by Lisa Libby
He kisses my forehead before he is leaving.
He’s a liar; I’ll never know, and if I ask, he will just start an argument.
It feels good to be home. I grab a wine glass, a bottle of pinot grigio and head straight to my room. I take a seat on the floor, leaning my back against my bed. I stare at the bag full of cash, while finishing off the first glass of wine before I open the duffel bag to count the money. $85,000 exact, just as Jose promised. He kept his promise and I didn’t.
I lay on the floor and cry myself to sleep.
AVA
CHAPTER 19
Plan B
It’s already noon when I make my way to Mr. Alterman’s office to discuss my father’s visit. I don’t know that much about my father, besides what I read on the internet, and I can assume he isn’t looking for his long-lost daughter. My mother didn’t talk much about him, but after her murder I uncovered a box of letters and pictures that answered some of my questions, but not all about their relationship. As innocent as my mother pretended to be, I could see she was living a fake life. When I was young, I would pull the grass from the yard to make sure it was real. We moved into a big house, seemed like the money came out of thin air. I know my mother and Lewis couldn’t afford the home. At first, they both pretended to be renting the house from a family friend. The lie manifested into another lie until suddenly, the home is theirs and we never moved. I sold the house for obvious reasons; I couldn’t live under the same roof where my mother was brutally murdered. Her murder replaced all the good childhood memories.
Alterman’s receptionist is shocked to see me, like she’s seen a ghost. What the hell does she know that I don’t? She normally greets me with eye contact, and now her hands are shaking dialing his extension. Mr. Alterman approaches in the hall, motioning me to his office. I can smell the booze as soon as I walk in his office.
“Whiskey?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Funny, I don’t remember him having liquor in his office on my last visit. He slides a glass of whiskey in front of me. I never turn down a drink. We sit in awkward silence, sipping our whiskey, staring at each other. His eyes are glassy, his face unshaven and his hair—what’s left of it—is disheveled. He looks angry and disappointed in me, for what, I don’t know. I take the last sip and sit the glass on his desk. The alcohol burns my chest going down, but it’s soothing. I get comfortable by leaning back in the brown leather chair, waiting for him to speak.
“Your father broke into my house and threatened my life if I didn’t tell him everything, I know about you,” he says in an angry tone. I go to speak, and he stands up quick. For a second, I think he’s going to throw his glass at me.
“Don’t speak until I say all I want to say to you. I gave you the option to be honest with me, and you lied – everything out of your mouth is a GODDAMN LIE! You know who your father is, and you still let me walk blindly into the devil’s den. I can’t leave my office without being tailed,” he says pacing his office.
Without asking, he refills my glass and leans in to whisper, “You’re a criminal and a fraud.” His words are shocking to me
“Mr. Alterman, I came here for your help and you’re now accusing me of knowing who my father is. If I knew about him, why would I come here to ask for your help? Do you think I would associate myself with a group of criminals on purpose? I’m the victim here, I’m the one trying to avoid death or jail.”
I’m now yelling, my anger has taken over. I could just smash this old man’s face. Who does he think he is accusing me of such absurd lies? I walk to his liquor station and pour another glass of whiskey. I’m so angry that I shut down, I can no longer speak. I just sit and stare at him.
“Can we just discuss what he said to you, and I can leave. I don’t want any trouble for you. Tell me how to get in contact with my father and I’ll make sure he leaves you alone.” I surrender, exhausted, with no fight left in me.
Mr. Alterman pulls out a yellow envelope with my name written on it in all caps. He throws it at me; a sign he wants me to leave.
“All he did is ask questions, and I answered them, and he demanded I give you this envelope.” Looks like I can’t trust Mr. Alterman. He sided with my father and is working for my father now, whether willingly or not.
Before I walk out of his office, I turn to him. “Thank you, for everything,” I say, searching for his eyes, but he avoids eye contact. He leans back in his chair and stares into his empty glass. I find it difficult to believe he wants our business relationship to end. I always go with my gut instinct, and I feel I haven’t seen the last of Mr. Alterman. It’s weird he didn’t ask for the money I owe him – that’s unusual behavior because he always reminds me how much I owe.
I try to shake off the stressful meeting with Mr. Alterman by focusing on my list of things to accomplish by the end of today. I call Paul on the train. He doesn’t answer; I guess it’s to be expected after the incident with Mac. I leave him a message letting him know I’m coming over to give him the money I owe him. Maybe this can get us back on good terms.
It’s a long, cold walk to Paul’s from the train station. I am underdressed for this weather, no hat or gloves. Walking in the cold makes a ten-minute walk feel like a thirty-minute walk. Paul’s windows are blacked out with black garbage bags. Every time I visit him, he seems more paranoid than my last visit.
“Paul, it’s Ava, open the door,” I yell while buzzing his apartment.
I do this for five minutes before giving up and going home. I’m afraid I lost my only friend.
