by HD Smith
Pushing the hair out of his eyes, Lenny answered anyway. “No sir, he delivered it earlier.”
His dad eyed him for a beat, as if finally acknowledging he was there. “Good.”
Lenny wouldn’t admit it, but he hated that Matty got all the jobs. Matty shared the tip money, but Lenny wanted to be the one his dad picked.
“Why were they fighting?” Townsend asked.
Straightening, Lenny said, “The Fosters jumped Matty and stole his tip money. They pounded him pretty hard, so we went to even the score.”
Before his dad could comment, the phone on his desk rang.
Townsend answered it. “Yeah ... okay, we’ll take care of it.” He replaced the receiver. “They’re being booked now.”
His dad pushed back from the desk. “Audrey doesn't need to deal with this. Reno, bring the car around.” He glared at Lenny. “Go home, you’ve been in enough trouble today.”
Lenny nodded, but he wanted to yell at his father. Matty was the one that had been arrested, so why was his dad mad at him instead?
~#~
“Well, what do we have here? Two future tough guys?” the desk sergeant, a portly balding man whose cheeks were always rosy, said as officer Grayson led Matty and Juli into the Police Station.
Matty didn’t say anything. He knew to keep quiet.
Grayson pushed the boys toward the bench beside the sign in desk. “Sit,” he ordered.
“What are your names and who are your legal guardians?” the desk sergeant asked.
“Julian Townsend. You know who my father is.”
Matty wasn’t sure what to say. The last time he was arrested Mr. Hill told Matty to have the police call him. The problem, of course, was that Mr. Hill wasn’t Matty’s legal guardian. “Matthew Dunmore,” he finally said, “you can call Mr. Hill.”
Grayson’s head snapped up. Looking at Matty, he stammered, “M-Mr. Hill!”
The desk sergeant let out a long exasperated sigh. Eyes narrowed on Matty, he said, “You don’t get a phone call, kid. We call your parents. Now give me a name.”
Matty pressed his lips together. The sergeant raised one of his bushy eyebrows. Juli elbowed Matty in the side. “Audrey Dunmore,” he said finally. His mom was going to kill him.
Grayson muttered something unintelligible, shaking his head. Matty caught sight of Officer Monroe leaving the chief’s office. Monroe had practically jumped from the patrol car the moment it arrived at the station, leaving Grayson alone to handle Matty and Juli. Grayson looked up, going a bit pale as he saw Monroe nodding to the chief.
Matty and Juli were taken to a holding cell in the back after booking.
Juli jumped onto the top bunk and stretched out. “It’s still early,” he said, “do you think they’ll come tonight?”
Matty shrugged. “I don’t know.” He sat on the bottom bunk. “My mom threatened to leave me in lockup for the night if I got arrested again.”
Juli snorted. “Then you better hope Hill finds out you’re here.”
Matty knew why his mom freaked out every time he got into trouble. His dad had died in prison, and it was days like this he worried he might share that fate. He was only fourteen and he already worked for the Mob—and it wasn’t like he could change that, right? The only question was how high up in the ranks of the organization he’d go.
“Did you see Lester? He was crying like a baby,” Juli crowed, interrupting Matty’s thoughts. “Too bad we didn’t get back the tip money.”
Matty stared at the bars. “Yeah.”
The springs of the top bunk squeaked as Juli leaned over the side of the cot. “What’s wrong, man?”
“Do you think we’ll ever leave here?”
“Yeah, tomorrow when our parents come to pick us up.”
Matty shook his head. Eyes fixed on Juli, he said, “Not here, I mean Nowhere. Do you think we’ll ever leave Nowhere?”
Juli’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“I mean do you really want to do what your dad does? Do you really want to work for someone like Hill your whole life?”
Juli gave Matty his hundred-watt smile. “Oh, hell ... no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m gonna work for myself.”
Matty could honestly say he’d never considered that option—if it was an option.
“What do you want to do?” Juli asked.
