Silent Echoes

by Aleisha Maree

  She walked into her and my father’s room taking bags, that were already packed, from underneath the floorboards inside their massive walk-in wardrobe. One was filled with money. I watched as she checked it, my eyes wide and my heart beating fast.

  She gathered all the things that were placed and packed all over our home. Taking a few photos from my father’s briefcase I then went to my room, took a few items and then into my brother’s room taking a couple of things to remind me of him for the journey I was about to take without him.

  In the car, I watched as she drove us from Boston, Massachusetts - my home - to Chicago where the Ragen family were. Her family, her father.

  She made me promise I’d never step foot back in Boston, Massachusetts again. She wanted to shield me, protect me and keep me this side of life with her. Not in the crime family of her and my father’s past. She told me she wouldn’t allow her father, nor her brothers to taint me with their business and that I was far too special to be a thug.

  I had seen the pain in her eyes as she worked hard to shield me, protect me, but I was a Walsh at heart.

  It’s in my blood.

  Chapter Two

  The battles of echo’s calling you to sin deeper than the devil resides.

  ~ Micha Ragen

  My name held power. Men hated those that had it.

  Especially my cousin, he hated me the most. And he should. Our grandfather saw all that my father and brother had instilled in me.

  My mother changed my name from Shamus to Micha as per my grandfather’s wishes. Half Italian, half Irish descent meant I was power. But I was young, filled with hate and angered by blood.

  He saw the promise, the fire and the courage.

  He wanted me to feed on the hate.

  So, he trained me.

  Conditioned me.

  Taught me how to feed the bloodlust.

  How to face the demons and use them to destroy all that come within my line of sight.

  My cousin hated that. He thought because he was from the son of my grandfather, and not the son of a dead man whose name I no longer have, that I shouldn’t have a single thing.

  Difference between him and I is I am smart. He’s a ball bag who will get himself killed.

  I’m on a mission.

  I remember everything.

  I feel everything.

  I don’t forget, as much as I would love to forget a lot of moments, I can’t. My brain doesn’t allow it.

  All I can do is numb it all with blood, death and the echoes of their screams.

  The creator of the infamous North side gang inside the high-ranking Gallo family was still unfound by me though.

  I had found out his name and just how powerful he had become after taking my family from the world.

  Brutal and merciless.

  They that I meet say this of this man.

  Oh, believe me I know this.

  He killed all I loved and destroyed my mother. She hasn’t been the same ever since that fateful day.

  I spent hours seeking out the man with the scar that would have been left from my brother’s blade and the man wearing the midnight blue suit that took my father from me.

  Hours and hours.

  My grandfather preaches to me to be patient.

  Wait.

  Watch.

  Listen.

  I do this and its lead me to many men who work for him.

  Slowly I am taking them all out.

  Two out of the six men that came into our home, my mother’s safe place, that day I have found and killed already.

  “He is soulless,” my grandfather says to me after I walk in, bloodied with hate in my eyes and a pain inside my heart. He is making you soulless too, my son.

  ***

  I never lost sight of my vengeance.

  I spent days and nights plotting, making plans that would likely result in my death, but I didn’t care. That’s how reckless I was. That’s how blinded by revenge I was.

  The uprising of the Walsh name and syndicate.

  The silent echoes of their pain rolled over my spine daily.

  I wanted revenge for my family, and it didn’t even register in my mind that the men who were hiring me were a part of the family that killed mine.

  I just wanted to kill any part of the Irish/Italian mob, that I pulled the trigger without hesitation.

  I was becoming powerful, talked about and sought after.

  I’d had a lot of guns aimed at me over the years, lots of hits I was sent on that had men waiting for me. That meant there were lots of men that had missed and never woke up to tell the tale of firing on Micha Ragen. I was making my own name and slowly killing my mother.

  Whatever it was he saw in me, in the way I looked down the barrel of a gun, was life-changing for us both. He gave me what I wanted, and I gave him all he had desired - safety and nights where he could finally sleep without fear of never waking.

  I didn’t fear. As to fear you have to feel. To feel you have to be alive. To be alive you have to have a heart.

  Nothing I possess.

  It wasn’t until he sat with me talking that I came to hear by his mouth that he was indeed the younger brother of blue suit, the man who shattered my 12-year-old boy heart and broke my life into little un-fixable pieces.

  He told me that it was solely out of greed. The same reason that he knows his brother is coming for him and his family.

  Greed and dishonor fill the Gallo family.

  He told me that blue suit is as ruthless as they come.

  I am still young, thirsty and just as ruthless.

  The ghost of my father guided me into this world of violence though, my brother’s voice loud in my ear. No one could intimidate me, and I wasn’t intimidated by him.

  I’ve been made to be cruel and savage. Just what is required to win in this war.

  He welcomed me into his circle, his brotherhood, with open arms.

  I gained so much more than I ever thought I could by being a solider of his Mafia.

  He helped me go from an angry, broken boy who sought death and blood like a nun sought out Christ to a conditioned beast.

