"Christ, Georgia, how old is this guy?"
"I don't know, Blackie, just a little older than you, I guess."
Judd stifled a chuckle when he saw the look that appeared on Blackie's face just then. Apparently, Georgia's statement must've made their older brother feel, well, old.
"But Bert's also a friend,” she hurried to try and explain. “He knew everything that went on in his house; knew about...” she paused, “...well, anyway, during the four years I was there, sometimes days would go by before Dolan would give me anything to eat or drink. So when he went out, Bert would sneak me food and water. I never ate much, but used to get really thirsty. Bert was good to me, Blackie,” she said, so convincingly that Judd actually believed her.
Blackie snorted in disgust and threw his hands in the air. “Yeah, he was so fuckin’ good to you that he didn't do a goddamn thing to help when he discovered what Dolan was doin’ to you."
"He couldn't!” Georgia said in her friend's defense. “He couldn't have helped me without hurting himself. What was he supposed to say to the police, ‘Hi, I'm a drug dealing money launderer using my boardinghouse as a front for a much more lucrative business; and oh, by the way, I've been renting a room to a man for the past few years who's been holding his daughter prisoner and whoring her out a few times a week?"
Judd smiled at the fact that Georgia's sense of humor seemed to be very much like his own; her fearlessness when speaking to Blackie, like Rebel's.
"I never expected him to do anything like that,” she continued. “If he had, Dolan would have gotten away, taking me with him. Who knows what it would've been like wherever we ended up? I might not have been so lucky.
"Believe it or not, Blackie, Bert is probably one of the reasons I survived so long. He got me what I needed when Dolan wasn't around, and was also the one who finally convinced me to leave."
"Convinced you to leave? How?"
"He threw me out."
The expression on Blackie's face darkened. “What?"
"Dolan had been gone about a week when Bert started asking me when I was leaving. But like I said, I was afraid. Plus, I had no money and nowhere to go. Finally, yesterday afternoon, Bert threw me out. He said it was for my own good."
It sounded to Judd like Bert really did want the best for Georgia, but he wasn't about to mention that to Blackie.
"He gave you money, didn't he?"
Georgia's gaze never faltered when she looked directly at Blackie and nodded. “Yeah."
"And drugs?"
She nodded again.
"How much, Georgia,” Blackie demanded, “how much heroin is at the bottom of your duffle bag?"
"Enough to get me to California,” Georgia told him.
Judd knew that none of them needed a further explanation. California was three thousand miles away, and if she was shooting up between two and three bags a day, like she'd claimed, she probably had enough heroin in her possession to be put away for the rest of her life, if she was caught with it.
"What were you plannin’ on doin’ once you got there? How were you gonna get the drugs you needed?"
After shrugging, Georgia's shoulders slumped. “I don't know. I was planning to think about that on the way out there."
Blackie shook his head, looking more than a little frustrated. “This guy, Bert, is he expectin’ you to pay him back for all the stuff he gave you?"
"I don't think so. He really was just trying to help me, Blackie; he's a good man."
Judd wasn't able to make out the words that Blackie mumbled under his breath just then. But if he had to guess, he'd say that chances were, Blackie didn't believe for a second that Bert was a ‘good’ anything.
But that was a topic for another day.
Georgia looked like she was asleep on her feet, and when she yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes, Judd decided it was time to suggest they call quits to their marathon conversation. They'd been at it for almost five hours.
Just as he was about to say something, Georgia asked if she could use the bathroom.
"Yeah,” Rebel told her, “it's around the other side of the office on the left."
As Georgia started to walk, Blackie took a step closer, blocking her path. “Gimme your coat."
Staring at him, Georgia's mouth nearly fell open. “What? Why?"
"You know why."
When Georgia made no move to comply, the relaxed expression on Blackie's face disappeared, and was replaced by a hard, my-stubbornness-can-outlast-yours look. “You can either give me your coat, little girl, or I'll give you a plastic cup and you can take a piss right here where I can make sure you ain't gonna shoot nothin’ into your arm."
