by J. J. McAvoy
“It’s a popular face,” Ethan replied.
“That’s it, funny guy. Get out of the car,” he demanded, pointing the gun at me. “I SAID, GET OUT OF THE CAR.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’d rather not,” I replied before winding up my window.
“The fuck—Light their asses up.”
As they opened fire, I reached into the backseat, pulling out my duffle bag. “How many did you count?”
“Eleven,” Ethan said.
“There are twelve; the cashier is behind the car on your left,” I said, offering him the mask. “I call dibs on the one who pointed a gun at my head.”
“Let’s make this fast. I promised Gigi.”
“Yes, Boss.” I grinned before putting on my mask, adjusting it over my face. I grabbed my machete and handgun as he lifted the machine gun.
It took them a full round of ammo to realize they hadn’t put a dent in the old 1978 Jaguar, which had been refurbished with a bulletproof interior and exterior. They would need military-grade armor-piercing bullets to even start to make a real impact. When they finally stopped, Ethan popped the trunk. All of their heads turned as the dark smoke came pouring out, burning their eyes and choking the air they breathed, blocking out visibility.
“Three…. Two…”
“One,” I said, kicking open the door and firing first. The sound of my bullets sounded nothing like Ethans. I fired once into the gut of the man who was in front of me before taking my blade across his neck.
Knives were much more satisfying than bullets.
Ethan, didn’t give a shit today and fired like Tony Montana in Scarface. His bullets flew like a swarm, spraying everything and yet he still managed not to lose control and hit me. Managed chaos…that was Ethan.
I stepped close to the man now holding onto his bleeding neck, crouching down as he tried to gasp for air.
“Ow, hombre,” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “You know his face, ‘cause he owns this godforsaken city…and you cunts decided to knock with bullets this morning…you also ruined my day, just in case you were wondering.”
His eyes widened. “Cal…ala…call…”
“Yes. Callahan…you all ran away before we could answer the door, so we thought we’d come to you,” I said, lifting up my machete. “Surprise.”
5
“I cannot be a character in a bad movie
I can't be.”
~Robert McKee
CALLIOPE
I knew a lot about Ethan.
He didn’t always like to get his hands dirty. But when he did, it was masterful. In a very twisted way. The smoke in the garage faded as I turned on the air vents for a few minutes, and my arms were already tired from all the baking I did this morning. So, I sat on the hood of the car, watching as Ethan took care of those who were unlucky enough to survive the hail of bullets.
I’m sure they would have preferred that to Ethan hacking off their hands, their feet, taking a blow torch to their eyes….and their tongues. He’d taken all but two of their senses at this point. He didn’t make them deaf because he wanted them to hear him, and each other as they screamed. He left them like finless sharks at the bottom of the sea. When they tried to move, he stabbed them in the back. He was covered in blood and his hand trembled with the weight of the blade. I knew he was pissed, but I didn’t understand the depth of it until now, as he spoke to the only man left conscious.
“Today was the first day my daughter and my wife spent in my house—their house. It was our first day as a family…of all the days you could have chosen. You chose our first day and you filled it with violence.” He stabbed his knife into the man’s shoulder blade. The man cried out, but it sounded odd because his tongue was burnt. “So now I will meet violence with greater violence. There will not be a 15th left by nightfall. There will be no one left in your families. I do not care where they are on this earth. I will have them found and I will kill every last one…except you all. You all get to stay here, eating and shitting through a bag for the rest of your miserable lives!”
Yanking the knife from the man’s shoulder then stabbing it into his eardrum and twisting, he hollered like dying dog. Ethan yanked it back out, cleaning the blade on the guy’s shirt. It was only then that he finally turned back to me.
Smiling, I tossed him the duffle bag with a change of clothes. Without a word, he began to strip.
“I need your phone,” I replied, hopping off the hood and checking outside through the closed blinds beside the garage doors. There were other cars already waiting along the street as I had directed Greyson. There were eight cars in total. They looked normal, some of the cars’ conditions even worse than normal. But I knew from the type of tint in their windows…it matched the one on the Jaguar.
“What’s wrong with yours?” he questioned but tossed it to me.
“They don’t know mine yet,” I said, catching it and dialing. It rang only once before Greyson answered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Hi Greyson, can you do me a favor and patch me into everyone else?” I asked kindly.
He was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Boss?”
“Yes,” I answered before snickering, looking at Ethan. “I think he needs to hear you grunt or something.”
He gave me a stern look, but I just smiled.
“Patch her though.”
I waited patiently, though it only took a few seconds. Greyson said, “Yes. Sir.”
No one spoke but I was sure he was there.
“Hello gentlemen, we have not yet met in person, but hopefully we shall. I have a small request. You see, I do not like the look of this neighborhood. It’s too…calm. I know you are all busy, so you don’t even need to step out of your cars, just help me paint it red a little. Can you do that? Can you go down every road and paint every house, business, person, dog, even the fucking trees if you see any. I want them all in a beautiful mosaic of red.”
