Line Of Fire

by KB Winters

  Two men got out of the truck and sauntered into the bar. I watched them go, wondering if they knew anything about Jimmy’s dealings. In the end, there was only one way to find out. I cut the engine, got out of my dad’s car, and followed after them. I’d been to O’Doul’s once or twice but it was never a hangout for us. Tonight, the place was dark and practically empty. The two men sat at the end of the bar, and the bartender chatted with them in a way that suggested they were loyal customers. Or maybe even family, judging from their similar builds and features.

  I took a stool a few down and ordered a beer. The two men were lost in their own conversation and didn’t notice me at first. When I got the beer, I took a long sip and then jerked my chin in the bartender’s direction. “This is a good draft.”

  The bartender nodded.

  “You know, I run a pub on the other side of town. Who would I call to get this into my place?”

  As predicted, the two men beside me turned. The bartender glanced their way. “Actually, you’re looking at my supply chain right now.”

  I leaned against the bar. “Is that so?”

  The men stood and wandered down to close the gap between us. The shorter one wore a green shirt and was the one I’d recognized as the passenger of the truck. I stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “Perhaps so.” The taller one shook my hand first. “Where’s your place?”

  “Malloy’s. West side.”

  The shorter one looked up at his partner, falling short of actually gulping. I’d love to play poker against him.

  I considered the two men carefully. “You know it?”

  The taller one slid onto a bar stool, leaving one between us. “We already have an arrangement with Malloy’s. Yet, somehow, you’re not familiar.”

  “Do you now?” I cocked my head. “Then I’m sure you’ll have heard the news that my brother, Jimmy, was murdered a few days ago. Gunned down in his own pub.”

  I watched the shorter one and was surprised when he looked genuinely unaware.

  “I hadn’t heard,” the taller one said. “You’re Jimmy’s brother?”

  “That’s right. I’ve been away for the past few years.”

  “That’s right,” he smiled. “You’re the Army hero.”

  I fanned my hands on the bar. “Navy, actually.”

  “Oh huh. Right.”

  The shorter one nodded. “We’re sorry to hear about what happened to your brother.”

  “Thank you.” I sipped at my beer. “See, I’m going to be taking over the bar now that Jimmy’s gone. So, fill me in.”

  They exchanged a glance. “How about we get a table? Get to know each other a little better?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  I followed their lead, and we took the booth in the far corner despite the fact the bar was practically vacant. I sat opposite them and sprawled my arms out along the vinyl booth. “So, who are you?”

  “Just call me Weeks,” the taller one said. “This is Bernie.”

  “Just call me Mr. Malloy.”

  Weeks nodded. “Jimmy came to us a couple years ago. Said he wasn’t happy with his suppliers and wanted to cut some better deals.”

  “On booze?”

  Bernie smirked. “And a few other things—”

  “Such as?”

  Bernie glanced around like he was a corner scout watching for cops. Then he plowed on as though we were in a soundproof booth. Clearly comfortable. “I’ll shoot straight with you, Malloy. Jimmy needed to create a second cash flow. He had some debts and needed to find a way to stop the bleeding. We made the arrangements.”

  “What are we talking here? Drugs? Weapons?”

  “Pussy.”

  I sat back. Emma’s words came back to me. She thought there had been working girls at the pub. “You’re saying my brother was some kind of pimp?”

  Brain shrugged a single shoulder. “He provided a safe place for our girls to work.”

  “At the pub?”

  Weeks, satisfied we weren’t being overheard, chimed in. “Two of the vacant apartments in the building are used for an escort service. It’s a simple arrangement, really. The girls meet their dates at the bar, money is exchanged and held until the end of the night, and the girls go take care of business in one of the apartments. When the pub shuts down, the girls would get their cut from Jimmy. He takes his cut. The rest goes to us.”

  That knocked my head back. If Pops knew his solid, working class apartment building filled with God-fearing tenants who paid their rent on time and slapped their kids on the back of the head if they cursed at the dinner table was being used as a whorehouse, he’d have a fucking stroke. But I didn’t show anything. “What kind of split are we talking?”