Georgia looked shocked at Blackie's less-than-couth explanation, but did as she was told. “Here,” she said, removing her flannel coat and placing it in his waiting hand. “There's nothing in my pockets."
Tossing the coat onto the card table, Blackie leaned toward her. Obviously surprised by his actions, Georgia attempted to back away. But Blackie was too quick, reaching out and patting her down before she could escape.
"Go,” he told her when he found nothing in her pants pockets. “And do your business quick. If you ain't back in two minutes, I'm comin’ in."
Georgia flashed Blackie a dirty look, but he didn't seem to care. She stormed off and disappeared around the corner, slamming the bathroom door.
"Christ, Blackie, was that really necessary?” Judd asked, just above a whisper.
Blackie wasn't quite so quiet. “Yes, Judd, it was! Georgia's a nice girl, little brother, but she's also an addict. And when an addict needs a fix, they'll do anything they have to do to get one. Just a little while ago, she admitted that was why she'd been goin’ for her duffle bag. And she ain't standin’ here yawnin’ because she's tired. She's startin’ to go through withdrawal.
"We need to decide what we're gonna do, and we need to do it now. It ain't gonna be long before her symptoms get worse."
That time, Judd didn't need any further explanation. He'd known a couple people who'd gone through heroin withdrawal, knew what it was like, and what they'd suffered through.
Could Georgia make it? She seemed so small and frail that Judd had his doubts. Still, she was their sister, and she needed them. “There's no question about it, Blackie, we have to help her."
Blackie nodded his approval, and the brothers turned to Rebel, who'd been unusually quiet. “Reb? How come you ain't said much?"
"Because I'm trying to think about how we're going to help her,” Rebel replied. “I'm not even sure we can. None of us knows how bad her habit is. If her body is too dependent on the drug, she could die without it!"
Judd watched as Blackie strode forward and came to a stop directly in front of Rebel. Separated by just a few inches, Blackie stared down at their younger brother. “Well, if she don't quit takin’ it, she's gonna die anyway!” Blackie sighed and threw his hands in the air just before hunching over and resting them on the card table. He looked up at Rebel, wearing the most pained expression Judd had ever seen. “Christ, Reb, she's just a kid, a goddamn nineteen-year-old kid!"
Catching a nod from Rebel, Judd joined his brothers at the table.
"Look, Blackie,” Rebel said quietly, “I know—"
Blackie suddenly stood up straight and pointed his finger in Rebel's face. “You don't know a damn thing, Rebel! Not a goddamn fuckin’ thing!"
Rebel reached out and gently lowered Blackie's arm until it was resting at his side. Looking a bit surprised that he'd been allowed to even touch Blackie when he was in such a dangerous mood, Rebel seemed to shrug it off as he calmly continued. “I know that as the oldest, there's a good chance you're feeling like taking care of Georgia is your responsibility.
"You probably even blame yourself for the fact that the old man stole her from her mother, and for what he turned her into. But it's not your fault, Blackie! You couldn't have protected Georgia from Dad the way you did Judd and me. We didn't even know about her!"
"Georgia's nineteen years old, Blackie. Nineteen years ago, you were twenty-one, and already back in prison for the second time. Even if her mother had given birth to her, traveled to Hagerstown, and dumped her on our doorstep, you wouldn't have been able to take care of or protect her because you weren't here!"
Blackie didn't say a word, but Judd knew that Rebel had hit the nail on the head. Not being able to save their sister from their father and his abuse was probably killing Blackie.
"Fine,” Blackie conceded, “I couldn't have saved her then. But I can now. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let her walk out of our lives tonight, or allow her to inject any more of that junk into her body. She's quittin', and she's gonna start right now, whether she wants to or not."
"I want to."
They all turned at the sound of her small, twangy voice. Georgia was standing just in front of the office door, watching them. Judd didn't know how long she'd been there, but she'd obviously overheard the bulk of their conversation.
