by Hamel, B. B.
“Hey,” I said to her, cutting through the music.
She stopped and smiled at me. “Hey yourself,” she said.
I stepped close to her. I could almost feel the tension between us spark immediately. Her tits were nice and big, and they heaved as she began to breathe heavy. Her whole body turned toward me as I got closer, and her full lips parted slightly into a cute little smile. I could practically read her like a book.
She was aching for me.
“Where you headed?” I asked.
She laughed. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet. I’m Liam.”
I stepped in close, giving her my best smile. I stopped a few inches away from her, definitely violating her personal space, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was playing it cool, though I could see through her. She was practically begging for it.
“Hi, Liam. I’m Andrea.”
“Andrea, that’s a cute name. Where you headed, Andrea?”
“I was going to the bathroom.”
“Listen, Andrea, you should have a drink with me.”
She shook her head softly. “I can’t. I’m here with someone.”
I shrugged. “I’ll show you around the back room and the basement, give you a little tour of the place.”
She smiled. “What makes you think I’d go into a basement with some stranger I just met?”
“Because I can tell from the way you’re breathing and smiling that you find me attractive, and I find you attractive too. And you seem like the type that would want to explore that.”
There it was. I wasn’t bullshitting her; I really could tell she was into me. But it was definitely a line, and it didn’t always work. She had a surprised little look on her face, and she probably wasn’t used to a man like me going right for her.
“Okay, Liam. I’ll be back. Then you can give me that tour.”
Then again, maybe she was.
I grinned at her and touched her hip. She didn’t shy away. “I’ll be here.”
She gave me this fucking cute-as-hell look and started off. I stared at her firm ass in her tight jeans, and I guessed she was in her early twenties, probably a few years younger than me. My cock began to stir in my jeans as I imagined all the dirty shit I knew she’d let me do to her. I was sure she’d be begging for more by the end of the night.
And I wouldn’t give it to her.
I looked around the bar, smirking softly, and reminded myself again, maybe for the fiftieth time that night: it was good to be a Right Person.
“Liam,” a gruff voice called out, cutting through my good mood.
I looked over and spotted Max, all six-foot-eight of him. His thick beard was unkempt, and he had this serious expression on his face that immediately killed my hard on. I made my way over to him, picking through the crowd. I was over six feet and fit in my way, but Max made me look almost skinny.
Almost.
“What’s up, Max?” I said.
“We got a job coming,” he grunted.
Shit. I glanced back toward the bathrooms.
“Can it wait?”
“Not for some pussy, it can’t.”
I gritted my teeth and shrugged. “Fine. What’s the deal?”
“Follow me.”
He stalked toward the front door without another word, and I trailed him, glancing over my shoulder, cursing softly. It was a shame to leave her, but there would be plenty of other young chicks with nice tits. There always were.
We pushed through the front door and out into the cool summer night. I followed him north, up the block, across the street, and stopped in the shadow of a big tree growing in the middle of an empty lot.
“What’s with the secrecy, Max?”
“Sensitive shit. Can’t be overheard.”
That cut through my annoyance. If we had to talk outside the bar, then it probably meant something serious was about to happen.
“What’s the play?” I asked.
He paused and looked at me seriously. “You got a hit,” he said.
I blinked. “Are you kidding?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Word from the boss. Time you started getting your hands dirty.”
I sucked in a deep breath and squeezed my hands into tight fists. I hadn’t been ordered on a hit yet, although it wasn’t like I hadn’t done my fair share of violent and nefarious things. I just hadn’t killed a man, or at least I hadn’t done it on purpose. Every Right Person was ordered on a hit sooner or later, and usually more than one. They were a way to prove your loyalty.
For a while, I was protected from the worst of it because of my father. But my father was gone, and I was just another guy that needed to be tested. And in a time of chaos, there were a lot of questions about loyalty floating around. I knew that if I didn’t perform, my loyalty might be questioned. And that would be very, very dangerous. One false move and I’d wake up with a bullet in my back.
Or not wake up, I guess.
“Who’s the guy?” I asked.
“Some dirty meth head over in Kensington. Robbed one of our people in broad daylight and broke his leg with a pipe or some shit. Nearly beat him to death, but some locals chased him off.”
I shook my head. It was pretty bad when our people were getting beatdowns from drug addicts.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I cursed and glanced back at Drake’s.
“That a problem?” Max pressed.
“No, it’s not a fucking problem.”
“Good. Tom should be here with his van in a minute. We’ll drop you close to where the guy’s staying and leave you with a piece. You do it, you ditch the gun in a drain, and you lay low for a few days. Got it?”
“I know how it goes,” I grunted.
Before Max could give me more bullshit, a white van pulled around the corner and slowed to a stop in front of us. Max pulled open the back door and climbed in, looking back out at me. I hesitated, knowing full well what it meant if I got in that car. It meant I was going to kill a man, probably a deserving, violent asshole, but a human nonetheless. I was going to pull the trigger to defend my people.
