by Jon Mills
For Jack, however, it was different this time. A short stint in a cell was one thing, but being locked up for more than four years was another. Surrounded by cement and bars had given him time to think about his life. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he was in a business that ran on fear, intimidation, and mistrust. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he’d find himself wrapped in bags, a bullet in his skull, or sinking to the bottom of the Hudson River with his feet in cement. He was surprised he’d lasted this long.
Jack hadn’t spoken to any of them since being locked up, and the thought of renewing his friendship with them again wasn’t in the cards. Thinking about going his separate way had once been out of the question, but now it was the only thing he’d been sure about in a long time. It wasn’t as if they had visited him while he was inside. Wasn’t that what family was supposed to do? He shook his head.
He hadn’t seen it when he was young. His pride, naivety, and drive to make a name for himself had got the better of him. He’d risen through the ranks quickly. His methods were unorthodox, but they worked. There was never any room for error, no room for emotion. That’s why they sent him in. When it was time to do a job, it was like flipping a switch. He had no rules, except one: no women or kids. But it was obvious that as long as you were of use to them they would walk over coals for you. But at the slight chance you ceased to line their wallets or deliver, well…
Jack shot Freddy and Louis a quick glance before returning to watch the stream of traffic. He would keep his visit brief. He’d listen to what Roy had to say and then be on his way. Where he’d go from there didn’t matter. He’d figure that out later.
Dana stared blankly at the middle-aged couple yelling at her. They hadn’t been the first, and undoubtedly they wouldn’t be the last. But as they reeled off every reason why their motel room was below human standards, she once again found herself recollecting better days. Months where rooms were full and she’d had to switch on the No Vacancy light. Of course, that had been long before the bypass was built, and… She zoned back in momentarily to swipe their card and refund their money.
Over the past year since the incident with Jason’s father, Dana had somehow found a way to begin picking up the pieces. It hadn’t been easy, and at times it felt as if she had crawled her way back to existence. If it hadn’t been for Jason, she wasn’t sure what she might have done. Summoning the energy to face each day felt more difficult than giving up. Even though her thinking was selfish, she understood how depression could drive a person to self-harm—or worse, take their life. While she hadn’t reached that point, she had come dangerously close to the edge of the abyss. That was, of course, until she realized the implications of what she was thinking.
In the early days after the incident, she’d received phone calls daily for weeks. She’d wondered what they wanted to hear. Most of her friends meant well, and they tried to help her see the light at the end of the tunnel, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. It was just that she had nothing to say. She felt numb, removed from the situation, dead inside as if somehow viewing herself from the outside. These weren’t the kind of things you shared over coffee, in passing conversation, or even with a doctor—unless you wanted them to place you under observation. Instead, she told them what she assumed they wanted to hear. That while it was hard she was coping with meds her doctor had prescribed.
Yet in all honesty, she’d only taken the pills for a short while. They fogged up her mind, made her sleep the day away, and put her in a catatonic state. How could anyone return to living again under those conditions? She knew that if she let herself spiral down any further, continue taking the meds, there was no way of knowing if she would find her way back. So she quit taking them. The first couple of months, she hadn’t stepped out of the house other than to drive Jason to school and collect a few groceries. Those days were the hardest. She felt the eyes of people on her as she pushed a cart around the local SuperMart; she heard the whispers and had a good idea of what people were saying.
Find the silver lining in every dark moment; her father would say that when she was little. She’d never forgotten it, or them, for that matter. God, how she missed her mother and father. Born and raised in Rockland Cove, they had been her strength throughout her life. A listening ear when things had fallen through with college, a pick-me-up when her heart was broken for the first time, and a lifesaver that saw her through an unexpected pregnancy.
She groaned inwardly. So much had changed over the years.
“You have a good day,” she said, leaning on the office counter and watching the couple head off to the modern lodge in town.
If it hadn’t been for the run of good years that they’d had, she wouldn’t have been able to keep the place afloat. Goodwill, cooked meals from neighbors, and an ever-declining bank account balance only stretched so far. The truth was, their financial difficulties had started long before that fateful night.
Chapter 3
Pulling up around the back of The Pig’s Ear, Jack noted how little had changed. It was a six-story brick building, with two fire escapes and underground tunnels that led away to other parts of the city. Like always, there were a few teens loitering around outside, and a couple of Gafino’s men kept an eye out for police. At one time the building had been a respectable hotel, until Gafino muscled his way in and set up shop. Now it drew in a different kind of clientele.
The smell of sweat and testosterone hung in the air inside. The sounds of men sparring brought back a flood of fond memories and a pang inside his gut. Unlike the first day he walked in, this place was now the last place he wanted to be. Freddy grinned, jabbing his finger at individuals, shouting names as if he was doing a roll call. Hardened men scrutinized him. It was a mix of new and old faces; guys he’d had drinks with in the past, and those he’d never seen before.
Jack followed Freddy into the back, through a series of doors, and up a steel staircase. Every room he passed reminded him of the man he had once been. Was he different? Could four years really change who you were?
