by Miranda Bee
“So, you’re the infamous Devin “The Devil” Winchester? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned, “Like what.”
“That you’re amazing in bed.”
“Well, my reputation proceeds me.”
“It’s probably all talk, though,” she shrugged.
“Only one way to find out.”
I looked her up and down. She had thick red hair, bright blue eyes and a little black dress that nearly revealed her ass cheeks. She was insanely hot. She wanted to fuck. I took her upstairs and the rest of the night, I proved all the rumors were true.
I was a five-course, gourmet meal kind of man. Poor thing, fell asleep before I could get through the final course. Of course, I was expecting to follow her soon after. I was looking forward to falling asleep in soft bed. I couldn’t, though.
***
The night seemed to drag on forever. I was restless, watching the moon move through the sky as the hours wore on. For some reason, my mind wouldn’t shut off. I needed it to because I had a busy day planned. Mathias was briefing me in the morning on my next job. I wanted to be 100%. I was anxious to get back into the swing of things.
“So, you heard about Oliver?”
Mathias sipped on his mug of black coffee. He inhaled the bellowing steam and sighed. He seemed so much older. Three years wore him down. He looked different. His hair was white, his skin was more wrinkled than I remembered, and his face looked thinner. He looked tired.
The life was a beautiful thing, but our bodies weren’t infinite.
“I heard. That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, and it was suspicious. Everyone’s morale is way down. They smell corruption.”
He shook his head, a sadness flashed in his eyes.
“And you don’t?” I asked.
“Absolutely not. We are a family.”
“I know,” I paused, “We’ve always been close. I can’t imagine anyone of my brothers or sisters betraying us. What would they gain? Besides, we all have a code.”
“That’s right. I don’t smell ‘corruption’. I smell a stinky, whiney-ass, little fucker who couldn’t pay his debts. A rat. Someone who isn’t in the family. A patron, of sorts.”
“Who?”
Mathias stood up and walked over to his desk. He pulled out a manila folder and handed it to me. He sat back down and took a drink.
“Adam Johnston. He’s got a vice whose teeth sink real deep. A gambler who spent all his father’s money, and then borrowed money from us.”
“He borrowed a lot,” I said, reviewing his file.
“Yeah,” Mathias agreed, “We were on the fence about the loan. We thought we could use Adam’s life as leverage. His father is in congress.”
“I see.”
“Well, his father doesn’t give two shits about him. He also isn’t running for office next season,” Mathias said, “So, we’ve got to deal with this debt.”
“If he won’t pay with paper, he’ll pay with blood.”
“Exactly. Devin, look, he’s not going to pay in paper. Now, I suspect he is relying on The Snakes for protection.”
The pieces started coming together, “In exchange for intel?”
Mathias nodded, solemnly, “He’s been in my office one too many times, I suppose. I’m not sure how he got the info about Oliver. I may have been too careless. His debt, now, is unpayable. He’s responsible for the death of a patched brother. You need to take him out.”
“Don’t go blaming yourself. He was a rat. He was looking for an out,” I sighed, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Now, he’s likely in cahoots with The Snakes. Do you need reinforcements?”
I laughed, “Your mind going, old man?”
“Right, I forgot,” he smiled, “I’m so happy to see my boy has finally come home.”
***
I spent the night cleaning my gun and going over Adam’s file. The gun was just back up. I preferred to work with my hands.
Chapter 3
Sammy Wood
I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Somehow, I found myself at Hartigan’s Bar, a cute little place downtown, tossing back a shot of whiskey. A roar of cheers erupted from my colleague’s mouths. I was loosening up and they loved it. They wanted to see me, but this wasn’t me at all.
Why the fuck am I here?
It’s not that I didn’t want to be close to anyone. I learned early on that people will disappoint you. It was a protection mechanism, sure. Yet, I was here. It probably had to do with Charlie. He was a new parole officer in our office.
He was about my age, maybe a year or two younger. He was tall, with a mop of messy brown hair on his head. I never understood that manufactured messy look all the guys were into. He very clearly put a lot of work into his hair style. I could tell by the smell of his hair spray and the fact that his messy hair didn’t move. I wondered if it took him longer to get ready in the morning than it took me. He seemed professional enough, though. He wore pressed slacks and a collared shirt. His shoes were always shiny. His face was always clean shaven.
I’d taken it upon myself to show him the ropes. In turn, he convinced me to join everyone for drinks at the bar, after work. I had the sneaking suspicion that he had feelings for me. He wasn’t my type. Don’t get me wrong. He was attractive, but he wasn’t for me.
I shrugged off the notion that Charlie liked me. I wasn’t interested and I’d tell him so if it ever came to that. For now, I was trying to shake the shackles of an over-active, introverted brain. I was here to have fun.
Hartigan’s was famous for its fast bartenders, loyal patrons, and historically bad karaoke singers. I’d been here a handful of times in the last decade, but only out of duty. I was perfectly happy interacting with my colleagues once a year. I was surprised to realize they wanted more.