  “Twenty, twenty, sixty.”

  I scoffed, “And I’m assuming you get the sixty.”

  Weeks shrugged. “Cost of doing business. Trust me, everyone has more than enough.”

  I shook my head. “And no one has caught on to this? The neighbors don’t think it’s weird a bunch of half-naked chicks are taking home a different guy every hour?”

  Both of the numb-nuts laughed. “The apartments they use are leased to the girls. They live there as so-called,” and here he threw a pair of air quotes, “roommates. Who could judge a bunch of single women for having healthy sexual appetites?”

  Paddy would be furious if he found out. I couldn’t even think about my pops. To know the apartments that he had busted his ass for all those years had been turned into brothels…

  I couldn’t let them find out. It would ruin Jimmy’s memory and humiliate my family.

  I leaned forward. “As I said at the start of this conversation, I’m in charge now. And I’m not as keen on this business venture as my brother. Whatever deal you had, died along with my brother. I’ll honor whatever distribution contracts are on the table, and the girls can stay through the end of the week. Give ‘em time to pack up and get out. But the girls don’t work there anymore. We clear?”

  Bernie’s smirk faded. “No, I’m afraid we’re not. We had an agreement. You can’t come in and—”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Bernie. I can and I will. I’ll be at the pub every night as soon as it reopens, and if I so much as catch of whiff of prostitutes creeping around, I’ll be coming back for you.”

  Weeks put a hand between Bernie and me. “Why start a war, brother? Surely we can figure this out.”

  “My deal is more than fair, and it’s final.” I pushed up from the table. “Nice chat, gentlemen. Have a good night.”

  I felt their eyes on me with every step I took back to the front doors. I paused to drop a twenty on the bar and gave the bartender a two-finger wave before heading out to the car.

  Chapter Ten

  Emma

  “You coming home tonight? Or do you have other plans?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my sister as I closed up the diner. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but yes, I’m coming home.”

  “I just wondered if you were planning on seeing Dylan again before he leaves town. How long is he here anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” Although, I wished I did. “Probably another week or so. I haven’t asked.”

  “Maybe you should.” Kate smiled and kicked her feet up on the stool beside the one she was seated on. She rubbed her calf muscles and moaned as she worked out the knots. We’d both pulled a twelve-hour shift and were exhausted. “I’m getting too old for this,” she griped.

  I laughed. “You’re nineteen.”

  “Well, I feel old.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If you would wear proper shoes, you’d be a lot better off.”

  She frowned at me and then dropped her gaze to my shoes. “No thanks. I think I’ll pass on the granny shoes. I’d like to cling to a small shred of fashion in this getup.” She gestured at the knee-length navy blue waitress uniform and white apron.

  “These are not granny shoes!” I shook my head and t
ook the last load of dishes to the kitchen.

  “The box said orthopedic!” Kate called after me.

  I muttered to myself as I loaded up the dishwasher. “They have orthopedic arch supports, that’s all.”

  Kate was barefoot when I went back to the dining room. She’d ditched her three-inch heels and was counting up the tips from the fishbowl we kept beside the register. “Rough day, but at least people were generous.”

  “That’s because most of them know about . . .” My throat swelled, and I felt the all-too-familiar rush of tears in my eyes. I hoped wherever Tommy was, making peace with his Maker or whatever, he knew I had an awful ache in my heart for what happened to him. I shook my head, trying to clear away the wave of emotion. “They want to help out.”

  Kate gave me a sad nod. “Right. Of course.”

  I picked up the broom and started sweeping the dining room. “What did you want to do for dinner?” I asked her as I worked. “I think we have some leftover chicken soup in the back. Do you think Mom would like that?”

  “Let’s order takeout.”

