by Hamel, B. B.
“It just looks creepy, you mean,” she said, turning away from it.
I laughed and mentally kicked myself. I probably looked like an absolute crazy person. As we turned the corner, I watched the van glide past my block, heading south. I let out a huge breath. I was definitely overreacting to it. Something about the way the car was driving so slowly behind us made me feel paranoid, although I had no real reason to worry about it. I hadn’t thought much about vans and crazy guys dumping weird packages into the river lately, and I shouldn’t let myself get caught back up in that.
“Okay, this is where I say goodbye,” Chelsea said, standing at the intersection of our streets.
“We need to hang out more, Chels.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry I’ve been so lame.”
“It’s not your fault. We’ve both been lazy.”
“I know. And we live so close together now, too.”
“Okay, promise right here that we’ll hang out soon?”
“Sounds good.”
We hugged and I smiled at her.
“See you later,” she said, turning and heading toward her apartment.
“Later,” I called after her.
I stood at the corner for half a second, and then I turned and walked toward my apartment. Although it was dark already, I decided I’d give Petey another walk. I didn’t really feel like staying alone all night in my tiny apartment. For some reason, that van had me on edge, and I knew I needed to get out and get myself together before facing the quiet boredom of living alone.
As I walked down my block, the sound of tires turning onto my street startled me. I half turned and saw it: that same black van coming slowly toward me. My heart started to race and sweat climbed onto my body. I knew it was the same one. I was absolutely positive. I definitely wasn’t making it up: the van was following me. I stopped and bent over, pretending to tie my shoe, and watched as the van slowly crawled down my street, going right by me. I watched as it made a left at the next street, disappearing around the corner.
My heart was pounding as I quickly walked to the end of the block, crossed the street, and jogged over to my stoop. I climbed up the stairs and turned around, my back to the door, and watched down the street. I didn’t have to wait long. About two minutes later, the black van turned the corner and started slowly driving down my street.
I was freaking out. That van was definitely driving around my neighborhood, and I was beyond sure that I had seen it sitting around, parked near my apartment, at least a few times over the last few days. It appeared right around when I saw those guys dumping those weird packages in the river. Could they be the ones driving the van? I was suddenly terrified as I remembered the guy running after me.
I ran upstairs, unlocked my front door as fast as I could, and slammed it shut behind me, banging the deadbolt shut. Petey looked up quizzically and barked twice. I shushed him as I ran into my kitchen and looked out the window. I nervously glanced up and down the street, waiting for it. Two minutes passed, three minutes passed, and nothing. I stood there for five minutes but didn’t see anything.
Maybe it was a coincidence. All those black vans did look alike. Maybe it was just some guy who was lost. Or maybe it was just a neighbor I had never met. I really needed to get myself together.
As I was about to give up, my hands releasing the windowsill and my mind already beginning to think about the rest of my night, I saw it.
The van, the same fucking van, slowly drove down my street. It stopped a few houses away from my apartment and stayed there, idling in the middle of the one-way street. Nobody got in or out. It just sat there as I watched it for what felt like an hour.
Finally, terror pulsing through my body in waves, I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter Nine: Liam
I groaned, rolling over on the stinking cold couch I had pressed up against the wall of my office. The whisky hangover pulsed through my skull as I sat up, looking around the room. It spun briefly, and I pressed my hand against my forehead, annoyed that I had let myself get so drunk and had slept so terribly. My whole body was aching from squeezing myself onto the tiny cushions.
I needed to keep myself together; I couldn’t try to drown my problems. It never helped, and never would help. I had seen too many men destroy themselves with drink because they couldn’t face their demons.
Although, in my defense, most of them didn’t have demons like Colm Brennan.
Snippets of memory from the night before came back to me. Sitting on my computer, drinking way too many glasses of whisky, and the plan. The stupid fucking plan, the plan that will never, ever work. I had filled almost an entire notebook with ideas and thoughts before finally coming up with it. Plus the stack of papers I sifted through to find the data I needed. Last night, the plan definitely seemed a lot more possible, and I remember lying down on my couch with a smile on my face. In the morning, though, that plan didn’t look so great anymore, not without my whisky-tinted glasses.
The stupid plan, the insane plan, that’s also my only option.
I got up, a little shaky, and walked out my door. I pushed the door to the kitchen open and walk inside.
“Hey, boss,” Luis said, looking at me.
“Eggs and bacon and avocado. Please. I feel like shit.”
“You look like shit,” Luis said, moving away from his prep work and starting on my breakfast. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“I wouldn’t say I slept, but I did pass out at some point.”
He laughed, but I could tell he was worried. Luis was pretty intuitive about these things. I was willing to bet he could tell something was up, and that meant any trouble was potentially dangerous for him. He had worked for me from the start, about a few years ago, and we knew each other pretty well. I went to his wedding, and if I ever got married, he would come to mine. Although I couldn’t imagine getting married, let alone being alive for more than a few weeks.
“Anything you need help with, boss?”
“No, it’s all good, Luis. I’ll be at the bar.”