MaryAnn, an officer five years my senior, was already blistering drunk and convinced me to join her to sing along to ‘American Pie’.
“Jesus Christ, MaryAnn, I can’t do that to the people here,” I argued.
“Come on, Sammy. Take another drink, unclench that tight ass of yours, and sing our national anthem.”
“National anthem?”
“Well. You know what I mean!” she grumbled, sliding me a shot glass, “Drink, bitch!”
I did. I laughed. I drank. I danced, mostly with MaryAnn. It wasn’t like that. Despite the fact that I had zero experience, I preferred the affection of a man. MaryAnn preferred men, too. We both agreed that all of the men in our line of work were lacking something.
For me, at least, it was trouble. They were too squeaky-clean. The logical part of me was the only thing holding me back from complete self-destruction. I knew I liked dangerous men. I knew it was an impractical taste. That was why I cut myself off, completely.
That, and the fact that I couldn’t trust anyone, dangerous or not.
It was fun to feel normal, for once. I felt normal and happy. I felt free, if not at least superficially. MaryAnn and I sang American Pie, badly. I hadn’t been this drunk since college and my words were practically unintelligible.
When the night ended, our designated driver steered us to the car, threatening to kick the ass of anyone who felt like throwing up in his car. Charlie had a little attitude to him, now and then. I could appreciate that. He was going to make a great officer with a little experience under his belt.
I almost felt prideful.
Each of us was dropped off one by one. MaryAnn and I were left in the back seat laughing and snickering about something. Suddenly, MaryAnn stopped, catching something subtle that I apparently didn’t. Her furrowed brow shadowed the gaze of alarm in her eyes. She caught Charlie’s stare in the rearview mirror and then turned to me.
She was instantly sober.
“Charlie, hun? I’m going to stay at Sammy’s tonight.”
“Wish you had told me that earlier. We’re practically at your apartment,” Charlie protested, “I’ll just drop you here.”
She turned to me. Her eyes were wide, and her stare full of unspoken words. I tried to read her message through the fog. My brain wasn’t exactly working right. All I knew was that she was pretending like something was going on between us. She didn’t want to leave me in the car all alone with Charlie.
“Right,” I said.
Charlie craned his head, looking at me with a superficial smile, “Well, looks like I won’t get you all to myself, will I?”
***
MaryAnn was out like a light, snoring on my couch and drooling on the throw pillows. I couldn’t sleep. Not because of Charlie. I didn’t fear him one bit. In fact, I wondered if MaryAnn wasn’t being overly cautious. When we got inside my apartment, she told me that she thought he was a weirdo. She got a bad feeling from her.
I guess I couldn’t blame her for being cautious. After all, that was my mantra.
I grew up real fast. My home life wasn’t exactly a Hallmark Special. My mom was a belligerent drunk and my father was worse. He’d knock us around the house, my mom and I that was. She didn’t seem to mind, either. That was how she was raised.
The real kicker for me was that she didn’t mind me living in that cesspool of dysfunction. She didn’t give two shits about me.
One day, like any other day, they were drunk as hell. They’d run out of liqueur, or smokes, or both. They went out, like idiots. They were too drunk to realize they’d drove into the opposite lane. Both died, their brains plastered on the inside of the windshield.
A head-on collision with a semi-truck could do that. I didn’t even cry. That, in and of itself, was more disturbing than their deaths. I wasn’t a psychopath. I just had the unique ability to turn off emotion, like flipping a switch. After a while, I figured leaving it off was the best approach to my careful lifestyle.
I went to foster care for a few years until I graduated from high school. Becoming a cop was natural me. I could dip my toe in the familiar life of degenerates, without being one myself. My parents were a fireball of chaos. I was the opposite.
Eventually, I moved on to becoming a parole officer. I wanted to get closer to the danger. As a cop, I couldn’t really do that. Sure, there were dangerous situations. It wasn’t the same. I wanted to touch it, hear it, and feel it. Now, I interacted with criminals on a first name basis. They looked to me for rehabilitation. They were subject to me. They had to follow my rules.
I liked control, to a fault. Everything had to be just exactly how I wanted it. I couldn’t handle disruption, and I wouldn’t sacrifice my lifestyle for the sake of a companion. Besides, nobody would ever be able to pierce the walls I’d erected. They were iron-clad. They were impenetrable. You couldn’t really be a companion to a tower wall. I’d shielded myself for so long, I was beginning to think that’s all I was.
Four walls and nothing else.
***
My day consisted of two things: People and paperwork. I’d just recently lost two clients. It was always bitter-sweet. Some of the people I lost were fantastic human beings. They were just people who had got caught up in life. One, a woman with three children, was with me for the last 5 years. She used to be a meth addict, lost her kids, and then went to prison. She was caught trying to sell to an undercover officer in a sting operation. She was very sweet but had made a lot of mistakes.
She completed her sentence, took drug classes, and got her G.E.D. Eventually, she enrolled in the local community college and got a drug counselor certificate.