  I didn’t argue. Tommy Jr. would be overjoyed to have pizza for dinner instead of diner leftovers for the fourth night in a row. After Tommy’s funeral a few days ago, a horde of family and friends had descended and stocked the kitchen with casseroles. We plowed through the majority of it and stashed the rest in the freezer before it could go bad. I’d intended on getting back to cooking, but so far it hadn’t happened. At the end of a long shift it was easier to cart up leftovers from the diner than it was to convince myself to whip up a meal.

  Eventually, things would get back in order and I’d find a way to rebalance my life. At least, that was the hope I found myself clinging to as the days went by. It was strange to think of how different things had become in the span of a week. Tommy was gone. Tommy Jr.’s life forever changed. Dylan was back in town like some kind of prodigal son, vowing to save the day. As for me, well, I no longer recognized myself. Years of buried frustration and self-loathing were breaking free, and it was all I could do to hold on and not break down in tears every other minute.

  Tommy’s funeral. I couldn’t bear to think about it. How could one heart hold so many conflicted feelings? Was I lying when grief and mourning threatened to overwhelm me? Was that a lie? Uncle Paddy and Dylan’s father had to practically carry me to my seat for the service. The sound of all the neighbors weeping and wailing, the women of the parish reaching out to grab my hand and touch their rosaries to me as I walked down the aisle of the church, the faces of my girlfriends ripped with grief, his casket on the altar draped in flowers—all of it tore me apart.

  Yet the day before he was killed, we had the ugliest fight ever. I’d found lipstick on his shirt, again, and threw it in his face when he insisted a waitress had lost her balance carrying a heavy tray and had fallen against him. Yeah, right.

  So, why was I yearning to see him again? Was it for me? Or our son? Or because the last words he’d said to me before he left that day was ‘Go to hell’?

  Above everything else, Tommy didn’t deserve to die like he did—gunned down like an animal. But it wasn’t Tommy who I cried over, no, it was the man he used to be, not the man he’d become. The tender husband who’d held my hand on the way to the hospital when I was so scared because the labor pains were coming, the sweet father who danced little Tommy through the diner on his shoulders for the customers to see when he was a toddler, boasting, “You ever seen such a boy?”

  So, what haunted me? Maybe if we’d tried harder. Maybe in time we could have worked things out. For Tommy Jr’s. sake. Now I’ll never know. For those few hours at the funeral, Dylan didn’t exist. I focused on my son and getting through that terrible day. Since then I’d been a wreck. Focusing on closing up for the night took all my energy and attention.

  I stooped to sweep up the small pile of dust and dirt I’d made. “Why don’t you go ahead and order. I’ll finish up here. Tell little Tommy I’ll be up in a few.”

  I glanced up as Kate was stripping off her apron. She dropped it onto one of the hooks by the doors to the kitchen. “Don’t have to tell me twice!” She picked up her heels, slipped them back on, and headed for the door. “Cheese with basil and onion?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Kate.”

  She left the diner and once the bell tied to the front doors stopped chiming, it was completely silent. I finished sweeping and then went to count the till and lock everything up in the safe tucked away in the small back office. As I stood, I saw the photo of Tommy, me, and baby Tommy taken the day he was born. A strange mix of sorrow and joy thrummed through me as I stared at the picture. I’d been so blissfully unaware that day of the things that were in store for us. I had no idea that Tommy would turn out to be such a hot-tempered, abusive husband and that Tommy Jr. would spend the majority of his life as the son to a single mother. In some ways, I wondered if maybe it was for the best. That maybe Tommy Jr. would be better off not ever knowing that side of his father. But the moment the thought crossed my mind I cursed myself. It was horrible to think that way. Unspeakable.

  I hurried to turn off the lights and then left the office.

  Upstairs, the pizza had arrived and I found Kate, my mom, and little Tommy all sitting around the small dining table. Tommy spotted me and flew out of his seat to run for me. He threw his arms around my legs and squeezed tight. I ruffled my fingers through his hair. “How was school today, sweetheart?”