“I don’t know.” Matty looked at the bars again. “I just don’t want to end up like my dad.”
The cot squeaked as Juli lay back down. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
Matty stretched out on the bottom bunk. He didn’t want to end up like his dad, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it out. The Mob wasn’t an easy thing to get away from, even when you were fourteen.
Matty lay there, staring up at the springs above him, wondering if this was how his father had spent the last days of his life. He lay there like that for a while, transfixed by his lack of options.
Juli swatted his foot. He hadn’t even heard him jump down from the cot. “Let’s go, Matty.”
Officer Monroe was outside the cell waiting for them. He escorted Matty and Juli to the police chief’s office.
“This is some kind of record,” Matty whispered. Juli agreed.
It wasn’t like Matty normally spent days in the holding cell, but it was usually hours when he did; he’d barely been here forty-five minutes.
Mr. Hill and his lawyer were both in the chief’s office. The lawyer was arguing with the chief as they entered. He was spouting off some legal mumbo-jumbo to explain how the Foster boys had started the fight. The attorney paused when he caught sight of Matty.
In a louder, more authoritative voice the lawyer said, “Has this boy received medical attention?” Then he immediately jumped back into more legalese, as if no answer was expected.
Police Chief Waters, who’d been quietly listening and nodding his head, raised one eyebrow to Mr. Hill, in a “let’s rap this up” gesture. Matty always had the impression that Waters and Hill were more acquainted than either man would admit, which may have explained why Matty never stayed in jail very long.
Mr. Hill took Matty home. Matty and his mother, Audrey, lived in a three-bedroom apartment on the west side of town. It wasn’t one of the posh three-story town homes near McKinley and Garfield, where Lenny and his mom lived, but it was nice. They’d moved there six years ago after Matty’s father went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. It had been a step up from their two-bedroom flat on Washington and Hayes, but it had never really felt like home, especially after his father had been killed in prison. That was when everything changed. It had been five years, but Matty remembered that day as if it were yesterday.
He’d been listening from the door to his room. His mom stood there frozen as Mr. Hill had continued to explain. His dad, Richard Dunmore, had been stabbed to death by another inmate.
“The payments will continue,” Mr. Hill told her, as if that was his mom’s only concern. “You’ll get the entire five years of financial support.”
That was the original deal. Matty’s father, who’d been a foreman at a construction site, had agreed to serve three to five years in prison for a crime committed by a made man. His mom would get monthly payments while his dad was in prison. That was how they got the nicer apartment in the nicer neighborhood ... and that was why Matty’s dad had been in that exercise yard on the day he was stabbed.
Matty had wiped away the tears before they could stain his cheeks. Boys didn’t cry. He was nine—not a baby.
His mother looked down at the cleaning cloth in her hand, as if she wasn’t sure what she’d been doing. Mr. Hill opened his arms. She didn’t move forward, so he walked toward her.
Without hesitation she slapped him across the face.
Matty gasped. He’d never seen anyone strike Mr. Hill. Matty ran to his mom, putting himself between her and Mr. Hill. For a few tense moments no one moved.
Finally, Hill r
ubbed his face and stretched out his jaw. “I’m going to let that go this time, because I know you’re upset. But don’t ever let it happen again.”
His mom had wrapped her trembling arms around Matty, pulling him close. With a wobbly voice, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with my son.”
That felt like so long ago. Matty stared out the window as Mr. Hill drove him home. At fourteen, Matty was now the one working for Mr. Hill. His mother didn’t like it. She’d started talking about moving, leaving Nowhere—getting away from the Mob. Unfortunately Matty knew only two ways to leave Nowhere: going to prison or dead on a slab in the morgue. Neither seemed all that appealing.
His mother’s brow was furrowed as Matty and Mr. Hill entered the apartment.
“Look at you,” she said, pushing his hair back to study his face. “If you don’t watch out, you’ll end up like your father.” She gave Mr. Hill a cold stare.
