by J. J. McAvoy
Silence.
The only sound was our breath.
“What are you doing?” I caved in first when he shifted over to the side to sleep.
“I’m tired, Melody—”
“We do not go to sleep angry, so either we work it out or we don’t sleep.”
He groaned before turning over to me. “Are you trying to drive me insane? Is that it? You want me to just lose it—”
I kissed him softly before putting my forehead on his.
“I came on aggressive but you should know that is how I am. Nevertheless, I’m doing this not because I want to upset you, Liam—”
This time, he kissed me, his hands going to my neck before he flipped me onto my back and laid on top of me.
“It’s annoying when someone interrupts you when you’re speaking, isn’t it?” He smirked and I rolled my eyes, trying to push him off, but he pinned me under him. “I know you, Mel. Better than anyone else in this world.I know you are overwhelmed with the amount of love you have for our kids, which is why I know you also don’t want to be the one to push Dona. But you have to. I get it. I hate it, but I get it. I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed that I’m so torn between being a parent and being a boss. I like being the fun parent.”
I took a deep breath. We were on the same page again. “So we stop babying them.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, resting his head on my chest. Running my hand through his hair, I knew he wouldn’t let go of me, so I made myself comfortable in his arms.
He was right.
No one knew me like he did. No one understood me better than him.
SEVEN
“I’m a coldhearted bastard. I’m insular, I’m jaded, a workaholic, I’m ruthless, and I’m self-serving.”
~ Ally Blake
MINA
I grew up poor.
Poorer than typical poor.
My parents weren’t struggling between jobs.
We didn’t live in trailer parks or the back of cars.
No. Poor in Chinatown was a completely different type of poor.
My father committed suicide when I was nine, leaving my mother, who would have traded her hands for a bottle of Soju, to take care of four kids by herself. Safe to say, she failed. My sister froze to death one winter night as we slept under the bridge. My mother told me to take her jacket and when I didn’t, she took it for herself. My brother…he ran away, but not before stealing $1.89 worth of change I had collected. It was just my mother and me until my mother sold me into a prostitution ring. I didn’t even fight. They told me I would be fed and warm. Food. Not rats. Not leftover garbage, but actual food. The first time I remember eating sticky rice, I stood no more than ten feet from a man fucking someone up the ass. I was ten and I sat there eating rice and just listening. Yes, for a brief moment I wondered if that would be me, but it was a very brief moment because I had rice and I was warm.
I was there for two days before someone bought me. He was a relatively young man, in his mid to late twenties. He never touched me, just wanted to me undress, dance, and then dress again. He paid so much that no one else would touch me. When I was twelve, he brought me home to be the playmate of his own daughter. I noticed that we looked alike, his daughter and I. He even had me call him Father. He made sure I went to school with his daughter, made sure I dressed well; to everyone on the outside it must have looked like I was fortunate like I had been adopted by a kind and generous family. I never spoke a word of the things that went on in his home. He waited until I was fifteen before he touched me. When I was seventeen, they brought home another young girl. His wife quietly sent me away with hush money…it was then that I realized it wasn’t that she didn’t know, it was that she pretended not to.
I knew what that girl’s life would be like.
I told her before leaving and all she asked me was if there was any rice.
It was funny in a sick, twisted, horrible way. I understood her, and looking back I wasn’t sure what else would have happened to me. Would I have frozen to death? Would I have been raped on the street? Would I have starved before being raped? Frozen before starving?
It didn’t matter because I was free. I had money and I was free.
It was scary how normal my life after that was. I got a job at a chicken shop and lived in the basement. I went to one of the best colleges in the country by getting loans. I fell in love once, had a daughter, and realized he—like everyone else—didn’t give a shit. He disappeared, but not before labeling me a slut.
It was funny…and when I say funny, I mean cruel…the way women are treated all over the world.
If they are silent, they are walked all over.
If they speak, they are attacked from every direction.
It was only when I had a daughter that I realized I wanted to speak—not just for me, but for her—because at least I could fight back. I had never fought before; I’d never had the power to. Once I did, I realized I had scars on top of scars from the life I’d lived.
I wasn’t a good person.
I was quiet but never good.
Screw being good.
“Mina?”
I faced Mel as she spun back in her chair to look me over.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Our newly appointed deputy commissioner is going to be here momentarily. I’m going to need you a little bit more focused.”
“Of course.” I nodded and there was a knock at the door before they let him in.
“Governor Callahan.” He grinned as he walked in, dressed in his navy blue uniform with his hat under his arm. His eyes shot to me for a quick second before focusing back on her. She clasped her hands.
“Commissioner Cheung, thank you for taking the time to meet me.” Mel motioned for him to sit. He pulled his leg up and rested in on the back of the chair. He had jet-black hair and a small cut above his lip.
“I could think of no greater honor,” he said, his eyes glancing toward me again for the briefest of seconds.
