the basement door.

  “What are you doing?” I shriek, struggling to break free. Panic settles in and I fight with everything I have.

  Cursing, Dean pulls the door open and pushes me over the threshold before slamming it shut. I pound my fists against the wood with all my might only to hear the lock slide into place, trapping me.

  “Mom!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Where the hell is she and why did she let my ex-husband into the house?

  “My mother is going to find me, you asshole, and when she does, you're going to jail,” I yell through the door. I can hear the soles of his Italian loafers pace the floor outside the door.

  “You're locking me up in my own parent’s basement! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I continue to bang on the door, hoping my mother will hear me.

  “Mom!” I shriek, desperate.

  But, my efforts are wasted as Dean utters the words that send a chill through my entire body.

  “Your sweet mother isn’t going to save you this time, Annmarie,” he taunts. “She’s on my side.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After I broke the news to Rush he ordered every member to the table. It was all hands on deck, which meant even the prospects were allowed in church. Getting down to business, Rush slams the gavel down and turns his attention to Wiz.

  “What you got for us?” Rush questions him.

  Planting my elbows on the table, I inch forward and give Wiz my undivided attention. It’s about time he identified this motherfucker.

  “The man who was murdered, his name was Randall Finch. Once I got his name, I ran with it,” Wiz explains. “Some of my contacts knew of him. Apparently, he was working with one of the biggest drug runners in the north east.”

  At this information, I sit a little straighter in my chair and fully focus on what Wiz has to say. I’ve been searching for names behind the big distributors of coke, hoping to catch a break and run into Carrie’s killer—or killers for that matter. “Randall was cutting the drugs, keeping more of the profits than he should have, and it was affecting business.”

  Rush looks back to Wiz and asks, “You find out who he was working for?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” Wiz retorts, raising a questioning eyebrow. “A man named Gianco. He’s known all over the underworld as not only a ruthless killer, but also as one of the largest drug distributors on the eastern seaboard. Word on the street is, he’s looking to take over one of the mafia families.”

  “Imagine that,” Rush grunts, rolling his eyes. “I should’ve suspected this shit to be mob related. It was sloppy as fuck.”

  “What kind of drugs we talking about?” Brick asks, narrowing his eyes.

  “All kinds,” Wiz replies. “Gianco and his men are most known though for selling a product called Red Dawn.”

  My heart stops at the mention of Red Dawn. That’s the very shit Carrie was using. I remember those stamped bags all too well.

  Brick lets out a low but loud sounding whistle of amazement. “I hear that’s some nasty shit.”

  “I’m not sure we have enough men on hand to knock this fucker down,” Saber remarks, thoughtful, “and now that Blade is on their radar we’re gonna need a pre-emptive plan of attack in order to get the heat off him.”

  “You can really pick ’em, can’t you Blade,” Rush sneers, tossing me a glare for extra emphasis. “Of all the murders taking place in these cities, you happen to witness one of the worst ones. To add insult to injury, you’ve put us in a position where we have to get our hands dirty with the fucking mob.”

  If he only knew about my past, he’d know I’m familiar with this shit and that I’m equipped to annihilate this Gianco motherfucker. But, that ain’t saying I’m not surprised about the link to Red Dawn. This bit of intel has probably knocked off months and months of hard-core investigating for me.

  Drawing my attention back to the discussion at hand, I remain silent as my brothers go back and forth trying to decide how much of a threat these people might be to me and Ree.

  At the mention of he
r name, I get a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know who I’m more angry with—myself for being negligent or her for being defiant. Now, I have no idea where she is and she has no fucking clue how much danger she’s potentially exposed herself to.

  “Why the fuck did your bitch take off anyway?” Saber questions. “By the sounds coming from your door last night, I’d say you gave it to her good enough.”

  “Yeah, man, a woman moaning like that ain’t running from the dick. She’s looking to fucking put a ball and chain around your shaft.”

  I’ve been asking myself the same fucking question—well, minus the whole dick thing. Ree promised she’d give me a week to fix this shit and Saber is somewhat right—last night things were good between us. Good enough to make her come three times.

  The only logical explanation I can come up with is that she was worried her father would kick the bucket soon.

  “I allowed her to make one phone call. The woman didn’t drop from the sky, she had a life before she met me, people who talked to her on the daily. So, she called a friend and told her she was safe, that we had taken a trip down to Cape May. The friend told her, her father was deathly ill, or some shit, and I didn’t let her call him. I’m thinking she ran to her old man.”

  The room goes silent and Wiz looks at Rush for a beat before the president gives a curt nod. Wiz turns back to me and tosses a manila folder onto the table. I narrow my eyes as I hold Wiz’s stare.

  “What’s this?” I slam my hand on top of it to keep it from sliding into me.

  “I’ve been doing my own research on your girl while waiting for the fingerprints to come back.”

  This doesn’t surprise me, Wiz didn’t get his name for nothing. Aside from being a fucking genius with computers, the guy can find information on anything and everything. The motherfucker probably has contacts all over the world.

  Recalling the exchange between him and Rush before he handed me the envelope, I look to Rush who crosses his arms against his chest.

  “And?” I prompt, anxious.

  “Your girl, Ree or rather, Annmarie, is connected to this guinea bastard, Gianco,” Wiz tells me. “Now, I’m thinking that’s something you didn’t know.”