Entering Roy’s office, they were greeted by the sight of a pale white ass and a brunette bent over his desk.
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you to knock?”
“Shit, sorry, boss.”
Roy twisted around and gave them a look of disapproval before making eye contact with Jack. His face immediately lit up. A huge smile appeared.
He slapped the girl on the ass. She pulled her panties up and readjusted her dress before slipping past them, her face red with embarrassment. Roy fumbled with the belt buckle on his pants before approaching them.
“She looks a lot like Theresa, don’t you think?”
Jack never replied. Theresa was the girl he’d been with before he had been locked up. Roy had taken a liking to her; some even said he was screwing her on the side. Jack didn’t ask; he knew better.
“It’s been a long time.” He wrapped his arms around Jack.
“Yeah,” Jack replied, his composure stoic.
“Freddy, pour the man a drink. This is cause for celebration.”
Freddy hustled over to an oak cabinet and retrieved a bottle of malt whiskey. After pouring a couple of glasses, he handed one to Jack.
“So, four years behind bars. It’s been a long time since I last served. Do the inmates still make their own alcohol? What was it made of again?”
“Tomatoes—” Jack began.
“Sugar and yeast. That’s right. Foul-tasting stuff, but I guess you can’t be picky.”
Jack felt the warm burn of the liquid as it slipped down his throat. For a moment he felt his muscles unwind. The reality that he was out was beginning to set in, but so was the thought of telling Roy that it was over.
“Come, take a seat.”
“I’ll stand.”
Roy must have caught something in his reply. It was rare for anyone to do anything but what he said, even in what some might have taken as a simple suggestion.<
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“Take a seat.” It was no longer a request.
Jack glanced at Freddy and Louis, who stood by the door. He breathed in deeply, placed his glass down, and took a seat. Roy slipped behind the desk and leaned back in the leather chair as if he was the king of New York. To those who knew him, he was. His rise to becoming a made man had not come without a fair amount of blood being spilled.
“Now that you’re out, we can get back to business. I’ve got you set up with a new place. Tony took yours after you went in.”
“That’s the thing.”
He was about to continue when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
“He’s downstairs.” A well-built man dressed in a suit shot Jack a look.
“Jack, Vincent. He’s been filling your shoes while you were inside.”
A look of animosity appeared on Vincent’s face.
“As I was saying…” Jack continued, turning back to Gafino.
Roy stood up. “Hold that thought and follow me.”
Reluctantly, Jack followed his entourage down the hallway and several flights of steps until he was in a dank basement.
He knew what this place was about.
Boxers didn’t come down here. Few people ever saw the underground; that even included some of Roy’s closest men. There were few reasons to be down here. Lights faintly lit the stone corridor. It smelled musty and damp. The tunnels had been built back in the 20s when prohibition was active. What had been a simple means of transferring alcohol and remaining undetected had become a new way to bring in drugs and cart out bodies. The granite stone made the area soundproof, and with the noise of the gym and streets above, few ever heard the final cries of those pleading for their lives.
Behind a locked wooden door, a man sat in a chair. He wore nothing more than a shirt and underpants. The room was empty, the floor stained red with large droplets of blood. He looked as if he had already taken a hard beating. His shirt was pulled back and there were several slashes across his chest. A bloodied rag carved deep into the skin around his mouth. His head hung low. The smell of piss lingered.
Gafino nodded to one of his men.
A man took a bucket of water and threw it over him. The man awoke, gasping and wild-eyed. Upon seeing Roy, he mumbled.
“Take the rag out.”
The moment it was pulled, the pleading began. He was a blubbering mess. Between the tears and blood in his mouth, they could barely make out a word of what he said. Jack studied his swollen face, trying to place where he’d seen him before.
“Nicky, Nicky. How long have I known you?”
Little Nicky Civella. That was it. He’d been one of the kids in the neighborhood. Good kid. Crafty thief—maybe a little too good. If there was anything that needed to be taken without anyone knowing, he was the guy they called in. He was in and out without issue. Now what the fuck was he doing in this situation?
“Nicky. You know you’ve cost me a lot.”
Gafino paced back and forth, as if preparing for a big speech.
“I can…” Nicky spluttered.
“You can what? Make it up to me? Last time I checked, you didn’t have thirty thousand dollars stashed away. Or, maybe, you do? Maybe you still have some of the money that you were meant to bring back to me.”
“I didn’t do it, Roy. I swear.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Roy cast a glance at Vincent.
Who was this Vincent? This was a guy Jack hadn’t seen before incarceration. Then again, Gafino had a lot of people working for him in the city. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from granite. His knuckles tattooed with the word TRIG.
“This is your last chance. What did you do with it?”
Jack could feel his stomach churn. It had been a long time since he’d been in this position. Fights, blood—these were an everyday part of his time behind bars. Fighting to survive was all he’d done for the last four years. This was different. A man unable to fight back; it was common in this world, but not in the one he had just left.
“I told him.” The man gestured to Vincent.
