by B. B. Blaque
Sit tight. No shit it’s easier said than done.
“What do you mean an in?” I knew we had to be careful, but I was already countin’ down the hours until The Bishop would call. “Like he’s got tickets or somethin’?”
He started laughin’ on the other end, which seemed like a good sign so I chuckled a little.
“Yeah . . . you could say that. I’ll send him a text to call ya. He’s usually up with the roosters. . . son of a bitch is still on USMC time. Might have to meet up with him though, on account of this bein’ a fancy, private affair.”
“Well, we don’t got no roosters in the City, but all he has to do is tell me when and where and I’ll be there with bells on.” For Fi, I woulda walked through broken glass to get to that motherfucker. If FOCUS wasn’t sayin’ he had to call him 911, it was a sign that whatever was goin’ on wasn’t gonna happen in the next twenty-four hours. It didn’t make me feel any better overall, but in the short run, I could at least take a breath—laced with Jack and smokes.
“On to a completely different topic of conversation, ya know, ‘cause there ain’t nothin’ can be done about the rest until he calls . . . and, by the way, I texted him already . . . but did ya meet with Redhook today?”
It seemed like a month’s worth of bullshit had been rolled up into one twenty-four hour chunk of what the actual fuck? At least the shit with Redhook had some silver linings on its wheels.
“Yeah . . . we went to Brooklyn to talk to him. Good stuff. How much do you already know, ya big hillbilly prick?” FOCUS’ brain was like a bear trap and when shit went in, it didn’t come out until it was supposed to. He’s as true as a brother can get and I was still tryin’ to get a handle on him leavin’ us. “Don’t play dumb fuck with me either.”
“I know.” He paused and I heard him draw on his cigar. Then he started laughin’. “I know my pretty face is part of the deal for Brooklyn . . . dang, I feel so cheap bein’ used for my good looks like this. I kinda like it.”
His country-fried personality made me calm down a couple notches. As mean as he can be, he’s a funny bastard.
“Okay, so ya knew. I can sorta forgive ya for keepin’ that shit from me when I was right in front of your face every day, but that’s just ‘cause you’re such a sexy beast.” He had me laughin’ and I took a big swallow of my whiskey and kept goin’. “A head’s up woulda been nice, though . . . even a hint. It came right the fuck outta left field when the old man dropped the bomb.”
I was so wrapped up, fucked up, by Fiona that it hadn’t hit me as hard as it was right at that moment. FOCUS might have to leave us.
“You know dang well that I woulda told ya if I could. I’m lucky they even told my ass. I’m just a piece of meat in this entrée, motherfucker. Redhook wants meat, baby, and I’m as beefy as they get.”
Yep. Put some meat on the bones of Colt’s new chapter.
FOCUS could find out all the shit at another time, and he’d be on the phone with us durin’ the talk at church. The most important business at hand was to find out about the fuckin’ priests and them other douchebags.
“Let’s put the Redhook talk on the back burner for now. This other stuff has to be front and center. I think my ol’ lady is gonna die if she can’t find out about that damn auction.”
I need you to get this. Hope you haven’t had too many Jager-bombs.
9
Lonely In Love
This has got to be the worst day of my life!
Second only to the day Gio was kicked out.
It may be my last.
After leaving his bar, I wandered around Manhattan and tried to get my feelings together. I knew he meant exactly what he said. There was no question. When he told me to leave, it felt more final than ever since the night he left me standing in the cold. Little did I know how final. I started regretting it from the first step he took away from me.
I’m a hypocrite.
The celibacy vow is such a joke.
Why wouldn’t I break the one that would’ve let me leave?
On the way back to Brooklyn, I couldn’t stop thinking about the anger and hurt in his voice. The lashes he’d given me were worse than usual, but nothing compared to what I knew he was feeling. It was always more than lustful impurity with Crucifix, but my own love for him was a much harder sin to accept.
Why was denying my love more important than validating his love?
