by Tia Lewis
I looked up and saw a man covered in Swastika tattoos with teeth, so brown they were almost black, bags like black crescent moons under his eyes, and a tightened belt flapping from his arm. I knew he had either just taken a dose of heroin or was about to. “You made a mistake coming in here,” the man grunted, and lifted the hammer high. I had been helpless few times in my life, but that was one of them, without question. The man was about to bring the hammer down when Samson charged through the door and head-butted him in the nose before firing two shots at the man’s head. I had never been more goddamn grateful in my life.
“You alright, Liam?” Samson asked.
“Yeah, I’m cool man,” I replied. “I owe you one.”
Samson had shaken his head. “Just get me a drink later, bro. Better yet, come with me when I bet on a dog fight tonight.”
I sighed and smiled. “You know I’m not into that gambling shit.”
“More money for me then,” Samson laughed. “Then some drinks on you at the Harpy will do.”
I shook my head as I reminisced. Yes, I was grateful for Samson having my back that day, but I couldn’t forgive him for how he treated and neglected his own grandmother. I also had an unsettling feeling in my stomach that he had something to do with her “mysterious” death. One thing was for sure: as much as he idolized and worshiped Boss I knew he had to be involved with my money getting stolen and for that… He would have to pay.
You can’t stand here forever, brother, Kevin whispered in my head. You’ll have to act sooner or later. Remember, Tess is waiting for you in the car.
“Right,” I muttered, pulling the strap of the black duffle bag tight on my arm.
I left the shadow of the tree, looked up and down the street, and then crossed the road. I kept my steps steady, slow like I was on a leisurely stroll. A man behind the wheel of one of those tiny Smart cars that looked like insect pods, grimaced as his car came to a stop.
“Oh, come on! Are you trying to get hit?” The man shouted.
I ignored him and before I knew it—before I had a chance to prepare himself—I was standing outside the Drunk Harpy.
“Animal!” Samson breathed with a mischievous smile as he reached around to the back of his jeans and I knew what he was about to grab. So, my assumptions were right. He was involved after all. If he wasn’t involved with Boss stealing my money, then why was he reaching for his gun?
“Don’t. Do. It,” I warned. “You know better, Samson.”
“Do what?” Samson kept his hand behind his back.
“Let’s not play dumb. I know that you were involved.”
“What are you talking about man?” He let out a corrupt laugh. “I’m just happy to see you back, man.”
“Not here in front of the Harpy. There are innocent fucking people everywhere.”
“Ha! Who gives a shit? Besides, maybe I’m quicker than you.”
“Gunner wasn’t.”
“Gunner was a fucking idiot. I’m not.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still not quicker than me. We both can play this game.”
A few people walked past us: a tall, thin woman wearing black leggings and a Nirvana T-shirt and an elderly man wearing green overalls, holding two trash bags slung over his shoulder. The smell of trash trailed him, but I was used to that scent, especially in this neighborhood. Both knew better than to stop outside of the Drunk Harpy and get involved in any trouble.
Samson narrowed his dark green eyes, the hand which was behind his back trembling, fingers outstretched toward the grip of the Desert Eagle pistol. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and let it drop to his side.
“You need to leave, Liam,” he warned, glancing at the door. “You’ve lost this one.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Why would you do it, man? Why would you save her? You were at the top of your game. Why risk it all?”
I shook my head. “You didn’t hear her screaming,” I replied. “You didn’t see those fucking Russian bastards, swarming her like she was fresh meat ready to…”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Samson interrupted. “The result is the same. Whatever you’re planning, you can’t go in the Harpy. You’ll die, Liam.”
“I doubt that, and I doubt you believe it. We both know I have pretty damn good odds.”
“You’ll kill your brothers, your family for what? A piece of young ass?”
“Watch yourself,” I said, taking a step forward and reaching to the side of my jeans that holstered my pistol. “Don’t you fucking talk about her like that.”
