by Tia Lewis
The living room was where my father kept his rack of guns. I saw the twelve-gauge and nodded briefly to myself. Walking across the dark room in piss-stained boxers, I reached up and took the gun from the rack. It was heavier than I could have imagined, and I almost dropped it as I lowered it toward the ground. I tilted my head at it, trying to remember what little I had heard about guns. I knew there were bullets or was it shells?
Luckily, my father man didn’t do locks or hiding. He knew that I would never touch these guns, or he would use them on me. But I didn’t care about that now. My brother was dead in the kitchen and if my father thought he was getting away with it... I growled under my breath. Underneath the rack, there was a small box of red-and-yellow cylinders. I took one of these and then crouched down near the weapon. The moonlight was dim at this end of the house, but the streetlamps shone through, yellow beams shafting through the leaning towers of envelopes to where I crouched.
Eventually, I found the slot where the shell went. I pushed it in, there was a click. Then I smoothed my hands over the weapon, looking for a little switch. I remembered hearing one of the men Boss hung around with saying something about a switch on a gun before. It was a switch that turned it on… or something. I smoothed my hand over the chipped wood and the cool metal until I came to the switch. I flicked it, there was another click, and then I was ready.
Tears took hold of me, streaming down my cheeks, and I fell back onto my ass.
“Kevin?” I cried.
Don’t worry, I’m here, brother. Kevin said. It was the first time that I started to hear his voice in my head.
“You’re awake?” I whispered. “I thought you were…”
Dead? I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m not here, too. I’m with you. I’m happier now. I’m with mommy. She’s keeping me safe now. You don’t have to protect me anymore, brother.
“I’m so sorry, Kevin,” I weeped. “I’ve failed you. I’m the worse big brother ever.”
You’re the best big brother, silly. Kevin giggled.
“Please forgive me.”
Forgive you for what?
“I… I killed you.” I broke down in tears.
You didn’t kill me, brother. Dad did.
I shook my head refusing to accept. “You stopped breathing when I covered your mouth. I just couldn’t hear you in pain anymore. I didn’t know what to do!”
Oh, brother. I was already long gone before you did that. It’s not your fault.
“I don’t believe you,” I protested.
You just have to take my word for it, okay? But now do what you have to do. Dad is going to be back any minute and… you’re going to be next.
“I want to join you and mom. I can’t live without you.”
No, brother. You have to live. Now, hurry.
“Okay,” I sniffled, wiping the tears from my ears.
Brother, isn’t that gun going to be a little heavy for you. Remember, Dad keeps a hand-saw in the kitchen.
I nodded, the tears stopping now that my brother was talking to me. I dragged my feet back to the kitchen. I kept my gaze away from Kevin’s lifeless body, opened the drawer, and took out the hand-saw. When I was in the living room, I crouched down near the gun and started sawing, right near the beginning of the barrel. My arms ached, and my bones trembled, but nothing would have stopped me from sawing. I sawed until my arms screamed at me, and then the barrel dropped to the ground.
I grabbed the handle of the gun and lifted it. It was much lighter and easier to hold now.
“Okay,” I said, nodding to himself. “Okay, okay.”
It was my first experience of waiting for a mark that night.
One day, I would be able to wait for hours on end without growing skittish, but that night I could hardly stay still. I laid on the floor in the hallway, sawn-off barrel aimed at the front door, a finger stroking the trigger, waiting for my father to walk through the door. My legs squirmed, and I kept looking left and right, as though he would emerge from the darkness and leap at me. I was trembling with fear. The only thing that did not shiver was the finger which stroked the trigger. That was as steady as a sniper’s.
I’m still here, Kevin said, voice reassuring in my ears. Don’t worry, big brother. I’m still here. You don’t need to worry. Just stay calm. Just do it. Just pull the trigger when he walks through the door. It’s as easy as that.
I took a deep breath, aiming at the door, my head full of memories of Kevin.
I remembered when Kevin was about seven years old, and he’d fallen outside while learning to ride his bike. He didn’t cry. He just looked down at the graze on his knee like a scientist, and then he looked up at me and said in a calm voice: “I’m bleeding.” I ran into the house, found a kitchen rag—we didn’t have Band-Aids—ran back outside and tied it around Kevin’s knee. Then I lifted him to his feet.
“Do you want to go inside?” I said.
“But how will I learn to ride my bike?” Kevin shook his head. “Let me try again, please.”
“Okay, brother,” I nodded and brought the bike to Kevin. I held the back of the seat and jogged down the summer street with him. Miss Jones grinned and waved, and sprinklers sprayed in the gardens, and a lawnmower hummed and down the street. I ran and ran until Kevin started pedaling fast and then he was free, on his own, riding down the road.
“I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” he giggled.
“Yes, you are!” I exclaimed.
That same year, I remembered when I came home with some math homework which I threw onto the kitchen counter and meant never to think of again. But then Kevin tugged at my sleeve, looked up into my eyes, and said: “Why not try?” There was something in that question, plain and open, which reached me like the shouting teachers never could. It was so simple. Why not try? So I grabbed the notebook and Kevin, and I sat on my bed and puzzled over the sums. I was awful at them, but Kevin being the exceptionally smart kid he was, was patient and explained everything slowly and carefully, and by the end of it, I knew a little more about math.