My denial is why I’m here.
When the priest came for me, I had a bad feeling that it was my death sentence. I knew Sister Isabella didn’t tell them. She tried to cover for me when I came back in the early morning looking disheveled with a tear-stained face.
The hushed tones started hours before they came. We were both terrified it would be me… and it was. The impure sisters—like me—had gone and never come back. If the rumors were true, it was just a matter of time for me. If I would’ve just been strong enough to stay with him, I wouldn’t be locked away with some big guy guarding my sleeping quarters. Clearly, I was a prisoner. I deserve this for what I’ve done to Gio. What I’ve always done to him.
Sitting in the room at the deserted old rectory was giving me more time to think about things than I wanted. My entire world had been Gio and the church. It seemed it would end that way too. I tried to think of the good things, but it wasn’t easy. I kept thinking back to the night he walked away. It took me so many years to understand why he did what he did. The fear of being deserted when you’re an orphan is so strong and he was my everything. When he left, the only thing left for me was the church. They didn’t abandon me and I clung for dear life to what they offered. What they’ve always given me. Catholic guilt is a real thing. After seeing him on the street in his club vest and how hard he looked as a man, I felt horrible for him. I’d had it much easier and the toll for me wasn’t like his. When he yelled and told me all he’d been through, my heart splintered.
I’m an addict, Fi! I’ve done the unspeakable!
The damn church left me homeless. Is that what you woulda wanted?
Get it through your head, little girl, I did it to save you from this shit!
I carried the fear of being left again since that night. I’ve been terrified he’d abandon me if I left my habit behind. Then I’d have nothing.
My first days at the orphanage weren’t good. I didn’t know where I was or why, and I was so broken and lost. They never did explain what happened to my mother. There are still disconnected memories of being in pain from starving and never knowing when the next bit of food would come. I remember being surrounded in darkness all the time. I don’t know if it was because the power had been turned off or because my mother kept the curtains closed so tightly no light could get in. Fiona! Get away from that window! We can’t let them see us. They’ll take you away.
It seemed like someone was always out to get us—or at least she thought so. When she left me, I wondered if they finally had—if they’d taken me away. It was a long time before I really trusted anyone.
When the older kid with long dark bangs falling across his eyes walked over, I jumped. I didn’t know he’d be the first for almost everything—including trust.
If I didn’t trust him anymore, how could I trust anyone?
“Hey! I’m Gio . . . you’re new here. Ya got a name?” He smiled and shoved a piece of food at me. “Ya better make sure to eat when you can. The others won’t think twice about stealin’ your food.”
The first time I knew what a full belly felt like was after meeting Crucifix.
“I’m Fiona . . . and yeah, I just got here a couple days ago.” I rubbed the tears and snot off my face with a sleeve and pulled back a little when Gio sat cross-legged in front of me. He thrust the food at me again. “What is this?”
He started laughing and, for some reason, I laughed a little too.
“The bagel? Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had one?” He took a bite and pushed it at me again. “You’re already a beanpole . . . you gotta eat. Tru
st me. It’s really good.”
You gotta eat, sister.
That’s not Crucifix.
“Sister, you gotta eat somethin’ . . . Father Lombardi’s orders. It’s been over a day and you need your strength.”
The only person I’d seen since Father Lombardi brought me to the closed wing was the guard. He wasn’t a priest. He was typical New York abrasive and smelled like cigarettes. Like Crucifix.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, you’ll see. Don’t be so nervous about it.” He grunted a laugh. “There’s a first time for everything.”
A first time for everything. Ha. Won’t you be surprised?
“Sorry . . . I’m not hungry.” I stood from the ratty, old kneeling bench and walked around the room trying not to make eye contact with him. “As you can imagine, I’m unsettled by this change in scenery. How long do I have to stay here?”