“Don’t talk about her like what? A whore?” He shook his head in wonder. “Liam, you’ve only just met her.”
“I don’t give a fuck. She’s mine. I know her better than I know anyone else.”
“But your brothers, the Harpy crew…”
“Don’t forget,” I said through gritted teeth, my voice suddenly low, “Don’t forget, Samson, that I had a brother. I had a brother, and his name was Kevin. You’re not my brother, none of the men in the Harpy are my brothers.”
“Listen…”
“No, you listen to me. Boss has my fucking money, and I have a good feeling that you’re involved with this.”
“What? Hell no!”
“You expect me to believe a man who is ruled by greed? A man who’s on Boss’ dick vying for his attention and approval? A man who killed his own grandmother?”
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Samon took a step closer to me. “Don’t you ever blame my grandmother’s death on me. I had nothing to fucking do with it.”
I shook my head. I had a hard time believing him.
“Besides I heard about Boss appointing you to be his capo bastone.”
“Yeah? And I bet you can’t stand that he wants me to be his underboss, can you? Well, Boss can suck my dick because he’s working with our enemy—the Russians. Zharkov, actually. Since when did South Boston become a goddamn Russian social club, huh? Your own Boss is a fucking rat!”
Samson’s lips are twisted. “Boss doesn’t have your money, Liam,” he replied. “I’m not sure who told you that, but Boss is no rat. You’re foolish to think the Bianchi family would work with the Russians.”
“That’s where I heard it from—the fucking Russians. Boss has my money, and he’s working with Zharkov. Period. End of discussion. He’s forgotten who he’s supposed to be. Family and fucking loyalty my ass.” I spat.
Pedestrians walked past us, all of them oblivious to the potential of violence that boiled only feet away from them. But I would never have brought these civilians into it. It was only amateurs who shot at people who weren’t involved; I wanted to save my bullets for the people who deserved them. it. Men like Boss.
“What? You heard it from the Russians?” Samson folded his arms. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nah. Do you think I’d be back here if the Russians had kept my money? Why the fuck would I come back here otherwise, Samson? Think about it. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t want to be here. I want to be thousands of miles from here. I’m fucking done with South Boston and the Drunk Harpy. Done with the Bianchi family. Done with the fucking memories that run after me like rabid hounds. I’m done.” I was looming over Samson, looking down at him, my muscles seeming to engorge with infused energy.
“I don’t even know what to say, man.”
“I’m going in. This conversation is over.”
“I can’t let you pass me, Liam.”
“Then you have a decision to make. This is the part where you choose if you’re going stop me or let me by.”
“Come on, bro. You know I have to try and stop you.”
“Sounds to me you’re asking for a bullet to your head.”
Samson stared me down.
“I’ll do it if I have to, Samson,” I went on. “Do you really want to die like this? Why die for Boss? For Zharkov?”
Samson sighed, his shoulders slumping, his belly pushing outward. “You know, if you don’t survive
this, I’m a dead man, right?”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “I know it ain’t much, but it might make you feel better that if I don’t survive this, I’ll be a dead man, too.” I flashed a sardonic grin.
“You’re on death’s door, Liam, and still grinning, huh?”
“That’s the best way to be, ain’t it?”
Samson held out his hand.
“I guess I won’t see you again.”
“Guess not.” I extended my hand to shake Samson’s. “And if I find out the truth about Mrs. McGreevy and you were involved with her death then you’re a dead man.”
“I didn’t kill her, Liam. I may have been a piece of a shit grandson, but I would never kill her.”
I shook my head again, and as I gripped his hand, Samson wrenched with all his strength, pulling me towards him.
“Are you a fucking idiot?” Samson shouted as he head-butted me in the nose.
“What the fuck?” I growled, as he grabbed me by the ears, pulled his head back, and smashed me in the nose again, and again.
