by Hamel, B. B.
He slid himself back and turned me around. I dropped to my knees as he stroked himself. I took him into my mouth, sucked him three times, sliding him deep into my throat, and he came on the fourth. He filled my mouth and I moaned, swallowed him, his massive cock twitching on my lips. I licked him clean before he pulled me up and pinned me against the tile wall again. He kissed me, tongue against my tongue, and I held him tight.
We stood there in the shower, steam rising around us. I stared into his eyes and he held my hair in his palm, his other hand on my hip. His cock was still stiff as he stared at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said.
He clenched his jaw and I could see anger and pain in his eyes. I realized with a start that he just lost one of his soldiers, and I could only guess at the way he was feeling in that moment.
I reached up and touched his face.
“Go down there,” I said. “Go be with them.”
“I have to… have to take care of him. Get rid of his body. We’ll bury an empty casket, but he’ll get a funeral.” He let out a breath. “I’ll take care of his mother and his sister, too. They’ll never want for anything.”
“Good.” I kissed his neck. “Good, you’ll take care of everything.”
He pulled me away and his eyes roamed my body before he kissed me again then stepped out of the shower. He toweled himself off, gave me one last look, then left the room.
I watched him go then slid back down to the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest and let the hot water flow down my head, down my shoulders, and into the drain.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Davide again, slumped forward and lifeless.
17
Colleen
We parked outside of a simple rowhome with a brick front facade and empty window boxes. The door was red and the stoop was in good shape, like it had been redone in the last few years. Steven stared at the door for a long moment before taking a deep breath.
“Do they know already?” I asked.
He nodded. “Luca told them right after it happened.”
“That’s good,” I said. “You don’t have to break it to them then.”
He didn’t smile, just kept staring. I followed his gaze and wondered about those window boxes. I wondered if they’d once held flowers, and if they were empty because the flowers had died, or if Davide’s mother just didn’t much care about filling them up anymore.
It had only been a day since the drive by and Davide’s death. I kept seeing him slumped forward, kept feeling the sticky blood on my face and skin. I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I knew Steven was torn up about it even if he refused to talk. I tried to bring it up, but he simply ignored me and pretended like he hadn’t heard what I said.
I looked back at him and felt a strange surge of protectiveness. I wanted to shield him from this, but I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I owed him anything, wasn’t like any of this was my fault. If anything, this was the right thing to do, and yet I wanted to bring Steven back home and keep him away from anything that might hurt him.
Strange, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Come on,” he said, opening the door.
I hesitated then followed. I didn’t expect to go in with him, but if he needed me then I’d show up for him.
He walked to the simple red door and knocked. We waited a moment until a woman answered. She wore a simple cardigan, black trousers, and her eyes were puffy and red from crying. She had a tissue in her right hand, and her dark hair was pulled up into a messy, loose bun.
“Steven,” she said.
“Hello, Martha. Could we come in?”
Her eyes moved to me. “Who’s she?”
“This is Colleen,” he said. “She was there. I thought…” He trailed off and gestured, like that filled in the gaps.
Marta looked at me then turned away. “Come in,” she said.
She led us into a simple Philly rowhome. The layout was similar to Steven’s, though it was a little bit smaller. The living room was carpeted and religious paintings hung on the walls. The television was on mute and played a tennis match that I couldn’t pay attention to. It smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol, even though everything looked immaculate and neat. There was a bookcase with small trinkets on it, a porcelain baby doll, a little wooden manger scene, and a few different copies of the bible.
“Sit, please,” Martha said. She gestured at the kitchen table and her hand trembled just a little bit. “Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Steven took a seat and I pulled out the chair next to him. Marta hovered at the head of the table, one hand clutching her cardigan at her throat like she was afraid it might spill open.
She smiled at Steven and fresh tears welled up.
“How fast was it?” she asked.
Steven seemed taken off guard by the question. “How fast was what, Martha?” he asked.
“You know what I mean. Did he… did he suffer?”
“No,” Steven said and stared down at the table. He took a breath and looked up. “No, he didn’t suffer, I can promise you that at least.”
She nodded once and sat down abruptly in the chair at the head of the table. I wanted to go to her and hold her hand, but I knew that wasn’t my place.
There was a noise toward the front of the house. I turned and saw a girl come down the steps. She was a teenager, no older than sixteen, with dark hair in tight curls down around her shoulders. Her skin was blotchy and she had an angry scowl on her face as she walked toward us, her arms crossed over her chest. Her sweatpants were gray and baggy and a couple sizes too big, and her white t-shirt looked like it had been washed ten thousand times.
“What’s he doing here?” the girl asked.
“It’s okay, Tessie,” Martha said. “Steven’s just here to talk about Davide.”
“We don’t want you here,” Tessie said, staring at Steven. “You think you’re welcome here? You got my brother killed, you asshole.”