I sighed. Sometimes, it wasn’t good to be a Right Person.
I climbed into the van, and Max slammed the door behind us. We sped off into traffic and the night.
––––––––
Hours later, the afternoon sunlight was bright against my frayed nerves. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and the sound of the gun going off in my hand, the smell of fear, the claustrophobia of the crack house room I found the guy lying in, and the overwhelming terror I felt as I moved back out into the street replayed through my mind, keeping me awake. I sweated through one pair of sheets and had to replace them, though that didn’t make me feel any cleaner. It felt like I had blood caked all over my hands, though that couldn’t have been true. I took the longest, hottest shower of my life after I got back to my apartment.
A life of crime wasn’t what I wanted when I was a kid, but I was born into it. I was never given much of a choice. I had the stomach for it, I loved the rush, and I had the skills, but there was still something revolting about the way the Mob worked, with their callous disregard for human life. There were parts I loved about being one of the Right People and parts I hated, and the murder was one of the things I despised the most. Violence was one thing, but murder was something else completely. But I understood it. I understood why it was necessary to do things we didn’t want to do, and so I performed my duties without complaining. I could kill a man when I had to, even if I didn't like it. I could break his knees it smash his face. It was part of who I was.
I didn’t know if that guy deserved what I did to him. I didn’t have the power to decide who was innocent and who wasn’t. I followed orders.
That was my excuse, at least. I would do whatever I had to.
I slipped on a pair of sunglasses as I walked down the block, heading toward the sound of idling cars and children. I checked my watch: three thirty in th
e afternoon. I was right on time, though that wasn’t always the case. I hated making the kid wait, but in my line of work, I couldn’t always control my schedule. Anyway, I was better than his piece-of-shit mother, at least. She never showed up, no matter what.
I shook my head as scenes from the night before threatened to creep into my mind. Flashes of violence and fear came through no matter how hard I tried to resist them. To distract myself, I hummed softly, winding my way through the other parents picking up their kids. I spotted Richie sitting off to the side of the front door, his back to the brick façade, his nose buried in some weird-looking Gameboy.
“Yo, kid,” I called out, and he looked up.
A smiled broke across his face, and for a second I didn’t feel like I had blood underneath my fingernails.
“Hey, Liam,” he said, standing.
“How was it?”
“The usual.”
He looked down at his Gameboy and started playing again. I grinned at him, guiding him through the crowd with my hand on his back. Richie wasn’t a big talker, and that suited me just fine. I wasn’t the best with kids, but I was getting better. Richie was easy to deal with, at least.
Before we got far, I heard a voice cut through the din of chattering parents and screaming children.
“Mister Sullivan?”
I turned and looked back, and then I stood there blinking. Walking toward me through the crowd was this young, gorgeous blonde. She was wearing a simple white button-down shirt and a beige cardigan, and her hair framed her pretty face perfectly. Her lips were pink and full, and her eyes were an intense shade of green that I had never seen before. She was probably around my age, maybe a year or two younger, and her body was fantastic. I couldn’t help but eye her nice tits and curvy shape.
“Who’s this?” I said to Richie softly.
He glanced up. “Miss Boucher,” he said.
“Not helpful,” I muttered to him.
“Mister Sullivan?” she said again, getting closer.
I gave her my best “responsible parent” smile. “Yes, hey there, Miss Boucher.”
“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Richie’s teacher,” she said, extending her hand.
That made sense. I took it and we shook. I blinked for a second and took off my sunglasses, surprised at the way her hand felt. It was soft but firm, and I wanted the touch to linger. I almost felt bad about wanting to fuck Richie’s teacher on her desk.
But not really.
“I’ve heard plenty of good things about you,” I said, laying it on.
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Richie is such a good student.”
I nudged him. “Hear that?”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking up.
I grinned at her. “Polite, too.”
She laughed again, and her expression turned more serious. “Mr. Sullivan, can I talk with you for a second?”
“Sure, but call me Liam.”
Her expression softened and she looked at Richie.
“Richie, why don’t you go sit over by the wall for a second?”
He looked at me and I nodded. He shrugged and walked back to where he had been sitting, plopped down, and resumed playing.
“What did he do?” I asked her, cutting to the chase.
She laughed softly and moved a step closer. I loved the sound of her laugh: melodic and gentle. I thought I could feel something between us, but I wasn’t sure. The place was crowded, practically teeming with kids and their parents, and my head was still buzzing with partial flashbacks.
“What makes you think he did something wrong?”
I shrugged. “Whenever a teacher wanted to talk to my parents, it was always because I messed up.”
She nodded softly. “Well, Liam, he got into a fight.”
“Richie got into a fight?”
“With a boy in his class, yes.”
I was surprised. Richie was one of the quietest kids I knew, and had never been in trouble before as far as I knew. I couldn’t imagine him getting mad enough to fight someone.