“Eh, I dunno . . . maybe another day or two. We got a fancy ass party to go to.” He pushed at the tray of food. “Ya better eat up. Them parties mostly have stupid little sandwiches and pigs in blankets. I’m sure this ain’t your first rodeo, sister. Get to eatin’.”
When Crucifix started sneaking food over to me in the corner, it made me feel kind of safe. It was years before I even realized what that feeling was. Wish I felt it now. He never pushed me to sit with the other kids or to come out of hiding. When he was done eating, he’d bring stuff he’d put aside so I could eat in secret. No one bothered him because he’d been there longer than most. Since no one wanted trouble with Gio, no one wanted it with me either. That guard wouldn’t want trouble with him.
He was my best friend—my brother. My family. My love. No one on earth has ever meant as much to me as Crucifix. He was my first and would be my only, no matter what.
Forgive me, Father. I have committed my last sin.
No. You haven’t. Your last will be leaving Gio broken with no hope of repair.
I don’t regret my initial transgression. I don’t regret my love. I only regret allowing my lust to keep him in torment—in limbo.
Forgive me, Crucifix.
The big ogre closed the door behind him and I was left in solitude again. I went from praying on the bench, to inspecting all of the wounds that were the last touches Crucifix would ever be able to give me. Forgive my lustful thoughts, Father.
I can’t help myself.
I no longer need to try.
The amends weren’t at Crucifix’s hand. I wasn’t cleansed by him like usual. I was just beginning to pay for my offenses. The wages of sin is death.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, please hear my prayers and take care of Gio when I’m gone. Keep him safe. Soften his heart. Forgive him for trying to protect me at the expense of himself and his own soul. He is a good man who’s had more pain and struggle in his life than he ever deserved. He was thrown away by his parents, then the church, and now . . . by me. I beg you, Lord . . . I’m not asking for my own salvation. Please allow me to protect him this time. In my last hours, it is my only prayer. Amen.
10
Walk In the Shadows
Waitin’ to talk with Bish made five hours a really long night between hangin’ up with FOCUS and hearin’ from him. The call was quick and cryptic.
Welcome home, brother. Let’s meet in the Bronx for an early dinner so we can catch up. Little Italy, 1630 hours.
It was almost three-thirty and I thought givin’ myself an hour was a better idea than draggin’ ass. With traffic it was anyone’s guess how long it’d take to get from Manhattan to the Bronx. I’d rather get somewhere early and have a couple beers than go showin’ up late. The whole ride, all I could think about was Gingersnap, where she was, and all the bullshit the nun had said and my response.
I do love her fiercely.
It’ll be barbaric.
One night of teenage lust was comin’ back to bite us in the ass. One night and all the years since. That one night—one hard thrust—was all it took. All the ways I could kill those cocksuckers were zippin’ through my head. There were nights I was livin’ on the streets when those thoughts were the only things gettin’ me through ‘til mornin’. Vengeance can keep a cold heart warm and sometimes it was a damned inferno in mine. Back then, it was mostly the rage at my personal situation. Bein’ seventeen on the streets was a volatile recipe for fury wrapped in wrath with a side of explosive. When all you have is time in your head and the struggle to get through every hour, things just expand with every tick of the clock. With Gingersnap bein’ in danger, the stakes were much higher, and what I was capable of was impossible to gauge. They’d pray for death—that much was a given. They’d probably wish for Hell just to escape the shit I’d do on earth. It was fucked up, but it gave me a little comfort to know I’d finally have my time with them. Fi was never gonna be allowed to go back and I didn’t give a rat’s ass how I’d accomplish that, other than I would.
I’m gonna save her. Period.
When I pulled up in front of the café on Arthur Avenue, The Bishop was already seated and drinkin’ an espresso. As usual, he was in a suit and lookin’ every bit the businessman he is. It’d be easy to see him as a silent partner in Royal Bastards Video and as a BDSM master. You’d never know to look at him that he was also one of the founding members of an MC and wore the colors of the Malevolent MC where Redhook’s kid was president. You’d never know that he was a stone cold, trained killer.