I pushed back out and moved down the corridor and into the main room. It was empty, which I was thankful for, and I went behind the bar to make some coffee. I really didn’t feel like dealing with Colin, especially hungover, and especially when he’d pester me about what was happening with Colm. I cracked my neck, letting the drip machine slowly brew, and looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair was a mess, there were heavy bags under my eyes, and my clothes were rumpled and messy from sleeping in them. Overall, I looked exactly like I expected. I needed to stop back home before trying to do anything, maybe check up on Richie. In my line of work, the way you looked mattered. You needed to look intimidating, but not like a thug. We had certain standards. Or at least, we used to have standards, before the animal Colm took over the gang. As much as I hated our old boss Michael, Colm was far worse.
Years ago, when I was still a little kid, the Mob was fractured but functional. There were many different bosses, and each boss controlled his own territory without any oversight. My father was one of those bosses, and he controlled one of the largest and most profitable territories. That gave him some measure of power and respect in the city. Then Michael came along and began to unite the disparate factions under his centralized command. I don’t really remember the time before Michael, because I was pretty young, but I do remember my father’s anger and his slow decline in power over the years.
With Michael came more money but more problems. We began to deal in drugs and guns, which put us at odds with the police. Before, we were mainly into smuggling and protection rackets, with the occasional thievery and counterfeiting schemes. But Michael saw that the new world needed drugs, wanted drugs, and that there was a good profit to be turned. Because of all the money flowing into the Right People’s pockets, they began to flock to Michael. He was the most powerful man in the Mob for years, running things with an iron fist. But even Michael had rules and some measure of
honor, even if he was just another jumped-up thief with a gun.
Colm was ready to rid himself of everything. Colm was Michael without the honor. In fact, I was pretty sure he loved violence, reveled in it, where Michael merely tolerated it. I thought we had it bad under Michael, thought that the foreigners getting involved in our business and all the drugs were slowly ruining our business, but I was wrong.
I was finally beginning to understand the meaning of “the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.”
I grabbed a mug of coffee and sat down at the bar, turning the television on and idly flipping through the channels. I ended up on the news but didn’t really pay attention. It wasn’t like they were going to report anything important, anyway.
Luis came out a few minutes later with my breakfast, and I gave him a grateful nod. I tucked into it, feeling somewhat more human with a stomach full of coffee and food.
What the fuck was I going to do? It was true that, despite all the whisky, I had come up with a possible plan. But it wasn’t a good plan, by any means, and it would be incredibly dangerous. No matter what I did, somebody was going to get hurt. My ultimate goal was to make sure it was me who did the most bleeding, and not someone that I cared about. It was me who decided to enter the life, not Ellie or Richie or Luis. Hell, even Colin and Leary were innocent, as far as that went.
The bar’s phone began to ring, piercing through my headache, and I glanced around. Nobody was in sight, so I slowly got off my stool, reached over the counter, and grabbed the receiver.
“Liam here,” I grunted.
“Well, just the man I was looking for,” came Colm’s snake voice.
I felt a stab of adrenaline. Why was he calling again?
“Hi, Colm, how are you today?”
“I’m fine. You sound like shit.”
“Just the whisky.”
He laughed. “Well, I have some good and bad news for you.”
“What’s up?”
I felt my fear mounting in my chest. For some reason, I had a horrible feeling.
“Things have changed, my friend. The good news is, you’re off the hook for the time being.”
I blinked. “So you’re not killing the girl?”
He laughed again. “That’s the bad news. The bitch got spooked and called the cops. We don’t know why or what she told them, but she has to be taken care of today. Max is on his way, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
My heart skipped a beat as I stared at myself in the mirror. Max was on his way to Ellie’s apartment, and he was going to murder her. That ruthless fuck was going to kill the girl in her own apartment.
I didn’t hear what Colm said next, and I didn’t care. I dropped the phone and ran into my office, grabbing the gun from the other night, plus my jacket and my keys, and then I raced through the main bar and outside into the piercing morning daylight. My hangover still lingered at the edges of my brain, but the fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins were slowly burning it away.
I unlocked my car, threw the door open, and jumped in, starting the engine. I pulled out fast, driving like a maniac. I blew through a stop sign, took a hard right turn and barely missed a pedestrian, and sped west. I gritted my teeth as I got caught at a red but slowly rolled through it anyway.
Max was on his way. Max was on his way to kill her that very second, and I was ten minutes away at least. If I was lucky, I could cut that in half, but would I be too late? From what I knew, Max had been staking her out for the past few days in that stupid fucking van, stalking her like an asshole. She had probably spotted him, and it had scared her, which made her call the cops.
What were they thinking? If Ellie was going to talk to the police about what she had seen, didn’t they realize she would have done it already? Colm was paranoid, insane with trying to hold on to the Mob. He was willing to make reckless and stupid moves, and it was going to get him and everyone else killed. Worse, it was going to get Ellie killed.