I also remembered when Kevin was crying, and our father had threatened to beat him again if he didn’t stop. So I wrapped my arms around him, brought him to my chest, and singed children’s riddles with him for four hours straight, from midday to four o’clock, until Kevin slumped forward and began to snore on my chest. Then I hugged him close and closed my eyes, and the two of us fell asleep.
The front door opened, and my father stumbled in, a fresh bottle of whiskey in his hand. He walked into the hallway for a few feet before he looked up and saw his son, prone on the floor, sawn-off aimed at his face.
“Hey, you little bastard. What do you think you’re gonna do with that…”
I pulled the trigger.
24
“The thing that shocked me the most was the amount of blood,” I said, feeling something like tears in my eyes.
I reached up and touched my face, and was shocked to find that a single tear had slid down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, and then closed my eyes tight, and forced the tears to stop flowing. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. I cleared my throat and nodded briefly.
“So there you have it,” I said. “This is the man you have tied yourself to, Tess. A man who killed his brother and his father. Bet you regret the night I stumbled onto you.”
Tess let out a weep, and I turned to her. I had been so focused on getting the story out that I hadn’t even looked at her. Looking at her would’ve been too painful. Seeing the effect my words were having would’ve made me stop speaking about them. But now I looked at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and tears flowed down her cheeks. She wiped away the tears, but more tears replaced them, streaming down her face in streams.
“Liam,” she sniveled. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I said uncomfortably, not sure how to handle this. I had never been in a situation like this in my face. “It’s over. But you must be mad.”
“Mad?” She laughed through a sob. “M
ad? Why would I be mad? What happened to you was horrible, evil, twisted, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t my…” I ran the forefinger of my right hand over the knuckles of my left. They were still grazed and bruised from when the Russians had taken my money. That was how little time had passed, and yet a goddamn upheaval had shaken my world up in that time. “Of course it was my fault,” I whispered. “What the fuck was I thinking, hurting my own brother? I should have never been so fucking selfish and stop him screaming. I should’ve called a fucking ambulance, ran to Miss Jone’s house, anything! I just wanted him to stop screaming, but I handled it wrong, damn wrong. I fucked up. And a sweet little kid died because I was too fucking stupid.”
“Stop it,” Tess said, her voice firm. She leaned forward and gripped my hands. “Stop it right now. You were twelve years old…”
“Doesn’t matter, Tess!” I interrupted. “If I never would have covered his mouth he would still be breathing. I’m certain of it.”
“But you don’t know that! Listen! You were scared, and you did what you thought was right at that time, Liam. It’s. Not. Your. Fault. You weren’t the one who hit Kevin with the steel…”
I turned away.
“I’m sorry,” Tess held her head down. “I’m just saying you didn’t know any better. You didn’t want your brother to be in anymore pain. I understand. But it wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever believe that,” I sighed.
“Well, I have the rest of our lives to convince you, don’t I?”
I sighed. “I don’t know who I am now. A month ago I was The Animal. Now who am I?”
“My man. My lover,” Tess said. “My bodyguard.”
I forced a smile. “I gotta say, I’m surprised you’re not running out of here.”
She smoothed her soft, small fingers over my blood-worn hands.
“Never,” Tess murmured. “We’ve been through too much. I think when people go through horrible things together, it makes them closer in a short time than most people get in a lifetime. We’ve been through war together, Liam, and now we’re...” She giggled softly. “Now we’re brothers-in-arms!”
“Ha! You’re a soldier, alright,” I said, nodding, squeezing her hands. “You’re the toughest and sexiest damn soldier I’ve ever met in my life.”
“You always know how to make me smile.”
“Because it’s my job. Other than protecting you.”
Tess blushed.
“Well, I appreciate you for everything. More importantly, opening up to me and sharing something so horrific that happened to you. I understand now why were the way you were.”
“Well, that’s not all…”
“There’s more?” Tess asked.
“Nothing major. But, I should probably let you know that I’ve been hearing Kevin’s voice in my head since the day he died.”
“Oh,” Tess said with puzzlement. “Well, that’s okay. I mean do you still hear him now?”
“Nah. He’s gone. He told me you’re my focus now.”
“Well, tell him I said he has the best and sexiest older brother in the world.”
My face flushed.
“So, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Tess said after a pause.
I tilted my head at her: at this brave, beautiful, brilliant young woman. I had expected her to jump across the room, swear at me, call me worthless and abandon me, but here she was smiling and saying she had a surprise for me. It was almost too much to handle.
“What’s that?”
Tess nodded, released my hands, and stood up.
“Wait here,” she said.
“Leave by a window,” I suggested. “That way I won’t hear the door close.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” she said dryly, shaking her head. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She left the room, and I watched the open doorway, wondering if she would come back. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But after about a minute she walked back into the room, her dress flowing around her. In her hand, she held an iPad.
“Look,” she said, sitting down on the stall and giving me the iPad.