"I can do it,” she said confidently. “I know I can."
Blackie turned to her, his expression softening. “Are you sure? It ain't gonna be easy. I've seen guys go through heroin withdrawal and it ain't pretty."
"I'm sure,” she said, making her way to the card table. Once she was sitting, she looked at Blackie and continued. “I went through withdrawal once before. It was only a little over twenty-four hours, so the worst symptoms hadn't peaked yet. But I know what I'm in for. If suffering through withdrawal doesn't kill me, then staying on heroin will. Either way, I have to try. I want my life back.” She paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Well, actually, I'd settle for just having a life. I know things will never be the same."
Judd cleared his throat and asked the question he knew all three of them would like an answer to. “So your life was good before—"
"Before Dolan took me?” she interrupted. “It was okay, I guess. I was a pretty typical teenager; went to school, had friends, played sports, babysat for extra money, stuff like that."
"What about your mom?” Rebel asked.
"What about her?"
"Do you want to call her; let her know you're okay?"
Georgia seemed to consider the offer for only a few seconds before shaking her head. “No, thank you."
Blackie looked like he wanted to say something, but Rebel spoke first. “Well then, let's decide how we're going to do this.” He looked at Blackie and Judd. “I think we should have Georgia stay in the apartment upstairs until she's better."
"Good thinking,” Judd agreed. All three of them had kids, and it wouldn't be a good idea to have her in any of their homes while she was so sick. His son, Jay, would probably understand what was going on. But all three of Rebel's kids were under six, and Blackie's twins were just babies. Keeping her at the garage seemed like the best place ... for now.
"Since we were supposed to take a long weekend and go hunting, the garage is closed until Wednesday,” Rebel continued, “so that'll give her a good four, almost five days of privacy. We'll see how she is Tuesday night, then tell the rest of the guys only what they need to know. When she's better, they'll get an explanation."
Judd thought that was smart, too. Even though Georgia would be accepted without question by the rest of the McCassey's who worked in the garage—their uncles, Frank and Jimmy, and their cousins, Brady, Kane, and Flynn—they were going to be very curious when they found out about her. She was going to have a hard enough time the next few days as it was without being pestered by a bunch of relatives she didn't know.
"Let's go up, then,” Blackie suggested. “That room ain't been used in a while, and I want to make sure we got everything we're gonna need."
As he started to head for the metal staircase in the corner of the garage, Georgia, who was still sitting at the table, yelled, “Wait!", stopping them. “I need to ask you all something first."
Judd, who happened to be standing closest to her, turned around. “What is it?"
"Why?” she asked quietly. “Why are you all doing this? You don't know me, but you believed me when I said that Dolan McCassey was my father."
Blackie actually chuckled as he came to stand next to Judd. Although Judd didn't think it was so funny when Blackie draped an arm around his shoulders and slapped the side of his face. “See this face, little girl? Well, on Judd here, it's ugly as sin. But it looks much better on you."
Neither Judd nor Georgia said anything.
"What I'm sayin', is that you look enough like Judd here to be his damn twin. And them eyes of yours are the same royal blue color as mine, Judd's, Rebel's, and every other McCassey that was ever born. There ain't a doubt in any of our minds that you're one of us; and McCassey's take care of their own."
Georgia set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “So that's why you're helping me, because I'm a McCassey?"
Blackie stepped forward and knelt in front of her. They were eye to eye when, in a calm, comforting voice that Judd had only heard him use once before, Blackie said, “Yeah, that's one of the reasons. But we're also doin’ it because you're our sister. It don't matter that we ain't got the same mother. Fifty percent of the blood runnin’ though your veins is the same we got runnin’ through ours. In this family, we don't use words like, ‘half', or ‘in-law'. We're all just brothers and sisters, little girl, and that includes you. Understand?"