“Have a seat, brother. Glad to see you back on the right side of the country.” He reached out with a handshake and grinned. “You are much too New York for Hollywood.”
I sat down and laughed. “Oh, and you on a farm in Florida is somehow a match made in heaven? That’s what they got goin’ on down there, right? FOCUS said some shit.”
FOCUS was gonna fit right in with them and it wasn’t somethin’ I’d even begun to digest. He’s my best friend and the brother I count on the most when shit is all funguliated. This shit was definitely in that category and he couldn’t be there. The next best thing was his superior in the Marines—The Bishop. What he lacked in emotional connection was made up for by his real world connections and skill. It didn’t hurt that nothin’ scared him, according to FOCUS.
“FOCUS said you have some light you can shed on this shit show that’s goin on right now. I’m all ears, man.” I leaned in and covered my mouth as I whispered, “What I was told last night hit me like a fuckin’ brick and I’ve been ate all the fuck up since that nun came to see me.”
Bish shook his head and took a pull on a cigar. His eyes narrowed and he scoped things out around us to make sure no one was payin’ attention. It woulda been weird enough to see us sittin’ there together—sure, nothin’ shady goin’ on here—but that made us have to be more careful.
“FOCUS said your girl was somehow involved with the untouched collection. I know about it because the auction is taking place at Rosethorne.” He sipped his espresso and looked up to me with a hard stare. “What does that have to do with a nun coming to visit you? Am I missing some integral information? Please, go on.”
No wonder FOCUS knew about the auction. Please tell me The Bishop isn’t in on it. I don’t want to have to kill him, but I will.
“This sister showed up last night and told me they took . . . my girl, I guess you could call her . . . she’s supposed to be auctioned.” I lit a smoke and a waitress came over with an espresso I hadn’t ordered and a basket of bread. When she was gone, I continued. “If this collection is all supposed to be about untapped shit, I’ll tell ya right now, she is anything but that.”
Bish rubbed a hand on his chin and rolled the cigar around in the ashtray. “Why were you contacted by a nun? I don’t understand how the Catholic Church would have anything to do with my auction. The event is for Masters and slaves or those who want to become slaves. I don’t think the Vatican would sanction my particular brand of servitude, do you? Before you respond, let me order some food.”
He waved the waitress over and took the liberty of ordering f
or both of us. Normally, I wouldn’t handle someone treatin’ me like a bitch, but FOCUS didn’t step to him and had seen the man in action. I followed my brother’s lead on it whenever we met with The Bishop.
“Continue.” He stretched out his legs and gave me the floor.
“First, I gotta tell ya, I’m happy as fuck that you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.” Or I woulda had to slit your throat. “The nun that came to see me said they’d heard stories . . . with what you’ve already said I know they’re right on the money. What they said is some scumbag priests and parishioners with deep pockets are sellin’ off all the nuns’ cherry tarts. My girl, she hasn’t had hers since we were teenagers. That’s a problem.”
I gave him a quick rundown of my relationship with Fi while we waited for our food. By the time I circled back to where I’d been, our order was there. The Bishop chewed a mouthful of chicken marsala and pressed his eyebrows together. After he swallowed and took a sip of water, he responded, “That could be a problem, you’re right about that.”
He took another bite, but kept the serious expression until he spoke again. “The bigger problem is that this is supposed to be happening at my school and residence. It means someone I think I know has let a very bad element into an otherwise perfectly planned annual event. I don’t appreciate surprises or duplicity.”
Cold as an iceberg and ready to make the ship go down like the Titanic. I don’t get too upset about anyone or anything, but watchin’ the dead look in his eyes made me realize why FOCUS respected him so much.
“We”—he pointed his fork back and forth between us—“are going to take care of this quietly. They think they’re going in under the radar and they’ll realize how misplaced that thought was. Your girl will be fine. The priests and the others have just gotten a special invitation to a party they do not want to attend.”
