by J. J. McAvoy
“You in yoga?” Police Commissioner McCoy laughed so hard I thought his dentures would fall out. The man had teeth as big as a goddamn horse. “How the hell do you get that big old body of yours to twist?” he asked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his long white nose.
“Old? I got to be at least fifteen years younger than you,” Governor Orton shot back. “And it moves just fine. After all, neither my wife or my yoga instructor complain, if you know what I mean.”
“Bullshit. I’ve met Brigitte. She’d kill your yoga instructor with her own two hands,” Chief Mataka laughed as she tossed her own chips into the middle. She was around the same age as McCoy. Her short, curly gray hair looked like it came out of a black and white sitcom. She was a tall woman with a broad-shouldered stature and age spots over her white face.
“Only if I didn’t let her watch,” Governor Orton winked at the chief and then laughed outright, nearly blowing the smoke out of his mouth. He raised his glass, and one of their private security guards came over with another bottle from the bar at the far side of the room.
I counted six private security total in the dining hall. All six looked as if they were on edge, which made wonder how much their employers had told them. If only they knew the full story.
“Everywhere I go, it’s like everyone is having a good time except me,” I finally spoke up, and upon hearing me, they turned to look before rising from their chairs as I came over.
“I wouldn’t expect less from the busiest family in Chicago,” Commissioner McCoy said as he reached out to shake my hand.
“Are we really? I would never have guessed,” I said in response. I shook his hand and moved to the rest of them. “Thank you for making time for me so late.”
“We should be thanking you, after all it’s your liquor,” the governor said. He laughed, raising the glass in his hand to me before drinking. “Adam, get this man something good.”
He nodded his head to the brown-haired man dressed in black no more than a foot away from us.
“No need. It’s well, it’s the least that I could do for all the help you all have given my family lately,” I said as leaned back, undoing my jacket button. “It’s been a crazy a few weeks.”
“Yes, I heard about your brother’s wife, please send our condolences,” Mayor Gutpa added.
I smiled and nodded. “Will do if you’re alive when this is all over.”
They all paused, expect for Governor Orton. He turned and looking me dead in the eyes as he spoke. “The one thing I’ve always admired about you Callahans is that you know how to play smart and dirty.”
“I’m guessing there is a ‘but’ somewhere in this statement,” I replied.
“Lately things aren’t feeling as smart,” Chief Mataka finished for him, putting her cards face down on the table. “Or as dirty, in fact. Just simply violent.”
“Smart and dirty is my brother. Violence is all I know.”
“You don’t think anyone is going to question it if something were to happen to the four most prominent people in this damn state?” Commissioner McCoy pressed. “We aren’t the same as them rugrats in your little pyramid.”
I grinned so wide you’d think I’d lost my mind. “Do you all truly believe you could stand a chance against me?”
“Alone, never.” Mayor Gutpa frowned, stroking the side of his chin. “Together we’ve got much better odds. Do you really think we took these positions without safety nets? That we don’t talk or share information? We knew we signed a deal with the devil when it came to your family. We’ve been preparing for you for years.”
“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Governor Orton held his hands up in front of the mayor. At least he knew better not to hush me like that. He turned his rock-like face to me. “What my friend here is trying to say is…we are team players. If something is bothering you, we don’t have to go down this road of threats. Just let us know what we can do for you, and we’ll get it done. We’re all in this together.”
I frowned, trying to think. “There was this old musical my nanny would make us watch one time that had a dance number. The song said that, too... I’m trying to remember.”
“High School Musical?” Chief Mataka.
I snapped my fingers. “Yes! That was it. It was so fucking annoying. Me and my sister hated it, but our nanny was determined for some reason that we watch and even create musicals with her. Luckily for her, my sister complained to my dad, and she was fired before accidently tripping down the stairs...I’m sorry that was random. But now you know how I feel listening to you all speak.”
“You’re not a very reasonable fella, are you?” Governor Orton asked.
“I have my moments.” I lifted one of the decks from the table and flipped down cards. “However, I heard you, Governor. You all sold your souls, and you’re willing to do whatever I need you all to do. But my question is…why didn’t any of you remember that before I got to this table…before drugs were stolen, and then sold by none other than the damn Chicago PD? If we’re all in this together, why am I not enjoying the expensive brandy and playing cards? Would anyone like to help me find a reasonable answer to my questions?”
“Impossible!” Commissioner McCoy hollered defensively. “I know my men they wouldn’t dare—”
“They did. It’s done. So either you don’t know them, and in that case, what’s the point of having the police commissioner in my pocket if you don’t know what is happening with your own people? Or you do know what is happening, and in that case, you die.”
“Are you sure about this?” Governor Orton asked me.
“Do you really think I’d waste my time this evening with you idiots if I wasn’t sure? I’m just as sure of this as I am of the secret recordings and files you have on my family. Or should I say had.” I chuckled and stopped flipping the cards in my hands, glancing up to Chief Mataka. “Yes, we got the ones you gave to your granddaughter and the one you hid in the nursery of your great grandson. It’s all gone. It’s always been gone. My brother just left the dummies there to let you feel secure.”