For the first time since she walked into the garage almost five hours earlier, Georgia smiled a real, genuine smile; making Judd think that maybe everything would be okay.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6
Georgia wanted to die.
Hanging her head over the side of the king-sized bed in the tiny, barely furnished studio apartment above the garage, retching into a bucket for what seemed like the thousandth time in two days, Georgia prayed for anything that would make the pain stop.
Death just seemed like the easiest way out.
"Easy,” Blackie whispered, and Georgia knew he was doing his best to console her, just as he, Judd, and Rebel had all been doing since her first serious withdrawal symptoms had begun two nights before. They'd been taking turns staying with her, but Blackie had been there the most, almost as if he didn't believe she'd get better unless he was there.
She appreciated his support—didn't think she'd have made it this far without the guys—and hoped to God that they'd have at least a little respect for her when this was all over.
When the wave of nausea subsided, Georgia, whose body was draped across Blackie's lap with her head hanging over the side of the bed, moved her head just enough to be able to lay the side of her face on his thigh, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion.
Tired, she was so damn tired.
Using what little energy she had left to wipe her face and nose with the towel Blackie had given her, she was able to relax for almost a full minute before her body was wracked with sudden, intense chills. As she shivered violently, Blackie rushed to wrap her in a blanket, then maneuvered her body and scooped her into his arms. He held her tight against him, trying to warm her as she fought—unsuccessfully—to get control of herself.
"J-j-just let me d-die, Blackie, p-p-please,” she begged through chattering teeth, wishing she had the energy to cry. “I c-c-can't do this anymore."
He tightened his hold on her and rested his chin on the top of her head. “You're doin’ fine, Georgia, everything's gonna be all right."
Georgia wasn't so sure either one of them really believed that. She was scared to death, not knowing how she was going to feel five, ten, fifteen minutes from now. Not knowing if she'd have enough willpower to fight off the cravings she knew she'd have for the heroin, even when her withdrawal symptoms subsided.
And Blackie, well, she'd heard a lot of stories about him over the past couple days—mostly from Judd—about how protective he'd always been when it came to his family. Acc
ording to Judd, Blackie had started lifting weights at the age of ten just so he could protect them all from Dolan.
Judd had told her that when Blackie was only sixteen, he'd nearly killed Dolan with a single punch. “Rebel and I were only eleven and twelve, and weren't doing a damn thing to bother anyone,” Judd explained, “but Dad seemed to have it in for us that night. Without warning, he walked up and kicked me in the side hard enough to break three of my ribs. Then he started in on Rebel, and wound up throwing him up against the wall, dislocating his shoulder. It was strange,” Judd explained, “for Blackie to be home on a Friday night. But it's a good thing he was. When he saw what happened, he went crazy and nearly beat Dad to death. After that night, every time the two of them fought, it was a bloodbath."
Georgia had spent a long time thinking about that story, replaying it over and over in her mind. She'd eventually come to realize that for a man who solved most problems with fists or firearms, he must feel as lost and scared as she did right now ... for neither one of those things were going to help either one of them this time.
"Are you t-t-trying to convince me that I'll be f-f-fine,” she asked, “or yours-s-self?"
Even through the blankets, Georgia felt the vibration of his deep, low chuckle, and it comforted her. But when he said, “I ain't sure,” Georgia knew that she was right. Blackie was scared.
It was hard for her to imagine someone as big and tough as he was being afraid of anything. She knew he came by his nickname ‘The Devil’ honestly, and it just seemed so hard to believe that there was actually something that could get to him.
But she also knew that he was only human.
When she was no longer shivering and felt comfortable enough to talk, Georgia tilted her head up so she could see her brother's face. “Blackie?"
He looked down at her, wearing a concerned, but curious expression. “Hmm?"
"Are you scared?"
"Scared of what, little girl?"
"Of not being able to help me; scared that even with everything we've been through so far, and will likely go through in the next few days that I might walk out of here and go right back to using heroin."
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 4