AVA
CHAPTER 20
Lights On
From the looks of it, my roommate is home because all the lights are on at my apartment. I go to put the key in the door, but the door glides open. It’s as if someone broke in. Strangely enough, I’m not scared. The old Ava wouldn’t have dared walk through the door; she would’ve run and called the police.
I push the door wide open to find two men sitting at my kitchen table drinking my whiskey. It bothered me that they are so comfortable in my home, at my kitchen table, drinking my whiskey. These men are visually intimidating, but it doesn’t faze me. I take a step back, just in case I see sense and need to make a run for it. I take another step, as if to not make a sudden noise, like these men are bears and will attack me at the sound of my foot snapping a branch. I get one foot on the stoop, when I feel a hand on my back pushing me all the way through the door. I turn to see who’s behind me and find my Indian friend. I’m relieved because I have his money, but frightened that I’m late with his payment. Hopefully, he will take the money and leave with his friends. He pushes my shoulder down until I’m seated at the kitchen table, sitting across from the drinking bears.
In walks an overweight, red bearded, middle-aged man and I recognize it’s my father. He’s much older and fatter than the mugshots on the internet. Regret hits me for not reading the envelope that Mr. Alterman gave me.
“Ava, hi,” he says, walking over with his arms open wide for a hug.
I freeze. I’m frightened of this man. He’s the only person on earth I fear, even more so than the Mob itself. There is no Mob without him. The files Paul dug up on my father were shocking and the unsolved murders the FBI had tried to build a case with were difficult to read because of the tortuous details of how the victims died. I couldn’t finish reading most.
My legs shake, barely able to hold up my body enough to stand, and I hug fear itself. His beard is rough on my face and his embrace is tight enough to suffocate me. He smells like a wood stove and same aroma I smelled when I was at the Indian’s home. He must have been in New Hampshire with the Indian. Our hug is awkward for us and the two bears and Indian. Perhaps, they’ve never seen my father hug anyone or maybe they’re waiting for him to kill me.
When the hug is over, he grabs me by my biceps and stares at me.
“Bloody hell, ya look just like ya mothah,” he
says in a loud voice.
“Wow, you think.” I turn my head to hide that I’m blushing at his comment.
The bears laugh after my father bursts out in a deep chuckle. The Indian’s expression doesn’t change.
“I need to be alone with my daughtah; wait for me in the cah,” he orders the bears and Indian.
One bear grabs what is left of my whiskey, the bastard. No one else seems to notice, but it bugs me.
I follow my father to the table and sit. He doesn’t take a seat. He’s leaning against the front of my stove – to his right is my wood block stand with sharp steak knives. Either he’s a rather smart man or it’s just a coincidence.
“Ya can stop your acting and bullshit. I know ya not innocent, and the deal ya made with the Mob at Atlantic Financial. A rather clever deal, almost threatening. And now ya unwilling to take the heat of the case. Susan can’t go to jail, she’s too important to the Mob. I’m here to tell ya to take the deal the Mob has given. Ya may not even get time, just probation or if you get time maybe a year at the most.”
I stand leaning my hands on the table and stare down my father.
“Where have you been my entire life? And to show up accusing me of working with the Mob and lying about it!” I scream. “I’m not you. I went to college and got a real job, like normal people.”
“Ya ungrateful child! Do ya know what I went through to keep you…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence but instead makes a fist with both hands and turns his back to me. His angry expression reflects through the kitchen window. He’s looking through me.
“I came here to help you, ya my daughtah, but it looks like ya refusing my help. I think what I’m offering is a loving gesture. I’m warning you of danger, something I would never do for anyone working against my employer. If ya were not my daughter, ya would’ve been dead before ya put yah key in the lock.”
It shocks me that he is so calm, but with a look of anger. I am the one out of control and yelling. I’m not angry that he is calling me a liar and doesn’t believe me, but he won’t even acknowledge the father-daughter relationship. He hasn’t apologized for leaving me as a child and didn’t even ask how I was doing. He is more concerned with himself and his work.
“I will promise ya this, they will kill ya, if ya give them a reason, without hesitation,” he explains. I go to speak, but he stops me.
“I AM NOT KILLING MY DAUGHTAH!” he yells. “I am beggin’ ya to take the deal, please Ava…”
In this moment, he has shown weakness. It’s shocking, for a man so hardened and heartless. He’s right, I will have to play their game, take the heat. I don’t have a choice at this point. I am tired. I don’t want to argue with my father.
“Tell them I will take the blame for Susan, you have my word,” I exhale.
“Don’t lie, Ava.”
He gives me a big bear hug.
“Daddy, you have my word,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s my girl. Let’s catch up in the mornin’, we can go have breakfast. How does that sound?”
“Yes, I would love that,” I say with bright eyes. “Um, I owe the Indian money, can you call him back into the house?”
“I already took care of him, ya all set. He owed me a favor and we’re even now. Get some sleep, see ya in the mornin’.”
He kisses me on the forehead before leaving.