  Tommy took my hand and led me to the table as he filled me in on the events of the day. His eyes were clear and bright, and I wondered if he was already moving on from the sudden loss of his father. The dark thoughts I’d tried to leave behind at the diner started creeping back in.

  ***

  After dinner, I left bath time to Kate and went across the hall to get a couple loads of laundry done. Kate gave me a skeptical look when I left but didn’t say anything. My mother gave me a few of their things to toss into the wash and let me know she’d put Tommy to bed if I wasn’t back in time.

  Most of the laundry was Tommy’s. It was strange to be going through his pockets, turning things inside out, and washing it all like he would be there to pick it up and wear it in the morning. I had no idea what I was going to do with all of his clothing, but I figured I might as well wash it. The slacks he’d worn at the diner before changing to go out to the pub were on the top of the stack. I sighed when my fingers felt something in the pockets. “Why is it too much to ask that you do this yourself?” I asked no one. I turned the pockets inside out and found he’d left his wallet and a small notebook inside the pants. I frowned. How did he manage to leave his wallet behind when he was going down to gamble and do God only knew what else in the pub?

  I sank down onto the side of the bed and opened the battered wallet. A few twenties were tucked inside, along with an assortment of credit cards, business cards, and a picture from Tommy’s school photos the year before. I set the wallet aside and opened the small notebook. There weren’t a lot of words. Mostly scrolls of numbers. None of it made a lot of sense and the notebook itself didn’t look familiar to me, but I figured it must have been used for working in the diner. Keeping inventory. Something sensible. He’d never really warmed to technology. He didn’t even have a smartphone. He had a stupid flip phone. He didn’t text and only had an email address because the diner’s website designer had required one.

  I set the items aside and went back to doing the laundry, but a question started gnawing at me as I unballed socks and sorted through the t-shirts and underwear. Where was his phone? He’d left his wallet in his pants from work but managed to remember his phone? It wasn’t like him. It would make sense if it were the other way around. He was constantly leaving his phone behind and getting frustrated when he couldn’t find it. It always turned up. Usually buried in the couch cushions or lodged in the car’s cup holder.

  I started the first load of laundry, changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, and went downstairs to
check the car. I hadn’t driven anywhere since the shooting. Everyone had insisted on chauffeuring me around. The steel gray sedan Tommy and I’d shared was parked under a carport in a small lot behind the building. Most of the diner’s customers walked in from the neighborhood or parked on the street. The lot in back was for the residents of the apartments. I unlocked the car and used the small security flashlight on my key ring to search the car front to back. No sign of the phone. After a few minutes, I resigned myself that it was probably up in the couch somewhere or had been on him and was now in an evidence locker at the police station.

  It didn’t really matter anyway. As I headed back to the building I rolled my eyes at myself for even bothering to look for the damn thing. Hell, I had a phone. I never used it. When I got closer to the building, my ears perked at the sound of hushed voices coming from the employee entrance at the of the diner. The shops all opened onto a back alley and parking lot that was hedged with a line of five-foot shrubs to block the view of the dumpsters and cars. The hedge stood between me and the thugs.

  “I thought you said you could do this,” one voice growled.

  The hairs on the back of my neck went up at the hissed reply of the other, “Shut the fuck up and I will.”

  My blood ran cold and froze all my muscles in place. Banging sounds were muffled by another series of whispers. By some sheer push of willpower, I forced myself to leave the door and moved to peer around the hedge. I stuck to the shadows and peeked out just as the two men popped the lock on the back door of the diner. They exchanged a quick fist bump and then slithered inside. My lungs burned from holding my breath.

  The diner door shut, and I slipped back into the shadows. “Shit!”

  My own cell phone was upstairs in the apartment. If I went back now I’d have to explain it to my mom and Kate and risk freaking Tommy out. Instead, I crept down the alley and bolted around the other side of the building. I moved quickly and resisted the urge to look inside the diner’s dark windows to see if I could spot the two men who’d just broken in. The lights inside the pub were on, and I pushed into the door so fast I nearly plowed over a guy.