by J. J. McAvoy
“I’ll be over there in a minute. I just want to take a crack at her first.”
“We,” Scooter said, stepping up, “We want to take a crack at her.”
“Knock yourselves out. Ask Mother Mary for a prayer for me.” He laughed before walking off.
Step one; done.
“So, how are we going to go at her?” Scooter asked, trying to walk in, but I stopped him at the door.
“You’re not a police officer, remember? You’re a cheerleader. You can support the team from behind that glass.”
Stepping inside, the first thing I heard were her prayers:
“Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo…”
“Antoniodita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y Antoniodito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén,” I finished for her, putting the water bottle on the table before helping her into the chair.
“Mary mother of all mothers,” I said pulling out my own chair. “My mother loved her too.”
“Do you have my visa?” she asked in a thick accent.
“No.”
“Then I have nothing for you.”
“I don’t think you ever had anything for me to begin with.”
“I worked in that house! I saw things! I heard things!” she yelled at me.
“Have some water,” I told her, sliding the water bottle over.
She pushed it back. “I’m fine, lo choto.”
“Really? Because you’ve been in here a while and the last thing I want is for you be dehydrated. Plus, I hope you do a lot of talking,” I stated, pushing the water back to her.
“No visa, no confesión,” she repeated before bringing the bottle to her lips. The moment she looked down, she froze. Her dark eyes slowly read over the words written on the backs side of the label.
“Are you alright, Ms. Morales?”
She just stared at me, eyes wide, frozen solid.
“It’s just water.” I said, grabbing the bottle. “Not poison. You’re safe here.”
To prove my point, I grabbed the water and drank.
“The Callahans….” she whispered, hanging her head down low.
“Ms. Morales, I know this is scary. My partner, he reminded me of the accusations against the Callahans. How some say they killed men, women, and even children. How they have no regard for the law. How they would hunt down anyone who tried to stand in their way. If that is true, I cannot imagine what you must have gone through in that house. What you may have seen. We know about your son across the border.”
She tensed, water pooling under her eyelids as her lips and arms trembled.
“My mother, she was an illegal, worked her whole life for people like the Callahans. She didn’t care though. She just wanted her boys to get the greatest chance in life. She would do anything for the boys—for me. Even take on people like the Callahans. That’s why you want a visa, right? So you could bring him over the right way. So he wouldn’t be labeled an illegal immigrant. I want to help you, Ms. Morales, but you’ve got to be honest with me. You’re the only one who can bring those murdering bastards down. We will protect you. I will personally protect you.”
I made sure that she could read my eyes, and it made the tears roll down her cheeks. Wiping her nose, she nodded.
Sitting up straighter, she admitted, “I lied. I don’t know anything. I just wanted my boy.”
“You’ve got nothing on the Callahans?” I stated again, glaring into her eyes.
Again, she nodded.
“I have nothing on the Callahans. I just wanted to get back at them. They fired me for no reason, I have nothing, and they took it all away. They just have so much, you know? I just wanted something for my boy.”
Shaking my head at her, I grabbed the water. “Hold tight, Ms. Morales. Hold tight.”
“Please, don’t deport me. Por favor! I’m the only one sending anything back. My son is still young. Just like your mama, I just wanted to give him the best, get myself a good job. I need your help, please! I need the visa.”
There was nothing more I could say to her, so I simply walked out. Scooter stood glaring at the woman, who had returned to praying, through the two-way mirror.
“Damn it. She’s got to know something. I can feel it. We need to get her to talk. We should charge her; obstruction of justice, filing a false report…”
“Yes, Scooter let’s charge the only eye witness we have to the First Lady’s deception, because she didn’t tell us what we were hoping to hear,” I snapped. “If you keep jumping head first into everything, your brain will be splattered all over the sidewalk soon enough.”
It was only after I had gotten out of the precinct that I dared to rip the paper off the water bottle. In English it translated to three simple sentences:
Your son made it home from school safely today. Your words right now will determine if he makes it through the night. Do not make us do this.
Pulling out my other phone, I dialed, waiting to be directed.
“Welcome to Melody’s Flowers…”
“Two dozen of Autumn crocus for the Boss.”
“Please hold.”
It took only a second before I heard his voice.
“Callahan.”
“It’s done. She recanted.”
“Good work. Sit on her, make sure she doesn’t try again.”
“Done.”
MELODY
“It’s been handled,” Liam stated, finally bringing his sorry ass into the room. He’d left hours ago with my damn cell phone.
“Well, aren’t you feeling yourself,” I sneered, not bothering to look at him as I stepped into my shoes. Adriana waited with my jacket.
“Are you still hungry?”
I was prepared to beat the shit out of him, but it looked like someone had already started. “What the fuck happened to your face and hand?”
“Olivia.” He sighed, stepping over to me.
“Does she look worse?”
“She feels worse.”
“I don’t care how she feels, Liam.”