I didn’t pay attention their conversation. I tried—truly I did—but I just stood there. It wasn’t out of fear—I didn’t think I had ever truly felt afraid. I was silent for the time being, but I would speak soon, and when I did, he would never forget what I had to say.
The meeting felt too long.
It took all of my composure to just stand there.
“Mina will show you out.” Mel again pulled me out of my train of thought, and I didn’t argue. I just put the file beside her before walking around the desk.
He laughed beside me as we made our way into the lobby.
“How far you’ve come, Mina.”
“Thank you, Father.” I smiled at him as he froze for a second then shook it off, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Enough of that. The past is in the past. I’m so pleased you’ve made something of yourself.”
“I couldn’t have done without you,” I said automatically, to his pleasure.
He leaned in closer. “Never forget that. Should the governor ever need someone, make sure you remember who brought you up.”
“Of course.”
Nodding, he placed his hat on his head. He stood up straighter as he walked outside. I followed, enjoying the breeze. As he got into his car, a black Mercedes pulled up. Neal unbuttoned the top button of his suit as he got out, a large smile spreading across his face. It was the type of smile that always made me smile…just not that day.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
I patted down the top of his coat. “Neal, I need something from you.”
“Anything.”
“The deputy commissioner just stopped by to see Melody.”
“Everything all right?” He frowned, glancing back over at the car, now long gone.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I just need you to kill his daughter.”
“What?” He half laughed.
Standing straighter, I repeated myself. “Deputy Commissioner Cheung has a daughter, I wa
nt her dead. He also has a wife; I want her dead. I want him to see them dead before you kill him.”
“Mina.”
“Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” He nodded, brushing the side of my face. “But Mel—”
“I have a feeling she knows. I’m not going to talk to her about it. You can. She’ll say yes. I’m sure she’ll be annoyed that I don’t want to do it myself, but I’m not like her. I can’t be changed like Cora, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want blood either.”
“Then there will be blood.”
This was how I fucking spoke: with action.
That was the power I had now, to point to someone and order their death and have it done. That was what Mel offered me. It was worth more than gold.
One by one, everyone who had ever made me suffer, I would come for them, and one by one they would all drown in their own blood.
Mina Sung was gone.
Mina Callahan was going to have a bloodletting.
“But before you meet the commissioner, what do you want to have for lunch? I’m really feeling Thai!” I grinned up at him, taking his hand.
“But I was actually hoping to get Indian.” He spun me into his arms.
“Take out from both?”
He nodded, leading me to the car.
MELODY
“Miss my voice already?” Liam said on the other end of the line as I stood by the window.
“You really love yourself don’t you?”
He snickered. “Now that you mention it—”
“We will be losing another deputy commissioner soon,” I said, cutting him off before he got further off topic.
“Mina?”
“How did you know?”
“Neal just messaged me. It’s taken her long enough. She’s been part of this family for how many years now?”
I smiled, seeing my own reflection in the glass. “Some people are bloody animals, Liam, and others are poisonous plants. I told you she was different than Olivia. I could see it. She let him climb his way up so she could kick him down.” She was the silent killer, the one you never saw coming until it was too late.
“Something could be said about the women of this family.” He sighed to himself. “How will this affect you? The last thing we want is bad press.”
“Don’t you know I shine the most in chaos?”
“Enjoy, wife. I’ll keep bringing home the bacon.”
“I will pass; apparently it gives you cancer.”
He groaned. “Everything gives you fucking cancer—”
“Goodbye, husband,” I said quickly, hanging up before he could get another word in. Walking back to my desk, I sat back in the black leather seat, both the American and state flags standing behind me. I was reaching for the file Mina had left when there was a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
“Madam Governor.” Bruce, my secretary, poked his blond head inside as he pushed the black frame of his glasses up his crooked nose.
“What is it?”
“Mayor Weston is here demanding to see you.”
“Demanding?” Interesting choice of words.
“Yes, Governor.”
“Well don’t let him wait then.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs. Bruce barely turned around before my least favorite mayor came barging in. “Benjamin, what can I do for you?”
“What can you do? What can you do?” He tried to contain himself, taking a deep breath. “Do you know why the governor’s office has always been in Springfield and not Chicago?”
“Insignificant planning?” I replied, almost bored.
“So there wouldn’t be internal strife between the chief executive of the third-largest city in the country and the governor’s office! This state is still reeling from severe financial problems stemming largely from unfunded pensions for workers, something you can’t possibly understand because, one, this is the first job you’ve ever had, and two, because you’ve got more money than you can even dream of.”
“Are you going to keep barking at me or are you going to give an example—”
“I proposed a new budget plan. The Chicago City Council all stood behind it and it should have been green-lighted today but instead, I hear that you made a few calls. No budget. No green light. This is not a game, Mrs. Callahan!”