  I’ve had to climb my way up to be on the same level as any of the other soldiers that he has inside the House of Ragen. Now that I’m here, there’s no way I’m ever looking back. My cousin hates it because I am becoming more than what he ever will be. To be a god you have to be loved not feared.

  I am both loved and feared. He knows it, he sees it, he hates it. His wife though, she loves it.

  I am watching from afar as he panics and clutches for his reign to hold onto his little wifey.

  I’m going to make them all pay for the deaths of my brother and father. Even the slow soul-shattering death of my mother. She pines for her family - her husband - and it kills me to see the empty that’s inside her eyes.

  I watch my cousin and I see him whispering in the ears of men who don’t work within House of Ragen.

  He pulled me up knowing straight away who I was and what I was doing. You see, some people pay attention, and some are just blinded by power and greed. My cousin is the latter.

  He’s shown me what a quick kill does for your bloodlust; it only feeds it. The difference that he taught me is you don’t just want to feed it; you want to quench it, and I planned on it.

  I want to bring down their whole empire.

  He has hired me to do so and if my cousin Ian becomes collateral damage then so be it.

  He wants me to take them out.

  I want to watch their families suffer at my hands, just like my family did.

  And to do that, I needed to be smarter.

  I’ve spent years prepping.

  Years following each of these men at a distance.

  I’m so close to the endgame.

  Retribution.

  This is where angels fly, and demons fall.

  Chapter Three

  The night I saw
her I was drunk on bloodlust.

  Awoken from a nightmare.

  ~ Micha Ragen

  Grabbing my smokes and my jacket I leave my apartment and walk down the street through the park to the east side of town. Past the old man’s flower shop. I always like to at least walk or drive past to make sure it’s all good. Lights off and he’s home with Nan. Tonight, though, the light upstairs is on.

  Opening my phone, I call him.

  - “You ok?” I say as he picks up.

  - “Yes, grandson, why wouldn’t I be?”

  - “The lights on.”

  - “Ahh, yes. Just fixing another one of Ian’s mistakes. Carelessness will get us all killed,” he says to me as my knuckles turn white as I clench them. My jaw ticks.

  - “What has he done?” I bark into the phone as I walk across the street about to open the door to the shop.

  - “Micha, stay there. I have this covered.”

  - Shaking my head, I reply, “Grandfather….”

  - He cuts me off and says, “Micha, it’s ok.”

  Looking up, I see him walk over to the window. His eyes meet mine and a small smile washes over his old, tired face. I nod to him. I know to not push, and I do have shit to do.

  - “You win this time, old man, but…

  Again, he cuts me off with his broken English. When he’s tired it’s worse.

  “I know, my boy. I know you will kill him. Be patient, he may just be getting himself killed.”

  Laughing, my grandfather winks at me nodding up to him.

  - “Slàn garmhac.”

  - “Slan Seanbhuachaill.”

  - “Go leor leis an seanfhear.”

  I laugh out hanging up the phone. That man; I owe my life to him and Ian is playing a dangerous game. He’s fucking up, causing problems and using our name and our grandfather for personal gain. If he’s not careful his skull will meet a bullet from my Ruger. Our grandfather has given us everything and to dishonor him with such blatant disrespect calls for far worse than my bullet. It calls for torture. He’s lucky grandfather stops me, pulls me back in, otherwise, he would have been dead a long time ago.

  “In time grasshopper.” He always says smiling as the night’s air crosses over my heated skin; the memory alone makes me smile at the content in which he speaks.

  Stopping across the street, leaning against the streetlamp, I watch her from the shadows.

  Her long red hair is distracting. The strands are a blend of fire and rubies. Shit, it looks like it’s been spewed from the deepest volcano. Her body is delectable; wearing skintight black jeans, dirty white sneakers, a white tee tied in a knot with the cute coffee shop apron around her waist.

  She’s a tiny little thing, but despite being small, she has curves in all the right places. Petite with soft features and a killer smile. She’s the epitome of a sweet, catholic, good girl brought up right—everything I’m not. She’s nowhere near my type. She’s clean, beautiful, untainted and unstained from the hell that is the streets and hard living. I like them fucked up and blank but my cock that’s straining against the seam of my jeans, apparently, he likes her a whole hell of a lot more than he’s supposed to.

  She’s a creature of routine.

  Even in the small amount of time I’ve been watching, I know that. She hasn’t deviated from her routine, not once since I’ve been watching. She gets up at 6am. Runs around the lake by my house. Followed by two big dudes who drive in a vehicle. Lazy bastards. She works at the coffee shop past my grandfather’s flower shop. I know this because during one of my nightly checks I saw her, my mind registered it was her and well here we are. She’s a mystery. A beautiful enigma. And she’s a creature of routine, she never changes. She lives on an OCD schedule. Always with the same men following her.

  She’s quiet and kind and beautiful. She’s a blue baller, she gives any man within ten miles blue balls. I witness it daily.

  I know this because my hands are on my rock-hard balls right now as I watch the beauty laugh and joke with customers. Her red hair on fire around her like a flaming halo.

