In the Red

by Lisa Libby

“How old is Ava?”

  “I’m not sure, twenty-five or twenty-six?”

  “You worried you’ll take the heat instead of Ava? Oh, Johnny, you’re so silly. My loyalty lies with you over Ava any day. You look tired, go home and get some rest.”

  “But...”

  Claire raises her hand signaling me to stop. She grabs my face and pulls me closer.

  “You have nothing to worry about, just bring Ava here at once.”

  “Okay.”

  She waves me to leave.

  “Johnny,” Claire yells as I walk out. “Forgive me, I forgot to congratulate you and Casey on the new baby. Send Casey my best.”

  I turn around, wave and force a fake smile. She isn’t fooling anyone with her congratulations. She couldn’t care less about anyone around her. The old Claire use to care about family, friends and all the Irish in our neighborhoods. I don’t recognize this Claire, murdering a child. This isn’t the traditional Irish way. Rumors are circulating that she’s making decisions without other members of the Mob. There’re secret members of the Mob, that invest with the Mob for return profit and protection. There’re comparable to a shareholder of a corporation, without the public’s knowledge. The secret members’ investments go to paying off the police, FBI and judges to keep us out of jail. They are the reason we have the most elite weapons, putting us ahead of other organized crime gangs. We even have access to chemicals that can erase traces of DNA, dissolve the oil left from fingerprints, gunpowder residue and blood splatter. It’s near impossible for detectives to link anything back to us. Just like the pink powder I used to get rid of our DNA when we killed Jose. It isn’t a cheap substance, so I had to steal it from the Mob.

  We pay an enormous bill to hack phones, computers, and security systems and rig casino machines. With advances in technology and science the Mob knows they need more income to keep up with the ever-changing environment, if they want to maintain control of Boston. The Italians would tell you different, they would say they control Boston. It’s like a boxer at a news conference; they always say they are the champs and will beat their opponent even though, deep down they doubt themselves. A champ will never admit their weaknesses. Like Claire; I know she has weaknesses, but no one has yet found them. This would compromise her as a leader. Perhaps, that is why over time her extreme behavior keeps her relevant and helps her conceal her weaknesses.

  I go to my parents to rest because Casey won’t let me sleep. She’s been jumping down my throat with things to do before the baby is born and a wedding to-do list. Her mood is up and down; my mother takes Casey’s side no matter what and says it’s just the hormones. It’s annoying – my mother has always made me feel I couldn’t do no wrong. She doesn’t get along with Casey but has made more of an effort since she found out she’s pregnant. My father could give a shit. He never gets excited about much of what’s going on in my life. He has put all his energy as a father into Stan. As soon as I filled him in on what was going on, he called Stan to get him to help. It’s insulting to know my father thinks of me as a shithead who can’t do anything right or on my own. I know he blames my mother for the way I am. As I child, I always heard him saying, “Don’t baby him, let him cry, it won’t hurt. You aren’t helping him; you are enabling him.”

  I think my mother wanted me to steer straight and get out of the family business of crime. She just wants a normal life, I can tell, the way she pretends all the time. Her friends, family and neighbors know better. She isn’t fooling anyone. She tries to stay humble and not buy things that give off the impression my parents have money. It’s hard when my father buys lavish cars and throws elaborate parties. He’s no longer a politician but keeps up with who’s running for office no matter if its City Council or Mayor. He attends every white tie charity event and helps raise money for hospitals and other various charities. On the outside, he looks like a law-abiding citizen, but he is a crook. You will never get him to choose a side because he does business with everyone and anyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re Irish, Italian, black or Hispanic. Business is just business, that is what he always says.

  Many people don’t like that my father works with many associations or different races or religion. Some believe their god is the only god or that their religious ways are better, and their culture was the first to arrive. The Irish hate the fact that history books say the North End used to be Irish, until the Italians ran them out. The Irish claim that the Italians were dirty and didn’t want to live side by side with them. At a young age, I learned the racist terms to describe Italians: ginzos, guidos and greasers. The Italians had their own terms for the Irish too: paddies, micks and snouts. Since my mother is Italian and my father Irish, I used to be called mick greaser. It stuck with me for some time, until I fought every kid that ever gave me trouble at the playground or in school. My mother was constantly at the school apologizing for my behavior, until I got smart and waited until after school to kick their asses off school property. I learned at an early age my fist earns respect.

  My mother slaps my chest with one of her slippers.

  “Johnny, go wash up, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she says putting her slipper back on.

  I check the clock, it’s 6:30 p.m. I’ve slept for over three hours. I go to the bathroom to splash water on my face then go into my old bedroom to grab an extra gun and cash. Casey doesn’t know I hide money at my parents. She spends money faster than I earn it. Plus, I know it’s safe here. No one would ever come after my parents. They would be stupid because they wouldn’t even make it onto the street before they were stopped.

  I get to the table as my mother is putting out hot baked bread. Stan is sitting in his usual spot. He eats dinner every night with my parents, except on the weekends and that’s because they always eat out.

  “Stan the man, what’s going on?” I ask, walking behind him grabbing his arms.