Hanging up, I looked at Ethan. “How bright are your people? Do you think they understood?”
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
“Never mind—I think they get it,” I said. The sound of gunshots echoed behind the steel garage wall as I reached him, wiping the blood off his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll have better first days.”
“I’m not worried. I know.”
I smirked.
Ethan’s humor…Ethan’s love. I understood them all so clearly, it made me wonder how other people didn’t see it.
We walked back to the car. When the garage door opened, it was like driving out into hell, people running, screaming, tripping over themselves, trying to get inside homes and business only for those doors to be shut in their faces. Everyone was so scared that even as we pulled out of a blood-stained, bullet-riddled mechanic repair shop, no one seemed to notice.
Kicking my feet up onto the dashboard, I looked out at the street. “If this were a movie, what do you think would be the soundtrack playing over the scene right now?”
“Most likely Ava Maria.”
I frowned. “A bit cliché, don’t you think?”
“Exactly why I do not like Mafia movies—”
SLAM!
“Fucking Christ!” I sat up, startled by the man that ran up against the side of our car, trying to escape.
“That’s what startles you?” Ethan chuckled.
My head whipped back to him, annoyed. “Shut up and drive. I thought you didn’t want to be late.”
His green eyes glanced at me and, lifting one hand from the steering wheel, he reached it for me.
“What?” I asked, giving him my hand anyway.
He brought up to his lips and kissed. “Il Triste Mietitore—”
“I am not a fan of that nickname.”
“La mia anima.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
He just smirked an
d said nothing, letting go of my hand as he focused on the road. And even though he didn’t say anything, I still had those annoying warm bubbly feelings on the inside. Sinking into the seat, I let my arm rest on his thigh and said nothing, too.
As we were leaving the 15th, Chicago PD was entering.
I couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much more this city could take. I didn’t want to rule over a wasteland.
Buzz
Buzz
Buzz
My phone went on and on in my pocket.
“You aren’t going to get that?” Ethan asked.
“Nope. It’s not Gigi.” It was my grandfather, and I didn’t have the energy to put on an act. “Speaking of Gigi, we are going to be late.”
“No way in hell,” he muttered before stepping on the gas.
I grinned.
Ethan’s love, like his jokes, was in the little things.
ETHAN
I’d rushed home to make it to my daughter only for her to be knocked out cold, snuggled in bed, her hair all over her face and her foot kicked over the pillow.
“Great, now she will not sleep tonight,” Calliope sighed, lifting her up. Gigi stirred grumpily before burying her head in her mom’s neck. “I’ll take her up, while you…well, you take care of the home front.”
“And here I thought you’d take charge of that,” I said, handing her Gigi’s dolphin.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow…” Calliope began to sing but that only succeeded in waking Gigi.
She rubbed her eyes and glanced around. At seeing me, she smiled and nearly fell out of Calliope’s arms trying to reach for me, so I took her.
“Papa, you’re back. Where’d you go?”
“He went with me,” Calliope said, tickling her stomach, making her wiggle in my arms. “Daddy and I had stuff to talk about it.”
“Me?” she asked, looking at my face.
“Yes, you,” I answered tapping her nose. “Did you like the movies?”
She shook her head. “Saura wanted to play. Then Nana read us stories. Daddy, can we go play?”
“Sure,” I said, brushing her hair out of her face. She tried to grin but yawned. “But are you sleepy?”
“No,” she lied.
I laughed. “Really?”
She nodded. However, the amusement on my face was gone when we stepped out and I saw both of my uncles waiting for me. Of course, they would not even give me this moment.
“Fine, how about you get everything ready and we play tonight. Just you, me, and Mommy.” I nodded, kissing her cheek. I held her for a long time, part of me still shocked she was here, in my arms.
“We have a lot of stuff we have to do, sweetheart. Daddy gave us a whole list of chores,” Calliope said, coming back to take her.
“More chores?” she pouted, and I couldn’t help but snicker.
“They are Mom’s chores. You’re just there to supervise her,” I said.
“Okay…What does soup-er-vise mean?” Gigi looked between us.
“Don’t mind Papa; he’s just picking on me,” Calliope muttered, giving me a look.
“Not nice, Papa.” Gigi wagged her finger at me, and I grabbed her hand, making her squeal, laugh, and try to pull away.
“Oh, isn’t this so cute,” my grandmother said as she walked forward down the hall, O’Phelan on her left and Wyatt on her right. He held onto his cane as he stepped forward because the idiot apparently did not understand what the meaning of bedrest was.
Calliope shot me a quick glance, surely thinking what I was thinking as the hall filled with more and more people… They were no longer going to wait for an explanation.
“Well, aren’t you the ready-made family,” Wyatt joked, though with less vigor and annoyance and more skepticism.
“Then as a family,” Calliope began to say, looking directly to him and smiling sweetly, “I think it is my duty to tell you, Wyatt, you should be in bed, resting, like I’m sure your doctor told you, too.”
He shrugged, making his way over to the couch. “I got a second opinion.”