“How?” Her voice was barely over as whisper.
“I can’t say that, Chief. I’ve already told you too much. Besides, if you really knew how far our hands go then you might not ever close your eyes again…and I heard from a little birdy you sleep like the dead…and that you are out cold. You should be more careful in the future.”
The look of terror on her face, how white she became, I was tempted to look if she shit herself.
“So back to your question, Governor,” I looked over to him. “I’m sure. Commissioner McCoy here betrayed my family.”
“I swear—”
“I really wish people would stop swearing. What are you swearing on or to? You believe in nothing, you care about nothing, and you are nothing. So why the fuck should I…believe your ‘I swear?’ Only honorable people should swear, and everyone’s already gone past the honor stage haven’t we, Commissioner McCoy?” I asked, finally putting the deck down when I found the card I was looking for. I looked to the three others beside me, all of them now silent. “So are you all still in this together?”
Mayor Gutpa rubbed his neck before looking up to me. “How is your family planning on handling this? You can hardly kill him here.”
“You fucking traitor!” Commissioner McCoy hollered, rising to his feet. “I had nothing to do with this! I am telling you now I will find the men responsible—”
“Shut up, McCoy!” Chief Mataka screamed at him, breathing out through her nose like a bull. “You said in the future, so this is just a warning.”
“I told you violence is all I know.” I lifted the ace of spades for her to see. “I suffered a loss yesterday. We’re all in this together, Chief. So you’re all going to suffer one, too.”
“What have you done?” Mayor Gutpa asked, already dialing on his phone. The silence around the table palpable enough I could hear it ringing.
Rising from the table, I tossed the card back on the table. �
�If I had the misfortune of being any of you, I’d think of an alibi. You’ll need one when the world wakes up to hear that someone fired over a thousand rounds into all of your homes…please send us the dates for your loved ones’ funerals as soon as you have dates sets. I know a guy who makes the best flower arrangements. Goodnight.”
“YOU EVIL SON OF A BITCH!” I didn’t have time to even blink before Governor Orton hollered, firing a gun he’d somehow hidden before now.
BANG!
“YOU THINK I WON’T—”
BANG!
He stopped as the marble flooring broke up in front of his feet. His eyes were wide as he looked back into the eyes of his own security detail. “You move again, Governor, and I won’t miss,” The man said before looking to me. “Are you alright, sir?”
I laughed. “You fucking missed! You people are idiots! I spare your lives, and you shoot at me! Oh…people really have forgotten who runs this motherfucking town. My brother is too damn reserved. Letting you fuckers think that you are powerful…hahaha...when in reality you’re nothing but little fake kings, not even pawns on our chessboard!”
Rising from the ground, I dusted off my shoulder as he glared at me. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pay you back for this tonight. Oh no…I’m going to wait for you to get good and sober so you can realize how fucked you really are.” Looking over to Adam, head of the governor’s security detail, I said, “Make sure the governor gets home safely.”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded to me, but kept his gun pointed at the governor’s head as I stepped up to him.
“Make sure to cry for the cameras. They will eat that shit up,” I said, leaning over to take the bottle of brandy off the table. “My condolences again.”
He bared his teeth like a starved animal, but Adam just pressed the gun to the side of his head. Taking a swig out of the bottle, I winked at him before heading toward the exit. There, waiting at the door was the same old manager.
“Bill the company for any damage. I want this place fixed before opening tomorrow,” I said before stepping out into the cold air where Mannix already stood waiting by the Bentley. Taking a seat inside, I waited for him to close the door before reaching under my coat, to the side of my shoulder. Wincing slightly, I pulled my hand away, glancing down at my own blood.
And this is the reason I fucking hate drunks. Not immune to the irony, I drank the brandy in my hands.
“Where to sir?”
Good fucking question.
TEN
“I’m a coward when it comes to matters of the heart.
That is my fatal flaw.”
~ Haruki Murakami
HELEN
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
That’s all I’d heard for days now. I should have turned it off. I should have thrown it away. After all, I left the mansion dead set on not speaking to anyone, and yet here I was listening to my phone vibrate around the glass of my coffee table as I sat in my boy-short underwear and a white tank-top fixing my old robot vacuum—
“Child’s play,” I muttered to myself when it came back to life. Setting it on the ground, I watched it clean up Oreo crumbs that had dropped. I looked around my apartment for anything else to fix, but there wasn’t anything. If it had a circuit board in here anywhere, I’d already fixed, updated, or replaced it over the last few days.
“I could clean up.” My eyes looked to the kitchen to see the crime I’d committed against it for even attempting to cook in the first damn place. “I’ll leave that to the professionals,” I muttered to myself as I shifted over on my side. Tilting my head, I stared out at the city lights.
“I should go out.” But where? A club? A bar? Those weren’t my scenes, and I didn’t see how forcing myself into a building with drunks hoping to get drunk myself was going to do anything other than annoy me. I could see my sorry self in the reflection of the glass. My hair was a complete mess. I had been in my pajamas for hours. I looked pitiful. “Go out. Call a friend. Do something.”