“I’ll get the car,” Adriana stated as she took her exit.
He pulled me closer to him and kissed my lips so hard I could feel the cut on the inside of his cheek and I could taste his blood.
Knock.
“Come back later,” Liam yelled.
But they didn’t listen. The door snapped open and a person I used to know as Declan stumbled in with the same white clothes, now covered in dirt, messy hair and bags under his red eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Declan.” Liam released me, walking to him just as Declan fell to his knees sobbing.
“Declan…”
“Coraline has ovarian cancer. She won’t speak to me. She won’t even move. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fight this. I don’t want to lose her…I…”
“Breathe, brother. Just breathe,” Liam whispered, as he knelt down to hold onto him.
Walking behind them both, I closed the door. This was personal. This was family, and no one else needed to see this.
Liam looked up at me as his brother, not cousin here, they were much closer then that. Declan just sobbed in his arms. His eyes asked me a question with an answer I hated: How do we fight cancer?
I knew all too well that sometimes you couldn’t. Cancer was a bitch that didn’t know when to die. Placing my hand on Declan’s head, I stood there. I wasn’t sure what else to do. Why was this all happening now? Why couldn’t we just deal with one fucking problem at a time?
Because this was real life.
TWENTY-FIVE
“My mother protected me from the world and my father threatened me with it.”
—Quentin Crisp
NEAL
There were very few things I hated more than meeting my father in his old study. It brought back all my moments of failure, stupidity, and unworthiness. My father’s study meant something different to the
each of us. For Declan, every time he was brought here, it was because my father needed help wiring something on his computer. For Liam, it was the place they bonded; the place they sipped on brandy, talked business. For me, it was the place my father reminded me of what a giant fuck up I was.
I knew after the shit with Olivia that Liam wasn’t done spewing; I just thought he would be man enough to confront me himself instead of calling Sedric. It took all I had not to roll my eyes at the old man sitting behind the even older oak desk, surrounded by the oldest fucking books. It was like I was having a flashback to my youth.
“You wished to see me, father?” I asked, not bothering to sit down. We would be at each other’s throats in a moment.
Throwing his pen onto the table, he leaned back, and stared at me before folding his arms. “Do you know who I am?” he asked softly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Remind me.”
I hated these Yoda moments.
“Remind you of what, sir?”
I could see his teeth clench as he lifted his hands, gesturing to everything around us. “Tell me the story I told you as a boy, Neal. Tell me how I came to sit on this chair, in this house, with this family name.”
“You were only twenty-two at the time, studying at the Loyola University of Chicago, when grandfather called, and told you that it was time to take over the family. Your oldest brother had been gunned down, mother was pregnant, and gang affiliated crime was at an all time high.
“Every day, Chicago was bleeding under the hands of five kingpins. They were just waiting for the chance to kill each other. You didn’t have the manpower, money or clout to get anything done, but somehow you managed to find all five of them and burn their bodies, but not before decapitating them. At twenty-three, you took over Chicago in one night.” I recited like a well-memorized monologue.
He clapped, rising from his chair. “That was the story I told you as a proud father. I spared you the details, and thus this is my fault. I made it sound easy. I didn’t tell you about the bullets I took, all the ribs I’ve broken, or scars I have. And I sure as hell didn’t tell you how your mother laid on top of you in the bathtub as one hundred and seventy-two rounds shredded through our apartment. She took a bullet for you. When I got there, I sat you on my lap, pulled your mother to my chest and promised the both of you the world on a golden platter. I swore that neither of you would ever want for anything and that you would always be safe.”
“No, you didn’t tell me any of that.” And I wasn’t sure why he was telling me now.
“I didn’t think I had to.” His face remained emotionless. “After everything I did, not once have I ever gotten tied in with the police. In fact, I prefer my name to never drop off the tongue of a blue blood.”
“I know this.”
“Do you?” He stepped forward. “You know nothing, boy!”
And so we begin.
“I find out today that your wife was the reason behind one of our maids talking to the police.”
“It was a mistake.”
“It was a mistake?” he roared, grabbing the side of my face. “Marrying her, that was the mistake! I knew this. But I allowed it because I foolishly thought what harm could one dumb wench do to us. I thought my son would be smart enough to control his wife. Our wives are a reflection of ourselves, and you are failing me! You are failing your brother, and you are failing this family.”
I tried to pull away from him, but he just held on tighter, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“I gave up everything for this life, this family; everything. And you stand before me telling me it was a mistake? You are my blood, my first born, and I love you dearly, but I need your wife handled, or so help me God, I will take her head next.” He pushed me away, and turned back to his chair.
“You and your wife should go pack. The both of you will now join Senator Colemen’s bus tours. You will represent the Callahan family far away for now, until everything blows over.”
He couldn’t fucking be serious.
“Liam needs me, Declan’s a mess—”
“And yet, even as a mess, Declan is still more useful. Liam needed his brother, and once again you chose another side over blood.”