She got her kids back, too.
That, at least to me, was what made her so special. I never saw a mother who loved her children more. When she found out that her rights were being restored, she made an unscheduled visit to my office. She brought coffee and doughnuts. Her face was all smiles, and her eyes filled with tears.
Of course, I already knew that the courts had decided to restore her rights. There was no one more deserving than her. I even wrote the judge, telling him so. I liked to believe I had a hand in influencing his decision. In reality, it was all her. She had this tenacity for life that I truly envied.
Over time, our visits became less frequent. Last month, we celebrated our last visit with coffee and doughnuts. It was our tradition in the face of good news. In a way, she was like a friend. We promised each other we’d stay in touch.
That wasn’t true. It was a nice lie, though. She wasn’t going to call. It was time for her to close that chapter of her life. That meant archiving our friendship. It was okay, though. I was happy for her.
Beyond nursing a massive headache from the night before, I focused on paperwork. Charlie stopped by my office to see if I wanted to have lunch with him. I declined. I was moving a lot slower today. I needed to catch up on work. He seemed to understand, returning only to bring me an aspirin and a glass of water.
I laughed. MaryAnn overreacted about him. He was completely harmless. In fact, he was often a bright spot on my day since he always had a good attitude.
The day eventually came to a close. I ducked out 15 minutes early to avoid any invitations out. Some people thrived on social situations. Social situations drained me. I needed time to decompress. My home was my sanctuary.
I spent my evenings eating frozen T.V. dinners and watching Pay-per-view boxing matches. Normally, boxing bored me to tears. However, a new female boxer I’d heard about on the news caught my attention. I loved to watch her matches.
She was fierce. If you watched closely, you could see her release this inner rage on her opponents. Her big fist swung right and left. She crushed her opponents face and broke their skin.
I fantasized about releasing my rage.
I was so controlled all of the time that the idea was tantalizing. Rage was a lot like fire, utterly destructive and chaotic. I imagined scenarios where I released all that had been muted within me on some poor S.O.B. In my head, I’d look like a bad ass, there’d be music, and I’d be completely free. Part of me hoped for the opportunity. I hoped that someone would fuck with me so that I could have an excuse to release this pent-up energy inside of me.
***
Charlie knocked on my office door. I quickly closed the folder of a new client I was meeting with later in the week.
I cleared my throat, “Come in.”
Charlie walked in with a frown and a stack of paperwork in his arms. He looked frazzled and tired.
“Why the long face?” I asked.
“You noticed?” he grinned, weakly.
I nodded.
“I’m just overwhelmed,” he looked at the papers in his arms and then back to me, “I’m in over my head.”
I stood up from my desk and walked over to Charlie. I grabbed the stack of papers out of his hands and set them on my desk. I leaned back on my desk and sighed.
“I know the feeling,” I paused, “Everybody goes through this at first.”
“So, you’re saying that I’ll be fine, eventually?”
“Maybe. I mean, the paperwork will always be there. You just have to bide your time,” I said, “Why don’t we take a break?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about a walk around the block?” I asked.
He nodded, “But what about MaryAnn?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think she’ll get jealous. She doesn’t seem to want you spending time with anyone else.”
I laughed. He must still believe that MaryAnn and I were an item. I shook my head. I grabbed my purse off the hook by the door and led him out.
***
During the walk, I confessed that MaryAnn and I were strictly platonic. I also confessed my love of frozen dinners. Charlie was a good listener. I could imagine us being friends if it weren’t for the fact that I didn’t have the time nor the patience for a friend.
When we got back inside, I showed him a little trick I learned when I first became a parole officer. I had hi
m take the stack of papers and divide it into ten even stacks. I told him to set the timer on his watch. He needed to allot a specific amount of time for each pile.
“If you break it down, it becomes less of a mountain and more like rolling hills.”
“Awesome! Thank you.”
I shook my head, “Endless rolling hills. The paperwork never ends. So, don’t go thanking me just yet.”
***
Later, at home, I finished my last frozen dinner. It was a meatloaf with carrots and potatoes. I was just in the middle of writing my weekly grocery list. I needed 7 frozen dinners, trash bags, and a canister of French Roast. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Hey, sweet lady.”
“Who is this?” I texted.
“It’s me, your favorite newb.”
“Who?” I texted.
“Charlie!”
I didn’t text back. I wondered how he got my personal cell number. We all used our work phones to communicate. My cell phone was only for personal used, (thus, it was never really used), Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again.
“So, we are going out to Hartigan’s Bar. I’m dying to hear you sing Black Velvet. Come out?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not really my scene.”
“You’re breaking my heart!”
“Sorry.”
I put my phone to the side and walked to the bathroom. I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas. When I went back into the kitchen, my phone was buzzing again. It was Charlie, again. Only this time, he was calling. I hit the ignore button. I scrolled through my notifications. He had texted me 9 times in the space of 20 minutes. He called 3 times and left 2 voicemails. By the time I finished reading his texts, a notification for a third voicemail popped up.