But I didn’t want to go out.
The only friends I had… were my family.
And the only thing I could think of doing was going back to the mansion and working on Cain.
“You’re pitiful,” I said to my reflection, which only made me frown. The sight bothered me, so I reminded myself, “It’s not your fault though. They made you pitiful.”
They. My family. The Callahans. They made me like this. My best friend killed my biological father, trashed his name. Then their drugs killed my mother, which was the reason I was an orphan. Everything, just like with computers, was a series of cause and effect. Input equals output. Since I was young, I could see it. It was logical. It was dependable. You put one and one together, you got two. A series of zeros and ones, you got code. Giant puzzle pieces that just needed to be set together. The complete opposite of people. People were messy and complicated and…
“Pitiful,” I said again. I was exactly this, often by my own craziness or my family’s. I tried to spend most of my time with computers. Input was computers and family; therefore, my output was that nothing else mattered but computers and family. Without either of those things, I felt useless.
“So why am I so upset?” I asked myself.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
My phone went off again. I wanted to answer, but I didn’t. And I didn’t understand myself for that. I wanted to go home.
Home to the people who destroyed your real parents? But they had no way of knowing their actions would lead to me.
So forgive them? Yes.
They don’t want forgiveness, though. Because they’re happy they have me.
So how do you forgive people who don’t want forgiveness? Who don’t think they did anything wrong? I don’t know.
I didn’t have an answer. I was at war with myself. My heart wanted to go, and yet my head kept stopping me, because I couldn’t think of an answer.
The scientific rule of Occam's razor states that entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily, which is interpreted as requiring that the simplest of competing theories are preferable to the more complex, or that explanations of unknown phenomena be sought first in terms of known quantities…basically in layman’s terms, the simplest answer is usually the right answer.
My problem was that the Callahan family is the reason my biological parents are dead, and yet I want to go back to the Callahan family. Applying Occam's razor to my problem, then the simplest answer is that…
“I don’t care about my biological parents,” I whispered to myself, and yet I couldn’t help but look away from myself. “That is a bad answer.”
But it didn’t feel like the wrong answer. I knew I wasn’t a good person. I’d come to terms with that, which was how I was able to get Ethan the information he needed, knowing what he’d do to the people I found. But for me to be this black-hearted? My biological parents loved me. I was sure of that, and I’d betrayed them by not even having the decency to leave the Callahans.
Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome?
I froze for a long time, going over that again and again in my head. And then I sat up quickly, dashed into my kitchen for my tablet, which was covered in poorly chopped onions. I slid the onions off of the screen and used my shirt to clean it off, because obviously I’m a savage. I held it up as if it were the newborn Christ. “Treating Stockholm syndrome,” I said to it. The few seconds it took to search felt like hours.
“Recovering from Stockholm syndrome ordinarily involves ‘psychiatric or psychological counseling,’ with an end goal of making patients realize that their actions and feelings stemmed from inherent human survival techniques. Counseling aims to reinstate normalcy into the lives of recovering victims and to make sure that they can function in a way that is not out of fear or in the sole interest of survival.” It read back to me. “Would you like to see more from this article?”
“Interesting,” I muttered, grabbing the bag of crouton
s off the counter and moving back to the living room.
“Not really. You don’t have Stockholm syndrome.”
My head snapped up at his voice, and even though I saw him, I couldn’t help but throw the table at him and scream, “MOTHERFUCK! Jesus fuck ah! WYATT!!”
“Sorry!” He couldn’t help but laugh at me before raising his arms up. In one of them he had a Chi-burger bag. He was wearing a black jacket over his dark grey suit. “Can I come in?”
“You’re already in!” My heart still racing, I had to hold the arm of my couch to yell at him. “How the hell did you even get in?!”
He took his cell phone out of his back pocket and showed me. “You put the app on my phone. I turned off the alarm because I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping and didn’t want to scare you.”
“Well you fucking failed!” I snapped, taking a deep breath. “What is wrong with you! Just because I put the damn app on your phone doesn’t mean come over whenever you damn well want. At least call first!”
“I’ve been calling you for days.”
And I paused, remembering why I was even in my apartment to begin with. Reaching up and rubbing my nose, I couldn’t find the words, and so I went with the first thing that went through my mind. “Wyatt, I’m not answering my phone because I don’t want to talk to you. I’m here because I don’t want to see you. If you can’t be ashamed of what you did, can’t you at least respect that?”
“You’re right…but do you mind getting me a first aid kit first?” He asked, and it was only then that I noticed the grimace on his face. He was smiling through pain. Before I could ask what happened, he moved around my couch, putting the burgers on the coffee table. Then he proceeded to take off his coat and suit jacket. Only then could I see the dampness on his shirt. The blood had soaked through his shirt.
It took a second for my brain to process what I was seeing. When it did, panic set in.
“WYATT!” I hollered, rushing toward him. “What the hell happened? You’re bleeding, fucking shot? Someone shot you!”