“From whom, yourself?” Calliope and I asked at the same time. I looked at her, and she looked back at me.
“Wow, I see you two must have worked out your issues…since last night,” he replied, looking between us.
Ignoring him, I focused on our butler. “O’Phelan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From now on, everything which concerns this house and this family will also be shared with my wife; that includes the finances,” I told him and paused as his eyebrows came together in confusion. Once more, I looked at her. “You’ll treat her as if she were me…from this morning, that does not seem as though it would be a problem, will it?”
“No, sir.”
“Come on, Gigi. Mommy has so much work to do,” Calliope said, stretching her hand towards Gigi. “I’ll see you downstairs, O’Phelan, to go over what I’ll be needing.”
“Bye, Papa! Don’t forget your promise!” Giovanna waved to my grandmother and me before following her mother out, skipping next to her.
O’Phelan, stood unfazed. “I’ll inform the staff. Is there anything else, sir?”
“No. It will be in your best interest not to keep her waiting,” I said, and he just nodded before leaving.
Right on cue, Wyatt began his bitching. “Did I hear right? Did you just hand over our house to a woman we’ve known for less than a day?”
“Technically, I’ve known for her much longer than a day, hence the daughter,” I added, knowing they didn’t see the depth of that.
“I mean…you know what I mean!”
“Will you all care to not have this conversation in a hallway?” I said, already walking away. They followed.
Because of course they would follow.
This morning had fucked everything up.
Calliope was supposed to explain this because quite frankly, she loved to create stories and lies, and she was much better at it than I was. She sprinkled in just enough truth to make the lies go down easier.
“While Wyatt, was not tactful, Ethan. I have to agree,” my grandmother spoke up softly as we entered my study. “Are you sure about this? Her? You cannot just spring a new wife on us on top of having a daughter…a few weeks after your last wife was murdered?”
“My last wife?” I asked blankly as I took a seat behind the desk. “Who are you talking about?”
“Nana, he’s lost his fucking mind. Clearly, that woman did something to him.” Wyatt went on, shaking his head as if his neck was broken. “Ethan! This crazy chick stormed in here, poisoned the whole family, hid your daughter from you, belittled and insulted everyone at breakfast, and your thought process is ‘let me marry her and give her authority?’ Are we selling the drugs you are currently high on?”
He was very fucking lucky he was injured already because being my brother would not stop me from taking something and beating him over the head with it had he been healthy… Still, he was pushing that luck.
“Ethan,” my grandmother said gently, and I didn’t know why she was using such a soft voice like I was a child. Like I was asking for her permission or needed to be talked to in such a way. “I understand that you want to clean up the last couple of weeks—”
“Who’s going to question me?” I asked her.
“That isn’t the point, Ethan,” she repeated.
“No, that’s everything,” I said to her. “The family registry will say that I was married to Calliope, and we’ve been officially married for five years now. That will be the story, and no one in this family will question it. We will all say it over and over again until everyone believes it from the bottom of their hearts.”
“Okay, sure. You can make the family say it, but the public? The other families? Are we forgetting Ivy?” Wyatt snapped. “You want all of us to pretend she didn’t exist? She existed. She was here, in this very room. She came to church with us—”
“Ivy is dead. What does it matter if you remembe
r her or not?”
He sighed. “I do not understand. After everything…everything you went through, you are going to throw her to side like that?”
Apparently, he was going to need help with this. “Wyatt, she’s already been thrown to the side. You threw her, remember? Half of the people who care will think I was just using her, as you wanted them to think. You kicked the ball down the hill, so there is no undoing it now. We have to live with it, like everything else. Because that is what we do in this family. We conquer, we save face, and we press on. My daughter trumps everything else now.”
“Even your own happiness?” he questioned.
“I chose what makes me happy. That is not your concern,” I said before looking to my uncles, who poured themselves a drink and now sat quietly watching. “Any objections?”
“Is there even an objection?” Uncle Neal questioned.
“No. I am just making sure you know,” I said.
“I’ve made my decision on Calliope and Giovanna. I’m not changing my mind. You and everyone else will have to deal with it.”
“I’ve heard this before,” my grandmother muttered, and you’d think she’d be a little more…self-effacing, seeing as how she had been lying to us for well over a decade.
“Fine, are we going to fake the family records to show they were never married before—”
“No need. I never got the chance to file my marriage with Ivy,” I said, reaching for the file on my desk to show them. “So legally, we weren’t ever married. In fact, publicly, we were never married, either. The only witnesses to that wedding were family. If we say it never existed…it never existed. Besides, legality is all that matters. Should anyone need any further explanation, the story shall be this, Calliope and I got together when we were young, too young, we married in a haste, she got pregnant, and our family kept it a secret. She and I separated but never divorced, hence my time with other women. Now we are back together.”
All of them were silent, and I took the lighter, setting the documents on fire before tossing it back onto the desk, watching the flames eat through it rapidly, watching for the second time as a Callahan burned her. The life of Ivy O'Davoren was tragic. It was not fair, but that is how the world worked. The strong survived, the weak died.