“Olivia is family!”
“Olivia has a ring on her fucking finger, and a name on a damn sheet of paper; she is not blood. If she were to die tomorrow, she would be nothing but old photographs and even older memories.”
“You could say the same thing about Coraline or Melody!” He was just a fucking hypocrite.
“Coraline is on the board of six charities, she organizes numerous functions that we have, on occasion, used as a cover. On top of that she runs many small businesses in our name. She was doing that even before Melody came to this family. She keeps us looking clean to the public. Melody, among everything she has added and given to this family, is also going to have a son. She’s starting the next generation of Callahans. They have worth. Tell me, other than the fact that her father is a senator, what has your wife brought to the table?”
There was nothing else to say as he walked over and poured himself a drink.
“So what, you’re splitting us up from the family to teach her a lesson?” I finally snapped.
“No.” He drank, stepping towards the window. “This lesson is for you, son. Out there, they don’t understand us, they hate us. Behind their smiles, they’re vultures, waiting for us to fall just so they can pick up the scraps. Out there, you cannot be yourself. You must filter how you speak, take all the shit they throw at you humbly, and smile for their cameras. Out there, you will be a political puppet; and I know that will drive you mad because you are a Callahan. So until you start thinking and acting as such, Liam does not need you. Liam does not trust you and neither do I. He can’t kill you; for neither your mother nor I would allow it. But when he’s ready to see you and your wife again, he will call. Until then, see you later, son.”
“Goodbye, father.”
Before I reached door, he called out again. “Fix this, Neal. I refuse to choose between sons. Even if one almost cost us everything.”
“Who would you choose?”
I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.
Smirking at me, he shook his head. “Declan. He’s never given me so much shit. Luckily, he’s more of his mother than my brother. You and Liam are too much like me; opposite sides of the same damn coin trying to shoot at each other.”
“Olivia and I will leave in morning after visiting Coraline.” There was nothing more to say; I should have never walked into that office to begin with.
TWENTY-SIX
“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea…”
—Edgar Allan Poe
MELODY
Parking outside my old house, I took a deep breath and enjoyed the cold air. It was only the beginning of fall, but it was still cold enough to see my breath in the air. It was like walking through a warzone. There were broken shards of glass and splintered wood everywhere, and walls that were just standing, no longer connected to anything. This was my home. It is my home.
Who would have thought it would be nothing but rubble only a year after my leaving. Liam told me to rebuild, but there didn’t seem to be a point. It would be a new house without any memories. Even if it was nothing more than a pile of burned ash in the middle of nowhere, it was still my home and I could remember everything. I could still remember the choices I made here…
###
I frowned, cutting the line of coke once more and rubbing it between my fingers. It was the real deal. Finding high quality shit like this cost a small fortune. Leaning into my father’s seat, I glanced at the four guards, each standing at the pillars in the corners. They were all on edge, rats who weren’t sure if they were on a sinking ship or just fighting through a hurricane. Rumor had it that we were tapped; bleeding money, some would even say. They were right. Things were falling apart. The Callahans were buying out half the damn west coast, th
e Valeros were steamrolling Italy, and the Giovannis, we were dying. Half of them hadn’t seen my father in over a month, and figured he was sick. The other half thought I’d slit his throat as he slept.
Part of me wanted to just let it fall. There was no way I could run all of this on my own. I could let it die with my father, and I would be able to work my way through school; I had just gotten my acceptance letter to UCLA this morning. I could walk away from this right here and now. I could leave Chicago. My things were packed; I already had my ticket, and yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the brick that sat on the desk in front of me. Twenty thousand dollars of smack just sitting there, tempting me.
I glanced up at the greasy, sweat stained, blonde haired man in front of me. For the last three weeks, he had been going around the streets like an idiot, talking about how he knew where to get ‘the realist shit.’ No one believed him. I mean, why would they? He was wearing clothes he must have stolen off a corpse, his hair was so dirty it dropped flakes all over his shoulders, and his shoes looked so worn out, I wasn’t even sure why he bothered. He looked like a homeless junkie.
When word got to me, I asked for him and the smack. I didn’t really think he would bring it though.
Pulling out the drawer, I grabbed a stack of hundreds before dropping them on the table.
He rushed to the stack of money like it was bread and he was starving. He might have been. “It’s good, right? Like I said, one hundred percent cocaine. The best there is.”
“Where did you get this? Mr…?”
“Brooks. Beau Brooks, and I got word of this real big wop back east. People are whispering about how he’s got mountains of this shit, just lying in his warehouses; millions of profits just being chewed up by damn rats. I’m telling you, girlie, I got the connections—connections your father and I should speak over. I’m sure he’ll like them.”
“My father is not here. When he’s not here, you speak to me. So let’s hear it, I will decide if it’s worth it or not.” Crossing my legs, I waited as he paced in front of me.
“I’m not sure if I should be telling a kid this,” he finally said.