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see the whole thing. Richie says the other boy, Joshua, was saying things about his mother. Joshua says Richie hit him for no reason, but who knows.”
“Riche wouldn’t just hit a kid for no reason.”
“I think you’re right. But he can’t fight, for any reason, you know?”
I nodded, but inwardly I was glowing with pride. Richie wasn’t a weak kid, exactly, but it was about time he stood up for himself. He always had his nose in a videogame or a book, and I was worried that the son of one of Philly’s most notorious Mob bosses was going to grow up a target. He needed to learn to defend himself sooner rather than later.
“Of course not, Miss Boucher.”
“So you’ll talk to him?”
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll talk to him.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Liam.”
“Any time, Miss Boucher.”
She paused, looking me in the eye. “Call me Ellie.”
“Okay, Ellie.”
She glanced over at Richie and then back at me, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Can I ask you something else, Liam?”
I shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“I was told by the administrators that Richie’s home life is a little different, and that you’d be the one taking care of him, but I wasn’t told why.”
She looked at me, her face so earnest and sexy, and I almost wanted to tell her the whole truth. I wanted to tell her that my little brother’s mom was a pill-addicted whore who could barely take care of herself, left alone take care of Richie. I wanted to tell her that Richie’s dad was one of the most dangerous bosses in the whole Irish Mob, and that I was both older brother and protector. That I walked the path of the Right People, hoping Richie never would have to.
Instead, I settled for a partial truth.
“Richie’s dad passed two years ago, and his mom’s going through some stuff. So I’ve been helping out.”
She nodded. “That’s really good of you.”
“It’s what you do for family.”
“Well,” she said, smiling. I had the urge to grab her by the hips and find out how she tasted, but that might not be appropriate to do outside an elementary school. “I’ll let you get going, Liam.”
“Sure, and I’m sorry about the fight.”
“Just make sure you talk to him.”
I nodded. She smiled again and walked off, and I stared at her ass as she picked her way through the crowd, greeting parents and waving to kids. I shook my head softly, laughing to myself.
Of course Richie’s teacher would be a knockout.
I looked over at the kid and waved to him. He glanced up from his game, stood, and walked over. He fell into step with me as we headed down the block, walking back toward his mom’s house.
“Your teacher told me you got into a fight,” I said after a short silence.
“Yeah,” he said.
“What happened?”
“He called mom a whore, so I punched him.”
I stifled a laugh. “Kid, you can’t do that in class.”
He looked up at me. “You say I need to defend myself and my family.”
“Yeah, and you did the right thing. But don’t do it at school anymore.”
He shrugged and went back to playing his game. I looked out over the block, smiling to myself, imagining quiet Richie punching some asshole kid in the nose for insulting his pill-head mom.
Richie may have been a pain in the ass, but I was proud of the little shit.
I patted him on the back of the head, and he swatted at my hand, annoyed. I smiled, and we walked slowly together back toward his mom’s house.
The blood still felt like it was caked underneath my fingernails, but it wasn’t so bad. I could handle it. I would have to handle it, for my sake, for Richie’s sake, and even for his mom’s sake.
I had shit to take care of.
I was exhausted. I never thought I’d work with fourth graders, let alone fourth graders at an inner city public school. But there I was, day in and day out, and I couldn’t have been happier.
Life wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty close. I loved teaching, loved going to work every day, and loved my neighborhood. I had a great dog named Petey and a perfect best friend. No boyfriend, though. No real prospects, either. My job wasn’t exactly conducive to meeting new men, unless you considered the dads of my students.
There was one guy I was interested in, but it would never happen. He was the older brother of one of my students and was more or less the kid’s caretaker. He was gruff and sexy, all ripped muscles and cocky smiles, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Plus, there were rumors about him, rumors I didn’t want to get involved with.
Still, the way he looked at me. It was hard not to fantasize about him, at least a little bit. I had never met another guy remotely like him.
The day was warm, only a few weeks into the school year, and I felt good walking back to my apartment. That was another amazing perk: easy commute. I passed by Sarcone’s bakery, the smell of fresh bread overwhelming the sidewalk, and I breathed it deep. I moved south, away from the school, and turned right at the corner ahead.
I briefly wondered what Chelsea was up to but decided against calling her. Chelsea had just moved into my neighborhood and was also starting a new job at a law firm downtown. She wasn’t a lawyer, at least not yet, but she was working as a legal research assistant and was doing pretty well. I loved Chelsea more than anyone in my life. Even a few years ago, when things were pretty dark and I was struggling to make it through the day, she was there for me. When other people from those days slowly drifted away, she stuck around, no matter what. There was only one other person like that, but I hadn’t talked to him in a while.
Yawning, I climbed my stoop, unlocked the front door, and walked upstairs to my apartment. At the sound of my keys in the lock, I heard Petey run up to the door excitedly.