I take a few deep breaths after he leaves. It’s surreal. I have waited for this moment all my life. To meet my father. I pictured it under different circumstances, but still my dream came true. I’m just hoping that he will answer some questions that have been on my mind since I was a little girl.
I’m frightened to stay home alone. I go upstairs and, without turning off the lights peek out my bedroom window. It is the only room that faces the street. Just as I suspected, there are two cars parked outside my house. I can’t leave but doesn’t mean I can’t invite someone over.
I call Johnny.
AVA
CHAPTER 21
Daddy Daughter Dance
My father and the three bears pick me up at 9:30 a.m. The last time there were only two men who reminded me of bears and now it looks like we have a third. These men are so big in width and height; intimidating in looks alone. Scary men; I see why my dad keeps them around. My father takes me to a diner in Charlestown. It’s so empty, I joke that he paid for a private diner. The bears sit at the long bar and my father and I grab a booth in the middle of the restaurant. There are long pauses of silence and no eye contact.
“This was the last place I took ya before I left Boston. Funny story, we were both almost murdered right over there in that parkin’ lot. The lot was largah back then before they started buildin’ all these condominiums,” he says in excitement.
“Well, let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself.”
We both chuckle.
“Ya have a clevah sense of humor, like your old dad.”
The waitress interrupts, topping up our coffee.
“What can I get ya?” she rasps.
My dad motions me to order first.
“I’ll have blueberry pancakes, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs.”
“How many eggs?”
“Two.”
“White or wheat?”
“White.”
The waitress thinks I’m done and turns to my father.
“Home fries and extra syrup on the side, oh and whip cream, on the side,” I add.
The waitress looks annoyed by my order.
My father looks shocked by the amount of food I am ordering. I drank so much, and am so hungry, plus I love eating breakfast leftovers.
“I’ll have two eggs over easy, bacon and white toast.”
“Is that all? Anythin’ else?” says the waitress with an attitude.
“No that’s all,” I say politely because I don’t want my food tampered with.
“Are ya sure ya don’t need to ordah more food?” he jokes with me. “Rough night last night?”
“You could say that.” I smirk. “And the fact that I eat more when I’m stressed.”
“And who’s to blame for that, Ava,” he stresses my name.
“I didn’t agree to have breakfast with you to discuss the trial.” I blow on the coffee before sipping. “I want to know why you left me,” I say, the tears building.
“I didn’t want ya and your mom to get hurt because of me. After almost getting ya killed that day, I decided ya and your mother were best without me in your life. I made sure ya both had everything ya needed financially – and protection from harm. That’s when I decided to go North.”
I didn’t let him know I already knew the story. I was just fascinated to hear him tell it. It was sort of like a fairy tale. In that moment, he was vulnerable, and no longer looked like a killer, but a concerned father.
“My mother told me a similar story, but made you sound like a bigger asshole,” I smile.
“I loved that woman, and still do. I talk to her every night before I go to sleep. She was the only woman I ever loved, besides ya of course. I prayed for both of ya each night. You didn’t know, but your mother sent me photos of ya a few times each year.”
Now, I’m smelling bullshit. He is overdoing it. I don’t believe him, but I’ll let him have his moment.
He is interrupted by the arrival of our food. I have so many plates there isn’t much room left on the table. We eat in silence, savoring each bite. I finish before him, even though he has less food to eat. My stomach is bigger than my eyes. I motion the waitress over to box up my food and refill our coffee.
Somebody approaches our table.
“Ava, how are you? Funny bumping into you.”
At first, I don’t recognize the face but quickly realize it’s the FBI agent who interviewed me about the investigation, Connor McClean.
Before I can speak, he turns to look at my father.
“I knew you looked familiar,” he says. Realizes who my father is.
“Connor, it’s been a long time, buddy,” he stands up and gives him a big hug and a pat on the back. “Sit, have some coffee.” He waves to the waitress for more coffee.
Connor squeezes in the booth besides me, since my father takes up most of his booth.
“You failed to mention Jimmy Coonan is your father,” he smiles.
“She was probably nervous under the circumstances,” my father explains.
“Had I known, I wouldn’t have asked you to come to the station; we could have made other arrangements. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“It really was nothing, not a problem. You were just doing your job.”
My father’s power is evident in Connor’s face. It’s obvious that Connor is worried. I knew he was a dirty cop when I met him. Even the suit and police station atmosphere weren’t enough to cover up a crooked cop like him.
“Enough about the mix up, how’s ya mothah, she still cooking every Sunday?”
“Yes, you should come over this Sunday or whenever you get a chance. My mother would love to see you, but you better come with an empty stomach. She still doesn’t take to kindly to anyone who refuses to eat.”
“I appreciate the invite, tell ya mothah to make a room for me at the table for supper this Sunday.”
“I’m gonna to take my coffee to the bar and if you have a minute after finishing breakfast with Ava, I would like to run something by you,” he says, getting out of the booth.
My father agrees.
He stares at me for some time hesitating to speak.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you with Johnny?”
“Well, sort of, we just sometimes…”