I pressed harder on the gas and zoomed through the streets, weaving around slow cars where I could and cutting down side streets when I was blocked by traffic. I silently prayed that a cop didn’t see me, because Ellie was dead if I got pulled over. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure if I would stop for a cop; maybe they’d be able to help stop Max.
My wheels screeched and sent up smoke as I pulled a hard right into Ellie’s neighborhood, flying down the street. My hands gripped the wheel as I blew through two more stop signs, coming up to her block. Up ahead, parked in the middle of the street with its doors wide open and emergency lights flashing, was a black van. It was missing its license plate, but I knew exactly who owned it.
I was too late. I was too fucking late. Max had gotten there before me.
I slammed on my brakes and jumped out the door, the gun already in my hand. I flicked off the safety and jumped up her stoop. The building’s front door was locked, so I shot it off, using three bullets, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have time to sneak in. I kicked the door open, wood splintering all over the place, and jumped inside.
My heart was going to break through my chest.
I couldn’t be too late. I couldn’t be too late.
As I barreled up the steps, there were no thoughts in my mind other than the overwhelming need to save her life.
Chapter Ten: Ellie
I sat at my kitchen table, looking at the Saturday morning light filtering in through the windows. I sipped my coffee and sighed, feelings of shame and anger still lingering from the night before.
The cops came pretty fast. But by the time they arrived, the van had already pulled away, and it didn’t show up again. At first, the two officers were pretty kind to me; they came into my apartment, sat down at my table, and listened to me as I told them about this mysterious van following me around. They didn’t put too much stock in the guys dumping packages into the river—apparently that happened all the time—but they didn’t seem like they outright didn’t believe me.
They had agreed to stick around the neighborhood for a little while and keep an eye out for any suspicious vans. So for the next half hour, they parked down at the corner and waited. I paced around my room, embarrassed and nervous.
Of course the van never showed up again. After a half hour went by, the cops came back and told me that there was nothing they could do. They said I was probably seeing different vans, that I was just upset from the guys harassing me the other day, and that I should consider talking to a friend or something instead of calling the police. They left after that, and I buried my face in a pillow.
I had never called the police before in my entire life. I had never needed to, for any reason. I wasn’t the kind of person to overreact about something or to make things up for attention. I knew what was happening to me.
I wasn’t crazy. I definitely wasn’t crazy. I couldn’t be crazy, could I?
I took another sip of coffee and sighed. I looked at Petey in the other room and wished he could verify my story. He had seen the van at least once or twice, and he was around when the guy chased me.
Unfortunately, Petey was a dog, and his English wasn’t great.
The cops were actually pretty nice about everything in the end. I understood that they felt like I was wasting their time, though they didn’t rub that in my face too much. Philly was full of real problems. But I genuinely had no interest in making up stories, let alone in making the police come out every time I was scared. In the end, it was completely pointless to have called them, and I regretted it. They made me feel like a bratty princess, even though they were more than professional, when I was far from that. I had gone through my own shit, dealt with my own demons, and I always would. I hated that I was suddenly the girl who was afraid of random vans.
The coffee was cold on my next sip, and I sighed. As I stood up to refresh my cup, I heard my doorbell buzz.
Petey let out a bark and I looked up, surprised. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I padded over barefoot to the intercom
system and hit the button.
“Yes?” I said.
“Got a delivery here for you,” the guy said.
“Uh, okay, come on up,” I said, buzzing him in.
I wasn’t expecting anything, but it wasn’t impossible that I had a package. I was like everyone else: I loved buying stuff online and having it appear at my apartment. It was almost like magic.
Not long after I let him up, there was a loud knock at my door. Petey started barking.
“Hold on a second,” I called out.
I walked over to Petey and took him by the collar. “Petey, come on,” I said. I pulled him over to my bedroom, opened the door, and moved him in.
“Stay here,” I said, closing the door behind me. Satisfied the poor delivery guy wasn’t going to get mobbed by Petey, I walked back to the front door, released the bolt, and pulled it open.
The guy standing there wasn’t a deliveryman. He was wearing a black ski mask, a black sweatshirt, loose jeans, and was easily over six feet tall.
“Who are—” I said, but before I could say anything more, he pulled out a gun and shoved it in my face.
“Get inside, bitch,” he said, voice gruff.
My insides felt like ice as I backed into my apartment. My eyes were wide and I put my hands up. It almost seemed fake. I felt myself begin to tremble as he followed me in, shutting the door behind him.
“On the couch,” he grunted.
“Okay, please don’t hurt me,” I said in a quiet voice.
I backed into the living room and sat down on the couch, my entire body shaking. I had never seen a real gun in front of me before, let alone had a man wearing a ski mask shove one in my face.
For a brief moment, I wished that the cops could have been around. Not to save me, but to see what was happening as proof that I wasn’t insane.
“If you fucking scream or move, I will kill you,” the man said, sitting down on the coffee table, facing me. He held the gun pointed at my chest.
“Take whatever you want,” I managed to say. My voice was shaky, and I felt like I was about to cry. In my bedroom, Petey began whining, but thankfully he didn’t bark.