Steven flinched like he’d been slapped but he raised his eyes. I couldn’t believe the sorrow I saw in his expression, and for a second I wondered if he was faking it.
But no, he wasn’t faking. His voice trembled the slightest bit when he spoke.
“I loved your brother like he was my own,” he said. “The way things went down… that wasn’t supposed to happen. You both have my heartfelt apology.”
“You can take your apology and shove it up your—”
“Tessie!” Martha said. “Stop right now. Show Steven some respect.”
“Respect?” Tessie spit the word out like it was a disease. “How could you respect this man, Mom? Davide would be alive right now if it weren’t for him.”
“It wasn’t Steven’s fault,” I said, and everyone stared at me, including Steven. I blanched a little and felt myself sink back into the chair, but I forged ahead anyway. “He did his best in a bad situation. I was there when Davide died, and it was… it was a freak accident.”
“Nobody gets shot in the head in a freak accident,” Tessie said.
“Tessie,” Martha said. “Stop right now. I don’t want to hear this.”
“I know you don’t, Mom, but everyone’s talking about it. He got shot in the head when you were out killing some guys in that… what’s it called? The Celtic Club? That stupid Irish mafia.” She made a face and glared at me. “I bet you know a few of them, don’t you, bitch?”
“That’s enough.” Martha slammed her hands on the table. I jumped in surprise and stared at Steven. He only looked at Tessie with an expression caught between anger and sadness, but didn’t say a word. “Tessie, go back upstairs right now.”
“Screw this,” Tessie said. “You’re just as bad as everyone else, Mom. They don’t own you. They’re not worth it.” She shook her head, turned away, and stormed back upstairs.
Silence hung over the table, thick as the living room carpet.
“I’m sorry about her,” Martha said after a long m
oment. “Her father died three years ago from cancer. And now she’s not taking Davide’s death very well. It seems every man in her life ends up dead.” She smiled a rueful, angry smile.
“I’m sorry again, Martha,” Steven said. “I didn’t come here to defend what happened, only to reach out and let you know that the Family will always take care of you and your family.”
She nodded a little and touched her eyes with the tissue. “I don’t blame you, you know,” she said.
“It’s okay if you do.”
“But I don’t.” She reached out and touched his hand. He flinched, but didn’t move it away. “Before the Family took him in, Davide was troubled. He was on drugs, getting into fights, causing problems around the neighborhood. Then you came around and made him a better man. I’ll never thank you enough for that, and as far as I’m concerned, all the time we got with him while he was working for you was all just a bonus.”
Steven took her hand and squeezed it. He gave her a long look then released her and reached into his jacket. He took out a fat envelope and placed it down on the table and pushed it toward her. She hesitated then took it up and clutched it against her chest like a treasured stuffed animal.
“That’s just a little something to start,” he said. “I swear, I’m not paying you for Davide’s death. I’m only providing for his family, as he would’ve wanted. I’m sorry again, Martha.” He pushed his chair back and stood.
I stood and followed him around the table. Martha walked us to the door, her eyes glistening with tears as Steven turned the knob and opened it. A small wooden cross with a cherub floating at the top of it rattled as he went to leave.
“Steven?” Martha said.
He looked back.
“You’ll come to the funeral, won’t you?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, then turned and walked down the stoop.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said and hurried after him.
Marta stood in the door as Steven got behind the wheel and started the engine. I got in the passenger side and he pulled out, driving too fast. I clutched the dash for a moment before he glided through a stop sign, made a left then a right, then pulled over on the side of the road.
He sat there staring at the steering wheel before he punched it. He punched it hard once, twice, again and again. He hit it hard enough to break the skin on his knuckles as he growled like an animal. I flinched away from him, my eyes wide and shocked, as he took his aggression out on the car.
When he was finished, he sat there breathing hard. He didn’t look at me, didn’t look anywhere. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, and I could tell he wasn’t seeing anything around him.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said. “His sister was right. I got Davide killed. That was my fault.”
“No,” I said. “He knew what he signed up for.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m supposed to take care of them. I’m supposed to make sure shit like that never happens.”
“We got unlucky,” she said. “That guy… he wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“It doesn’t matter, don’t you get it?” He looked at me and I was surprised to see the depth of his anguish. “Davide’s dead and it’s my fucking fault.”
I sat there, at a loss for words. I wanted to speak platitudes, tell him time heals all wounds, that he just needs to keep going forward, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The truth was, I couldn’t imagine that Steven had so much emotional depth inside of him, and I was completely taken aback.
He took deep breaths to steady himself. I sat there and waited until he seemed to calm down a little bit. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“I’ll make sure his mother’s taken care of,” he said. “Fuck, I knew about his dad dying, but I forgot all about it.”