  “Nothing much, I hear ya blessing this world with ya ugly children now,” he chuckles.

  “Ya wish ya were as pretty as me.”

  My mother hushes us and tells everyone to sit.

  “Johnny, say grace,” she insists.

  I rest my elbows on the table and push my face into my locked hands.

  “Father, we have gathered to share a meal in ya honor. Thank ya for putting us together as family and thank ya for this food. Bless it to our bodies, Lord. We thank ya for all the gifts you’ve given to those around this table. Help each member of our family use these gifts to ya glory. Guide our mealtime conversations and steer our hearts to ya purpose for our lives. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

  “Johnny, you need to have dinner with us more often. I hope to see our new grandchild and Casey sitting at this table with us. Casey knows she is welcome over here anytime,” my mother says.

  My father adjusts the waist of his pants. Just the mention of Casey makes my father uncomfortable. He doesn’t like Casey. That’s the reason she doesn’t visit my parents’ house. He’s told her several times to her face she’s classless. He feels she talks too much and that there are things one should keep to oneself. When he heard I was having a child, he was less than enthused.

  “Yes, Mom, I’ll let Casey know she’s welcome here for dinner anytime.”

  The rest of the dinner conversation revolves around what is in the local news. My mother always blabs about the neighborhood gossip; did you know so and so is getting married, divorced, pregnant, a gambler, drug addict, is dead. I don’t know half the people she talks about. My father on the other hand is all about baseball and politics.

  My phone beeps. My mother looks at me in disgust. There are two things my mother won’t tolerate: swearing, and phones during dinner time. I can’t help but read the text. Ava’s location is revealed: New Orleans. Looks like I better get to her before her father. I don’t trust his intentions for Ava. He may be her father, but he’s still a violent killer.

  MR
. ALTERMAN

  CHAPTER 28

  Shred

  Who would have known that someone could fool me in my old age? Ava’s lies spilled from her mouth the first moment we met. A part of me wants to know why she lied, and another part doesn’t care. My first impression of Ava was that she was an innocent, timid twenty-something-year-old scared of being framed by Atlantic Financial. She did an excellent job making me feel bad for her. I guess she thought no one would believe her because her father is a hitman for the Irish. She’s right, but I still would have helped her for my entertainment and the opportunity to get close to the Mob, so I can finally try to give them what they deserve. I gave up years ago because I was being dragged in circles. Now I know the daughter of the Mob’s hitman, the anger and pain has resurfaced. The last thing on my bucket list is to take down the Mob, starting from the top, and Ava is the in. I’ve been waiting for to accomplish this last attempt.

  Jimmy doesn’t believe I have cut ties with Ava. He knows I’m a retired Boston cop and as he says, cops are scum and can’t be trusted. Evil seeps from his pores; I can smell the death on him. It scares me, but I lie anyway. I didn’t really cut ties with Ava, that was all acting. If Ava’s father was listening, I wasn’t about to give them any helpful information. At the time I only had a feeling my office is bugged, but I discovered the proof during my office move.

  Against my better judgement, I set Ava up with my good friend, Waylon Wilson, a Criminal Defense Lawyer, the best of the best. I feel bad for her; as mad as I am, I don’t want to see her spend time in jail on behalf of the Mob.

  I’m shredding paper, dismantling my office and ripping out the hard drives to my computers to keep my information away from Jimmy. I’ve dealt with the Italian Mafia in the past and I know the extent they’ll go to to get information. I will break the Boston office lease and move my business to Texas, until things blow over and the dust kicked up settles back to the ground.

  As an ex Boston cop, my experience is the Italians and Irish are both dangerous and intelligent – they have created standing relationships with the police, judges and political figures in office. Our city is powerless against them. Over the years, I’ve seen the crime spread to other states in New England in the towns bordering Canada. The small towns are the first to be consumed by gangs, then they work their way to the inner cities. There’re no books in the library to prepare law enforcement for their devilish ways and how they move into New England. Throughout my many years working for the Boston Police Department as a cop, then as a detective, there’s been little I haven’t seen.

  Though it wasn’t my choice to retire from the police early, being a private investigator was the next best career choice. I’ve always had a general interest in criminals and the way their minds work. It didn’t take long to discover there’s no solution to eliminating crime; it’s a cat and mouse game. I’ve walked the line that divides the honest cops and corrupt cops but could never quite bring myself to cross over like my fellow corrupt officers – but I admit I turned a blind eye to their cooperation with criminals. Having a clear conscience was more valuable than the extra cash. I have a big heart – the characteristic that made me good at my job but also terrible. I feel sorry for some criminals because that is all they’ve ever known. It isn’t easy changing. I don’t always agree with the laws in place but with a lack of energy or resources to make any effort to change laws is daunting. Sure, I’ve let several criminals fly under the radar. Minor criminals were never worth my time – we left those for the rookie cops. Rookies are eager to fight any crime, no matter how big or small. I miss being a cop, but it was best to exit just before the infamous accusations when the FBI was caught working with the Irish. At the time, I didn’t know what was about to go down, but in hindsight, I was thankful the Captain gave me the heads up. We both knew that we would never speak again after my early retirement, it just wasn’t safe for some of us to stay on as detectives when the FBI was under investigation. Fingers were even being pointed at the innocent. Everyone was under surveillance for several years, even after the trials. The Captain has since passed and as far as I know he carried his secrets with him to his grave. His funeral was the largest I’ve ever attended. Officers, fire fighters, veterans and active military came from all over the state to say goodbye to the Captain. At the time, I was frightened to attend for fear of my life but did so anyways. It was good seeing some of my old colleagues, but others I tried to hide from. Moving South after retirement was necessary, and a great excuse to lose contact with everyone from my past. I’ve been back in Boston for almost five years and now I’m sitting here packing things up again. Running from my problems has always worked for me in the past but running today at my old age just doesn’t sit right with me.