I felt blood rain down my face and over my shirt. I felt the black duffle bag fall from my shoulder and slap onto the sidewalk. I was dimly aware of pedestrians screaming, but then Samson wrapped his arm around my throat and dragged me toward the door of the Drunk Harpy. I tried to move, but I was too stunned, my nose flat and crusted with blood and my vision a blurry curtain.
5
I opened my blood-crusted eyes and blinked over and over to try and clear my vision. I tried to move my hands, but then I felt the zip-ties digging into my wrists, and when I tried to move my legs I felt zip-ties dig into my ankles. I blinked again and looked down. I was strapped to a cold metal chair, my arms tied behind my back and my legs tied beneath the chair. The rope was tied around my waist, tethering me to the seat and biting into my stomach. I struggled, my muscles straining, but the zip-ties had been securely tightened. I strained again, and again, but the zip-ties held. I let out a deep sigh when I realized that my pistol was no longer inside my jeans.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking around the room.
I was in the basement of the Drunk Harpy, casks of liquor dotted around me, piled high to the ceiling. In the corners, cobwebs stretched across the corners of the ceiling with spiders moving across them. The only light came from a white bulb which that barely touched the far end of the wall. I couldn’t turn around because of how I was restrained, but I knew that there was a rack with knives, barb wire, cudgels, chains and other torture devices attached to it. This was the Drunk Harpy’s torture room. A staircase led upward toward the old, wooden basement door that had pieces of wood flaking away.
“Fuck,” I grunted, straining against the zip-ties, my muscles looking like they would tear my skin under the strain as they pressed against my body.
If there was one thing that I hated above all else, it was feeling helpless.
I kept straining until the door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Samson walked down the stairs. He stopped at the bottom and regarded me for a few moments, head tilted to the side.
“You were a fucking fool to come back here,” he murmured. “A damn fool to question Boss and the Bianchi family.”
“Fuck you!” I spat. “You’re a fucking coward, shaking hands with a man and then turning on him like that.”
Samson shrugged.
“You would have beat me in a fair fight, Liam. We both know that. Can you really blame me? You once told me that honor didn’t matter, just coming out on top at the end of the day.”
“Did I?” I breathed. “I don’t remember half the shit that I say. But I will remember this you piece of shit. You’re going to regret betraying me. If you don’t let me go now, I promise that when I get free, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“You’ve got balls.” Samson laughed. “Once I kill you, I think I’ll bury your ass right next to that worthless old hag.”
“You killed her! I knew it!” I roared, foaming at the mouth.
“Calm down, calm down. Don’t act all shocked now, Liam. You really thought that I was going to let her live when she had that million-dollar life insurance policy?”
Samson devious laugh echoed throughout the basement.
“Tisk, tisk,” came from the top of the stairs.
Boss, appeared, wearing a gray suit a size too small that strained at the seams. His plump body thundered down the stairs. Each step protested, squeaking as Boss laid his heavy weight upon it. From upstairs, I could hear the crew talking and laughing. Smithie roared loudly; dice clattered against the floor. Life in the Drunk Harpy went on as though nothing had happened. And that was true, I reflected bitterly. The basement door swung closed as Boss reached the floor, cutting off the sounds. Now they sounded muffled and far away.
“Liam, Liam, Liam.” Boss shook his head slowly. His perspiring head was bald on top but had hairs on the side that always looked wet and was shining in the basement light. Samson took a step back and stood respectfully against the wall, his hands behind his back. “Liam, Liam, Liam,” Boss went on.
“Fuck you!” I spat.
Boss shook his head sadly, his bright green eyes were sharp and seemed to peer into my soul. Whatever is left of my soul, anyway, I thought.
“Is that any way to talk to me?” Boss asked. “The man who took you in when your life seemed hopeless. The man who trained you. The man who’s been like a father to you.”
“I’ve already had a father,” I said. “I don’t need another.”
“You disappoint me, Liam,” Boss said, walking to where I sat and staring down at me. The scent of sweat and whiskey lingered around the man, probing my mouth and nose. “To think I made the foolish mistake to of appointing you as the capo bastone of my family.”