“I can see you are upset.” I smiled; it was always amusing watching a rat run to a trap. “And I could also spend time explaining to you my reasoning, but I do not like your tone. When my children throw temper tantrums, I usually send them to their rooms. How about you go to your office and when you—”
“I am the goddamn mayor of Chicago! You will speak to me with respect!”
“No,” I said, casually throwing the file Mina had gave me onto the ground in front of him. “Do you know why the people elected me even knowing this was my first ‘job’ and that I had more money than I knew what to do with?”
Slowly he bent down to pick up the papers.
“It’s a simple reason really. Four out of the previous seven Illinois governors went to prison. Along with two U.S. Representatives, the former Secretary of State, and Attorney General, in total 79 elected official have gone to prison for depravity since 1972. Illinois has a long legacy of public corruption, all of them from men who look just like you, pretending to give a shit when you honestly don’t. Men like you who grew up taking it up the ass from everyone else and now want to fuck over anyone in sight. This city, this state is tired of men like you, which is why my pretty ass is sitting so comfortably in this chair. What is money to someone who is rich? What is power to someone who is already powerful? If you wanted to take me out you should have at least kept your nose clean Benjamin. Prostitutes and bribery? You weren’t even original.”
He clasped his hand over his mouth, just staring at the papers. I had to give him credit; if Mina hadn’t known where to look, he would have been able to keep it a secret.
“Oh no.” I shook a finger at him when he tried to take a seat across from me. “We aren’t going to have a civilized conversation now. You kept whipping your dick out to show me how much of a man you are. Go ahead. Prove to me why you are chief executive of the third-largest city in the country. I’ll wait.”
He stood there staring back at me for a moment before slowly getting onto his knees. It was a sorry sight.
His fists clenched. His jaw locked. “What…what do you want?”
“A lot of things…none of which you can give me, Ben.”
“My wife…my kids…if you do this…”
“I care as much about your wife and kids as you did while fucking that pretty nineteen-year-old with the perky breasts.”
“Governor—”
“Get out the fuck out of my office, Benjamin.”
Rising to his feet, he spat in front of my desk. “One day, all the shit you ram down people’s throats, all the bloody deals you make will come back to you tenfold. Then it will be you on your knees. I won’t be there to see it, but I’m going breathe easy knowing justice has been done.”
“Benjamin, even if the world was on fire and my skin was melting off my body, I would never be on my knees. Don’t mistake me for a bitch like you.”
When the door slammed as he exited, Bruce poked his head back in. When he saw my face, he said nothing, just closed the door.
Justice, he said? What he didn’t realize was the Callahan family was justice personified.
EIGHT
“In business, ruthlessness is righteousness.”
~ Justin K. McFarlane Beau
LIAM
He sat across from me, his face expressionless as I poured a shot of Green Spot Irish Whiskey into my coffee.
“Sir—”
The moment I held my hand up, he stopped speaking, allowing me to enjoy my afternoon coffee in silence. Like always, I dipped my pinky finger in it, stirring it around before sucking the coffee off my finger. Inhaling the scent as I brought to the cup to my lips, it tasted like liquid fire goin
g down my throat, and yet I couldn’t stop until I finished every drop.
Licking my lips, I sat the cup to the side, next to the salt and pepper shakers on the diner table, relaxed back into the booth, and focused back on the man in front of me. “You’re going to need to repeat what you just said one more time.”
He swallowed, licking his lips. “We got jacked sir…about ten pounds worth of product and ten large.”
“But you know who did it, right, Flannery?”
“They are nothing but a bunch of bone-headed kids. Viona’s boys. Right after leaving her I was going to see—”
Once again I held my hand up and once again, he shut up. Scratching the side of my neck, I glanced out the window; the clouds above were slowly turning from white to gray, and from gray to black.
“So, what you are telling me is not only did I get robbed, but I got robbed by a bunch of kids, is that right?”
“Sir—”
“Is. That. Right?”
He nodded, adjusting the brown cabbie cap on his head.
“Okay.” I laughed, standing up.
“Okay?”
“You said you were going to see these kids, so let’s go. It’s only two blocks up the road right?” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, turning back to my favorite old waitress behind the bar and sliding it across the counter to her.
“How many times do I have to tell you the coffee is only twenty?” She grinned.
“How many times do I have to tell you that doesn’t even cover seeing your beautiful face?” I replied.
She tried to make a face at me, but she couldn’t stop the grin forming on her cheeks, the wrinkles on her face more prominent now than ever.
“Ever the charmer. How does your wife put up with that mouth of yours?”
“I could tell you but you’d get me in trouble now, Beatrice.” I winked at her, grabbing a toothpick before walking toward the door.
Beatrice had worked at Eastside Diner for almost thirty years now. I’d come every Monday with Declan at first, and now Neal, and always ordered the same thing. She knew it, but she still asked anyway. Five years ago, I bought her the diner so the poor woman could finally retire, but she was so damn enthusiastic to be the owner she now came every bloody day, working harder than she had before.