  I’m also feeling terrible about the way I spoke to and treated Ava the day she was in my office. I had been drinking all day and stewing in anger for days. It was only a matter of time before I exploded on her. I want to at least have one more conversation before I decide to cut her out of my life forever. I just hope she takes my advice and hires Wilson as her defense attorney.

  AVA

  CHAPTER 29

  Second Line

  My skin is crawling from that long, dirty, miserable bus ride from New York to New Orleans. I take the longest shower of my life. I throw away the clothes I wore on the bus because I sat in them for the entire duration of the trip. I take a long bath, shaving between my legs, underarms and legs. I then head directly to the hotel spa to get my hair styled, makeup applied, and nails manicured. There are times when it takes some pampering to feel beautiful.

  After hours at the spa, I look damn good, the best I’ve looked since the first year I was with Mac. My body fat has melted off since being unemployed, but I’m now noticing a little bloating. Still, I’m skinnier than in my high school years. It does help that I only eat once per day. Not the healthiest diet plan, but it’s working for me.

  I must look my best for Ruben because he isn’t exactly your average looking man. His skin is flawless; he always looks like he’s just spent the day at a spa. The short time we’ve spent together I’ve only ever seen him wearing suits. He smells of designer cologne all the time. He’s the most charming and gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. In comparison, if Johnny stood next to Ruben, Johnny would look homeless. Ruben makes me step up my game and want to look my very best. Now, if this was Johnny I was going to see, he would be lucky if I even brushed my teeth. It’s not that Johnny doesn’t dress nice, smell good or anything like that. He’s a jeans and t-shirt, full beard type of guy for the most part – since he no longer works at Atlantic, he’s let himself go. Also, the comfort I feel with Johnny is different because he is so laidback, completely the opposite of Ruben. Ruben is more serious than fun, but he can be entertaining to be around, especially when he binges on coke.

  I take one last glance in the mirror after tipping the many ladies that worked on getting me looking my best. My town car is waiting outside to bring me to the Roosevelt Hotel, where hopefully I will be greeted immediately by Ruben. I’m a very impatient person, so he better be waiting for me. I’m wearing a black floral halter dress that falls just above my knee. My cropped jean jacket hangs softly over my shoulders, perfectly complementing my leather wedge sandals. I purposely bought expensive designer luggage with a matching purse to impress Ruben. I plan to return the luggage before returning to Boston because I cannot afford such an outlandish purchase with the lawyer fees I owe.

  It is humid outside, so the driver has the air conditioning blasting, but my body still finds a way to sweat; my legs are sticking to the seat. My anxiety and nervousness at seeing Ruben again is taking my mind away from the mess I left in Boston. The confined interior in the car makes me feel the urge to get out. It must be the post-traumatic stress from the two kidnapping attempts. I’m counting my breaths and trying to focus on the beautiful scenery and architecture the City of New Orleans has to offer.


  We pull up to the grand, historic hotel, the kind where the bellhops wear white gloves and a full uniform, hat included. I don’t wait for the driver to open my door, rushing him with the tip and running past the bellman. I go to the hotel desk to check in, but Ruben is already standing in the lobby with a bright smile. He’s wearing a purple suit like those I’ve seen men wear on Easter Sunday matched with a white and purple plaid shirt with a two-button suit jacket with no tie. His hands sit comfortably in his pockets, his shoes are light brown leather cap-toe oxfords. The outline of his biceps is visible through his blazer. His hair is closely shaven to his head and his face is clean shaven; even his eyebrows are perfectly groomed. He doesn’t wait for me to walk to him. We meet in the middle of the lobby, like a scene from a love story.

  He hugs me tight and grabs my face softly to kiss me. I can taste the cocaine in his mouth. I’m turned on from feeling his erection against my leg.

  “You look so darn beautiful. You’ve lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you.”

  He grabs my arms and steps back, looking my body up and down.

  “Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself,” I say jokingly.

  He continues to stare at me, making me feel uncomfortable. I’m not used to so much attention from a man. Mac was never like this, even in the beginning of our relationship.

  “I ordered lunch to be sent up to our room. I figured you would want to relax after your flight.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He directs the bellman to bring my bags to the room. I hesitate to leave my bags with the bellman – they contain my computer and the only cash I have left. Before I can say anything, he grabs my hand to lead me to the elevator. He hugs me from behind and kisses my neck until the elevator opens into the penthouse suite.