“I’ll never be an underboss for a fucking rat who works with the Russians!”
Boss shook his head again.
“I’ve done so much for you, and this is how you treat me?”
“Fuck you!” I spat once more. “What have you done for me? Seems to me I’ve done a hell of a lot more for you. I’ve killed more men than I can fucking count for you and you take my fucking money. All my money. My life savings!”
“I told you that you should have listened to Smithie when he encouraged you to invest your money into real estate or other assets,” Boss shrugged. “You’re too busy swimming in in some whore’s pussy to make wise decisions. That’s not my problem.”
“I’m going to take great pleasure in killing you, John Bianchi. Both you and your two-faced family can burn in fucking Hell. Working with the Russians. You disgust me you fat fuck! What, you’re Zharkov’s new bitch now, huh? Does Zharkov use lube before he fucks you in the ass?”
Boss’ heavy and pudgy hand flashed out from his side. I went to move, but the zip-tie bindings were too restrictive. There was a wet slap as Boss’ hand struck me across my face. My head snapped to the side from the force. The chair screeched and vibrated, but it stayed upright. I guessed they must have bolted it to the floor. They’d done it before when “working” on other people. I blinked away water from my eyes—water that rose from the force of the slap—and spat blood onto the concrete.
“You’ve always had manners, Liam,” Boss said, pulling a gray handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the blood from his hand. “What happened?” he asked, pushing the handkerchief back into his pocket. “This whore really poisoned your mind, didn’t she?”
“I’ll fucking kill you. Mark my words.” I growled.
“Samson,” Boss said, taking a step back.
Before I could react, Samson threw himself forward and punched me straight in the nose. My neck lurched back, and the back of my head cracked against the edge of the chair. Blood spewed from my nose, flying through the air in beads and splattering the floor, and Samson’s black T-shirt with crimson droplets. A metallic taste filled my mouth, and pain flared in my head as if there was a ball of lead somewhere in my skull growing steadily larger. My head flopped forward, bl
ood dripping from my mouth.
Samson calmly returned to his place on the wall and folded his hands behind his back waiting for Boss’ next command. Boss sighed like a disappointed father and gazed down at me.
“You always were a tough kid, Liam,” Boss sneered. “Too tough for your own good, sometimes. Most men know where to draw the line. Most men have respect. But I’ve always sensed that you thought that you were better than that. You thought because you were tough it meant that you didn’t have to obey the rules. Then you made a stupid mistake when you saved that English girl. Zharkov paid for her: purchased her from Dmitri. Don’t you understand how that shit works? You’ve taken his property.”
Hearing Boss talking about Tess flared a ball of fire within my chest. It was as if there was a furnace burning within me and Boss’ words were the fuel. I gritted my teeth and growled, blood flying through my gritted teeth and spraying the air around me. With an effort, I looked up into Boss’ face, my vision blurry and hazy.
“I’ll fucking kill you all! Do you understand, me? I’ll fucking kill every fucking one of you!” I snarled.
Samson went to step forward, but Boss waved his hand. “Down boy,” Boss wriggled his fat forefinger back and forth in a no-no gesture. “I understand, Liam, I do. She’s an attractive young thing, isn’t she? But you have to remember, she’s just a…”
“A whore,” Samson smirked.
“Yes, indeed she is!” Boss exclaimed, waving his hand like he was explaining something obvious. “Don’t you see, Liam? One whore is much the same as the other. You’re a handsome fella. I’m sure we can find you a woman who sucks dick better than her, who has a tighter pussy than her. Why risk everything for her?” He wickedly smiled.
“Fuck you!” I breathed as I looked up at the man who’d taken me in; at the man who’d given me a place, an identity. A father figure who I thought genuinely cared for me.
“Tell us where she is, Liam, and you can have your money back… and a new whore, any whore. Why does it have to be that bitch? What makes her so goddamn special?”