Matty suddenly remembered what day it was—the Fourth of July. Despite what had happened today, he was sure the other guys would be at the pier to watch the fireworks. Matty shrugged out of his mom’s hold. “Can I still go see the fireworks with the guys?”
“No,” Mr. Hill answered.
His mom glared at Mr. Hill, then turning her eyes to Matty, she said, “No, you’ll stay here and think about what you’ve done.”
“But, Mom—”
She raised her eyebrow cutting off his plea.
“Fine,” Matty grumbled.
“Show your mother respect,” Hill ordered.
Matty lowered his head. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Go to your room,” she said, dismissing him.
It was 8:30 and starting to get dark. Matty fell onto his bed, pissed he’d miss the fireworks, but he’d never get out of the house now. His mother and Mr. Hill were arguing in the living room. He turned up the music on his stereo, and ignored them.
Two hours later he heard several booms outside. He got up to look, but he couldn’t see anything good from his window. His gaze followed three kids with sparklers as they ran down the street—right past Mr. Hill’s car.
Why is he still here? Matty wondered.
Chapter 3
2015
Matt Larson owned half of Larson & Baxter Consulting, a well-respected tech firm headquartered in Orlando, Florida. L&B specialized in setting up a company’s computer network, however, when necessary they could oversee the entire installation of a new office, sub-contracting everything from cables to cubicles.
L&B had clients all up and down the East Coast, but for obvious reasons Matt usually avoided jobs in the New York City area. Maybe he was being paranoid. It had been thirty years since he left this world behind, but he didn’t want to give his past a chance to catch up with him. Unfortunately this time he didn’t have a choice, at least not one that didn’t involve spilling all his secrets.
The client, Atherton Logistics, hired L&B at a premium rate to finish a job that had been abandoned by another firm. This wasn’t the type of job Matt’s company would normally take, but Atherton was the Microsoft of logistics and they were in the process of relocating their entire operation to the East Coast. If L&B could hit this one out of the park, it would put their company on the map. They could expand their operation tenfold. It would have been business suicide to refuse the job.
The taxi dropped Matt off at his hotel around 7:00 PM. He checked in, ordered room service, called his wife Faith and son Pete, then went to bed. Tomorrow would be L&B’s first day on-site at the new Atherton office.
The company officially took over the project last week, but that was mainly work for the accountants. They sorted out all the paperwork and set up new accounts to pay past due invoices, placed new orders for materials, and vetted contractors for upcoming work. Matt was on-site this week to make sure everything moved ahead on schedule. This included wrangling several existing sub-contractors and making sure everyone was on the same page. Unfortunately that would include dealing with any union and labor issues before everything would be back on track, which could mean coming in contact with the Mob.
Matt’s company wasn’t controlled, owned, or operated by any illegal organization, but he was sure more than one of the local sub-contractors would be—the price of doing business in New York. It was his responsibility to keep costs down and get the job done, which was why his partner Jay Baxter wanted him on this project. Matt was known for his savvy negotiating skills and his ability to deal with uncooperative contractors—and he was the reason Atherton hired L&B to begin with. They wanted Matt to come in and sort out this mess. Atherton was losing thousands of dollars a day. They needed it handled yesterday. The irony was that Matt was good at his job because he treated everyone like they were as corrupt as the Mob—now he’d get his chance to put his skills to the test with the real thing. He just hoped it wouldn’t cost him everything.
Matt arrived unannounced at the Atherton office around 10 AM. He scanned the area and noticed that most of the workers appeared to be on a break. His father had been a construction foreman before he took the Mob’s deal and went to jail for a made man. Matt remembered the stories his father told about working with the Mob. There were rules and as long as you followed them—which often meant paying the right guy a “bonus”—the work got done.
Matt just had to find the right guy. He surveyed the site looking for the man in charge. This man was usually easy to spot, he was often the guy with the clipboard. Matt found this man right away, spotting the guy talking with one of the workers. He was a slight man, but more wiry than frail. His dark salt and pepper hair was thinning at the crown. Matt put his age around sixty.