I pressed the screen, and a news clip played. The reporter was a young blonde woman wearing a business jacket and a pencil skirt. She held a microphone and stood outside of the Drunk Harpy. Police tape was scattered all over the place, and pedestrians peered over the tops of police officer’s shoulders, trying to see what the fuss was about. In the background, somebody held a placard which read: Hi, Mom!
The woman’s voice was crisp and professional. “Thanks, John. We have just received news the man arrested for the massacre at the Drunk Harpy in South Boston, was none other than infamous Russian mobster and hitman, Dmitri Breckinov. Dmitri Breckinov was a heavy hitter in the Russian mafia and was captured this morning as he tried to flee the border into Mexico. Police first suspected him when his DNA was found at the scene of the Drunk Harpy, and another crime scene in the high-class penthouse of the Belegamo Hotel owned by Zharkov Breckinov, Dmitri’s father. It is thought that Dmitri came to the Drunk Harpy on a job from Zharkov, and when Zharkov did not pay him in full, the hitman lost control and killed his father. All bodies have been recovered from the Drunk Harpy except Liam Hunter’s, who is thought to have fled the scene after receiving grievous wounds. Police have speculated it might also be possible that Dmitri, for reasons unknown, took Liam Hunter to the penthouse of Zharkov as some kind of payment, as Mr. Hunter’s blood was found at both scenes. But we await further news. Back to you John.”
“How?” I breathed. “How is that even... No police officer would be so stupid to think that it was…”
“Hail up, Liam!” Tommy giggled, poking his head through the door. “Yuh ave seen mi wuk den, mon! Ha-ha-ha! Yuh may ave lose yuh friends inna di mafia, but nuh mi, mon! No sah, nuh mi!”
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Tommy,” I said, dropping the iPad on my lap. “I could fucking kiss you right. I don’t even know how you pulled it off. But like you said, you’re a man of many talents.”
“Dat a right! Mi get connections.” Tommy grinned.
“How much extra is this gonna run me?”
Tommy became serious and walked to the foot of the bed. “Five hundred thousand, mon, but let mi explain. Let mi explain…”
“Done,” I said. “Done and fucking done. Over a million is enough for Tess and me. And you’ve more than earned it, man.”
Tommy beamed. “But there a one laas ting. one laas ting fi Liam, The Animal!”
I nodded. “Yes, there is. Tess and I need some goddamn passports.”
25
ADD SEX SCENE
Tess and I sat at the kitchen counter with our new passports in our hands. I felt like I was looking down at a different man. Tess had insisted that I shave my head for the picture, so it would help with my new identity when we went to catch our flights.
My new name was Andrew Simmons.
Tess had clipped her hair, too. She had cut her long blonde hair until it was a tight bun around her head. It transformed her and somehow made her more beautiful. Her face suddenly seemed fuller, full of features, as though her hair was framing her face. Her blue eyes seemed larger and brighter, her cheeks pinker and more lively.
Her new name was Samantha Simmons.
“So, we’re married,” Tess laughed.
The kitchen was modern at Tommy’s safe house, with clean and granite countertops. We sat on stylish stools at a counter-bar, but the counters and cupboards were almost bare. There was a pot of coffee in one corner, a kettle, and the remains of a cracker on a plate beside the sink. The windows were wall-height, but the curtains were drawn, and only pale sunlight shone through.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Seems like we are, sweet thing.”
“It’s Samantha.”
“Right. Samantha.”
“Oh, Andrew,” Tess said, bringing her hands to her chest like a melodramatic nineteen-thirties movie star, “Oh, Andrew, we’re finally married! Oh, it d
oes thrill me so!”
“I’m still shocked, Tess. You’re cracking jokes when you should be running as far away from me as you can get. This would be your perfect chance to leave and never look back. Don’t you understand yet that I’m worse than all of them? I’m a damn nasty, brutal hitman, Tess, and I’ve told you that, and yet you’re still here.”
“Yes, you’re nasty, and you’re brutal, and you’re a hitman,” Tess said, smiling up at me. “But you’re my hitman.”
I bit my bottom lip.
“I never dreamed I would find a woman who would see how fucked up I was, how wrecked I was, and still want me. I never dreamed I’d find a woman who’d even care about me if I’m honest.”
“Well, you have,” Tess said. She leaned forward and kissed me softly on my lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“Alright, lovebirds! Everyting criss?” Tommy asked, appearing as though from nowhere. “Di travel taking care of! It time fi yuh two to guh a England!”
I leaned down and picked up the suitcase, which sat beside the stool, lifted it, and placed it on the counter. I unzipped it and took out Tommy’s pay. When I zipped it back up, the suitcase was lighter, but not light; there was still enough money in there so that we never had to work again; so that I never had to kill again.
Then I paused. I owed Tommy my life. Without the help of my Jamacian jolly Fixer where would I be? I unzipped the suitcase again and took out about twenty thousand dollars. Enough for Tess and I to get on our feet in England. Suprisingly, I looked forward to working a honest living and couldn’t been more proud of my decision.
“Here you go, Tommy,” I said, handing him the suitcase holding about five million dollars in cash.” Take care of your family in Jamaica.”
“Nuh! nuh! Mi nuh accept, Liam!” Tommy exclaimed.