  Two men inside the store, their eyes are locked on her. I watch them, one pawing his cock under the table and all I want to do is walk in there put my gun to his cock and blow it off. The other guy is drooling into his cup.

  Her whatever they are, don’t even notice the men inside practically eye-fucking her before them. It makes my blood boil and my skin crawl.

  Stepping closer toward the small coffee shop, I want to put an end to the show as she walks past the frosted glass window, my eyes meet hers as she looks out into the night. She stops. Frozen, her hand holding an empty coffee cup

  I wink at her, and she smiles at me. I can see and feel the nerves rippling over her body through the glass. Her eyes dart to the bodyguards then back to me. I see fear in them.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket as she moves from the window. I step toward the door, and she comes back into my view as my hand pushes on the glass. My phone is still vibrating as her eyes scream fear. She shakes her head at me and my jaw clenches. Cocking my head to the side I see the two guards stepping from the stools in the corner. Oh, fuck! Now you’re going to move. Fucking phone won’t stop vibrating. Pulling it fast from my pocket with anger radiating from me, my hand is still on the glass and hers hastily moves over it. As she walks off toward the back of the small coffee shop, I can’t see her anymore as I answer the fucking call.

  “What.”

  “Busy, are you?”

  “Yes, No, Not really.”

  “Good. I have a job for you.”

  “Right.”

  “I will text you the address and the details.”

  “Fine.” Hitting end, I slip it back into my back pocket of my jeans and start walking back toward my apartment with my mind running over the beauty with sad eyes and two guards who I wouldn’t mind fucking up a little. She seemed scared of them or at least their reaction to me. It could be who I am, maybe. The whole east side and west, fuck most of Chicago knows who I am and who my family is. But I can also be unseen by them. Invisible when needed. Feared when required and loathed by many always.

  The message comes through as I get to my steps.

  It’s a seedy motel on the outskirts of town and a guy who hasn’t paid his debt even after a two-day extension.

  Right. Recover money, beat his ass and leave.

  Don’t need anything from inside. This job requires my fists and fists only.

  ***

  Pulling up I kick in the door. I have no time to fuck around. Not tonight or I will be late to follow her home. Tonight, I want to see where this little lady lives so then I have more places to watch her from.

  The complete shock of splintering wood has the little dick bag falling backward over the chair. His eyes wide and his skin going pale, sweat beads over his forehead as he realizes that I’m not one of the Mr. Asia’s wannabes that kick in the doors of these motels seeking drug money debt.

  He realized that as my black boot stomped down inside the room. Looking back there is no way I can kick the door shut to conceal the beating that I’m about to lay down on this guy. It’s splintered in two and hanging from one hinge. “Well, that’s a bummer,” I say toward what used to be a door.

  Turning back on him as he tries to scurry back toward the wall I say, “Nowhere to go, buddy.” I laugh out with a sick grin on my face as his back hits the wall. Yuck what a fucking mess this place is. Dirty junkie, fuck.

  Stepping inside I tower over his shaking body, my fist pulled back at the ready to break his face. Before I can even get my knuckles bloodied, he points toward the bathroom. My eyes follow his finger and snap back to him.

  “In there, in the toilet there is 6k. It’s all I got.”

  My fist reaches for his dirty stained shirt pulling him up to meet my eyes.

  “It’s 12k, asshole.” My eyes burn with annoyance.

  “I-I-I-know I just don’t have it all.” His
lips tremble showing his yellow stained teeth and breath that is fucking putrid.

  “Two-day extension equaling in just 6k my fist’s breaking your face. So after this beating and in theory that should give you another two days for the other 6, right?” I question. His body is shaking as his dirty hands reach up to grab at my clothing. My skin crawls.

  His eyes grew wide as I pulled him up and into me. My fist meeting his face over and over until blood sprayed my jacket, knuckles, face and the walls in this seedy dump.

  Dropping his now unconscious, worthless body to the floor, I step over him and enter the bathroom. Sinking my hands into the canister of the toilet, I retrieve the snap lock bag containing the money.

  Scanning the area for the bouquet, spotting it on the floor by the bed I reach down and take the plain, white card with the plain black font.

  Is maith liom é seo ach pian an chinniuint nò an é an fath go bhfuil tu mall? Amanna anseo a thagann sé.

  Riddle me this. Is pain just an illusion of fate or is it the reason you’re late? Times up here he comes.

  I laugh to myself; the old man’s riddles always give me something to think about. I tuck the blood-smeared card into the inside of my jacket pocket.

  I walk from that dump until the next time I need to come back. Next time I will leave with his life, not just bleeding knuckles.

  ***

  As per usual, I park across the street from the coffee shop, only tonight I’m a bit later than usual. Things are different. She’s not drinking coffee, eating sweet treats and laughing with the owners. No, she is sitting in the corner her eyes puffy, her cheeks red, polishing cutlery. The two guards are standing outside the shop by a running car. I see the warm air from the engine leaving the exhaust pipe as it hits the cool night air.

  The hairs on my spine ripple as I look at the beauty alone in the corner.