Walking over, Matt, interrupted him. “Are you the man in change?”
The guy turned to Matt, looking him up and down, sneering as if unimpressed. In a slightly irritated tone, he said, “Yeah. Who are you?”
“I’m Matt…” Matt stopped himself, clearing his throat. He’d almost said Matty, a name he hadn’t used in thirty years. “I’m Matthew Larson, my company is now handling this installation. I’m here to assess the situation. Is everything on schedule?”
The man narrowed his eyes, then scanned his clipboard. “No, we’ve had some unforeseen delays. I don’t see how we can possibly finish on time. We’ll need a few extra days.” The man paused for a second. “Unless you want to pay overtime.”
Matt had to stop himself from laughing. This guy probably thought he was being subtle—not blatantly trying to extort money. “Overtime?” Matt asked, glancing around the room. “What time are they on right now?” Not one person was working. “The job is two months behind. Now, Mr...?”
“Ryerson,” the man said coldly.
“Now, Mr. Ryerson, what is it going to take to get this part of the job done by Monday?”
Ryerson pressed his lips together, keeping his eyes narrowed on Matt, as if trying to figure him out. Matt smiled as if he hadn’t a clue in the world.
Finally Ryerson spoke. “I told you. Overtime.”
Matt crossed one arm over his chest and gripped his chin with the other hand as if he was seriously considering Ryerson’s request. Ryerson leaned his head forward, waiting for Matt to speak. Dropping his hands and shaking his head, Matt said, “No. I don’t want to pay overtime.” Ryerson started to speak, but Matt held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t want to waste the next ten days babysitting you guys while you suck up overtime. I want to know what it’ll cost to get the job done without overtime.”
“Who—” Ryerson started, but then closed his mouth and thought for a minute. Making a sucking sound with his teeth, he looked around the office. “Well,” he started, as if there was any actual assessment of the site, “it’s a big job, and the bid was a little low. It’ll take another twenty K.”
Matt pretended he was considering the amount. He scanned the office as if he too were accessing the remaining work. Of course he knew Atherton was losing two thousand dollars a day in operating costs alone to maintain the west
coast servers that should have been shut down two weeks ago. Another twenty thousand dollars wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but he couldn’t let Ryerson know that. “For twenty thousand I want it done by Friday.”
Ryerson pursed his lips. He studied Matt for a minute, then said, “If you want it done in four days, then you’ll have to talk to Mr. Logan. I can’t make that kind of commitment.”
Matt smiled. He knew the guy was bluffing. Logan, the head of organized crime in New York and New Jersey, wasn’t going to be called in about this tiny job. Without thinking Matt said, “Really? Well I seriously doubt that Logan personally handles things at this level.” Realizing his mistake, he changed tack. “If you want the twenty grand, you’ll finish by Friday, or the contract is cancelled and I’ll find someone else to do the work.” Matt was the one bluffing now. If this crew was connected, then no other company would take the job.
Ryerson bristled. He clearly didn’t like being talked down to. “Let me make a call,” he sneered.
“Sure, I’ll be over here.” Matt pointed toward an empty desk that had been pushed up against the wall.
He leaned against it, waiting for Ryerson to get off the phone. He wanted to kick himself for mentioning Logan’s name so casually. If Ryerson wasn’t completely full of shit and his company was connected to the Mob, he was most likely trying to find out who the hell Matthew Larson was, and whether they should finish the job on time or not. Matthew Larson wasn’t a known entity. He was hoping the higher ups would just take the money offered and not dig any deeper. Ten agonizing minutes later, Ryerson finally got off the phone.
In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “It’ll cost thirty K if you want it by Friday.”
Without batting an eye, Matt said, “Good, I’m glad we worked this out.”
Matt stood and headed toward the elevator, but before he’d taken two steps, Ryerson asked, “What’d you say your name was?”
Without turning back, Matt said, “Larson, Matthew Larson,” and prayed to God any search they might do would turn up nothing.