Roy tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Jack had seen this movement before. Roy held out his hand. Vincent pulled a white cloth from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Roy. Roy’s eyes opened and he unfolded it. Inside was a hammer.
“Please, Roy, I’ve got kids. I didn’t do it.”
When a person was about to die, they gave any excuse to live. Family, friends, lovers, money—it was all the same, and pleading for mercy was like grasping at the wind. Mercy didn’t exist in this world.
“Shh…” Roy whispered, placing a finger to his lips. “I’m not gonna kill you...immediately.”
In one swift motion, he brought the hammer down on Nicky’s right knee. Once, twice, and then a third time. The sounds of cracking bone mixed with screams wasn’t foreign to Jack. He’d heard it many, many times. But this time it affected him. This time, he diverted his gaze. He felt his stomach twist inside and his pulse began to race.
Freddy chuckled, patting him on the arm. “Like old times, eh, Jack?”
Roy handed the bloodied hammer back to Vincent, and proceeded to wipe a splatter of blood from his face and hands. Nicky’s eyes were bloodshot, his face a mess of snot, blood, and tears.
“Let’s go.”
As they left, Roy hollered back to Nicky. “When I return, I expect you to have a different answer.”
The sound of cries dissipated. Back upstairs, they resumed their places in the office as if nothing had taken place. Torture, mayhem, and death were routine. Most would faint, piss their pants, or end up in a psych ward if they saw what went down on a day-to-day basis. But to these men it was no different than popping the cork on a bottle of wine.
“So where were we? Oh yes, you were saying…” Roy began.
Telling him that he was planning on walking away from it all had now become even more difficult. After witnessing what they just had, few men would have had the balls to say anything, but few men hadn’t been through what Jack had in the past four years.
“I’m taking a break,” was how it came out.
Roy arched a brow. “Of course, what, Miami? Bermuda. Wherever you want to go. You’ve earned it. We’ll get back to business once you return.” Roy used a cigar cutter to slice the head off a Cohiba. “In fact, here…”
Roy reached into his drawer and tossed him a brick of money. Jack glanced at it, running his thumb over the end. There had to have been several thousand in hundred dollar bills, each one clean and crisp.
“You’ve earned it.”
He paused a moment. “No, I mean permanently.”
His eyes lifted slowly, and they both exchanged a cold glance. It was if someone had turned down the temperature in the room.
Roy scratched at his face and wiped the remainder of a blood splatter from his neck, before bursting into laughter. The others joined in.
“What a guy.”
“I’m serious, Roy.”
His face went from smiling to sour. “Don’t fuck around, Jack. I’ve got work for you to do.”
“Listen, I don’t mean for this to come out wrong. But I’m done, Roy.”
He stared intently at Jack, as if trying to decode some cryptic message.
“What, we’re not good enough for you? You find God or something in that prison?”
“I had a lot of time to think about my future. I need a change.”
Roy chuckled to himself. Ambling over to the cabinet, he poured himself another drink.
“Change.” He shook his head in amusement. “What do you think you’re going to do? Become a lawyer? Doctor? Oh, hold on a moment, I got it. You’re thinking of joining the monastery.”
Jack sat silently.
“You’re a killer, Jack, plain and simple. There’s no changing that.”
“Maybe. Perhaps. But I need to find that out for myself, and I’m not going to find it here. All I’ve ever known is this place.”
>
“So that’s it? You just gonna walk?”
“Look, I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“Yes, what I did. Who pulled you out of that shithole of a home? Who put clothes on your back, food in your stomach, gave you a roof over your head? Hey. Who did all that and more? And this is how you repay me?”
“Repay?”
His eyes flared. “You owe me.”
“I owe you? I think I’ve more than paid off anything I owed you sitting in that cell. I could have ratted, but I didn’t. Let’s not forget why I was there.”
Roy threw his glass across the room. It smashed, sending shards all over the floor.
“Are you blaming me? Are you?” Roy pointed at him. “I should fuckin—“
“Boss, we’ve got company,” Vincent said, poking his head into the room.
He nodded, squinting as he held his gaze on Jack. “We’ll continue this later.”
“I’m not gonna be here later.” Jack rose to his feet.
Roy scowled, adjusted his tie, and stormed out. Jack caught him mumbling to Vincent, asking him how he looked, before they disappeared around the corner.
Jack headed for the door.
“Where you going?” Freddy asked.
“Does it matter?”
Freddy cocked his head to one side.
“To collect my belongings.”
Chapter 4
FREDDY GAVE HIM A RIDE to a quiet suburb ten minutes away. Apartments in the city were for those who distributed narcotics on the streets. Roy never skimped on looking after his own. Homes in quiet neighborhoods were paramount for keeping his entire operation low key. The only reason he had managed to fly under the radar for so long with the FBI was because he paid for everything in cash, kept business and home life separate, and routinely moved his guys around from house to house. Every six months it was like fucking musical chairs. The only person he didn’t move was Jack. Jack was never quite sure why. The FBI was the least of his concerns; being bugged and taped by Roy was.