“You have a lot to handle,” I said.
“Yeah, I know.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’ll take care of his sister too, if she’ll let me. Pay for her college at the very least.”
“I’m not sure you owe them that much.”
He waved a hand. “I can afford it. I only wish…” He trailed off and stared out the windshield.
“Only wish what?”
He looked at me. “That you didn’t have to see it,” he said. “You were next to him when it happened.”
I bit my lip and looked away. I rubbed my palms over my thighs and clutched at my jeans.
“Yeah,” I said. “I keep… seeing it.”
He grunted and sighed. “You will for a while,” he said. “You never really forget the first time you see someone die like that.”
“Does it get easier?” I asked and hoped he didn’t hear the note of desperation in my tone.”
“It gets a lot easier,” he said. “But you never forget. They’re fucking people, even if they are the enemy. It’s even harder when your friends go.”
“Yeah.” I choked back tears, swallowed against them. I wasn’t going to cry, not right now. I barely even knew Davide, not like he did, and I knew he wasn’t going to cry, either.
He reached out and took my hand. I looked at him as he held it and stared forward out the windshield. We sat there for a few minutes, not talking, just his hand holding mine. I watched his face as he seemed to relax more, letting the stress of the day leave him bit by bit, leaving him hollowed out and drained.
But no matter how tired he looked, there was always more to do.
“Come on,” he said. He released my hand and started the engine. “I have some meetings to go to.”
“Meetings?” I smiled a little. “I forgot you were a very important business man.”
He gave me a little laugh and a small smile. “Something like that. I can drop you off at my place or at the bakery, which would you rather?”
“Bakery,” I said. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”
He nodded and didn’t speak again as we pulled out into traffic.
18
Steven
Davide’s funeral was a week after my visit to his mother’s house. The war went quiet for a while, and I didn’t push against the Club for a few days. Maybe I should’ve kept pushing while I felt the momentum, but instead I drove around the neighborhood with Luca, plotting out our next hits and planning what we’d do for revenge.
The day after Davide’s funeral, I woke early, drank coffee, and sat on my front stoop. The world woke around me and I breathed the Philly air deep, smelled the faintly cloying scent of gutter water, smog from too many cars in a tightly packed city, trash from the bags left to rot in the heat a few houses down. It wasn’t a perfect city, but it was my home, my fucking city.
And my guys were my fucking crew.
I got up and headed inside. I knocked on Colleen’s bedroom door at just after six in the morning, the sunlight barely starting to drift in through the windows.
“Wake up,” I said. “I’m coming in.”
I pushed the door open and found her sprawled on the bed, one leg out from under the sheets, her ass barely covered by a little pair of navy-blue boy shorts with white polka dots. I stared at her body as she rolled onto her side and glared at me. Her hair was a mess and her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to wake up.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Get up,” I said. “We’re going for a ride.”
“Right now?”
“You can shower first if you want.” I gave her a look and a smile. “Or you can just come like that. Either way’s fine by me.”
She groaned, grabbed her pillow, and flung it at me. “Get out.”
I laughed and shut her door.
I heard her shower run ten minutes later, and ten minutes after that she was sitting in my car sipping coffee from a black to-go mug with a sullen look on her face.
“What’s so important that you had to get me up?” she asked.
I pulled out into traffic. “I want to talk about your dad.”
She went still. We hadn’t talked about her father
for a few days. I hadn’t heard anything from the Club, and I was starting to think they’d killed the fucker already.
But I had to operate like he was still alive. I knew Colleen wanted to rescue him, and I promised her I’d take care of it. I’d put it off as long as I could, and I’d already lost more than I was willing to lose, so I might as well try and make things right with Colleen before it can get any worse.
“Did you hear something?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Why take him? And then do nothing about it?”
“Easy,” I said. “Your uncle doesn’t really give a shit about him.”
She stared at me for a second. “Then why take him at all?”
“He’s fucking with you,” I said.
She shook her head and gripped her mug tight. “That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does. Think about it. Your uncle thinks you betrayed him, right? But do you really think he’d kill his own brother?”
She hesitated, chewing on her lip. She lifted the mug up and drank from it.
“No,” she said.
“Were they close?” I asked.
“Not really, especially not after he left.”
I was quiet for a long moment. “What happened?” I asked. “To make your dad leave.”
She stared out the window. “It was a long time ago,” she said. “I was just a kid. I barely remember any of it.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No,” she said. “Maybe it’ll help.” She was quiet and sipped her coffee. I rolled through the streets, driving deliberately slow and in large circles, just to give her time to talk. Eventually, she took a breath.
“The Club was in some war,” she said. “I don’t remember who it was against or why they were fighting. My dad was big into it back then, you know? Part of the leadership. There were always guys over our house, running around, doing errands for him, especially when the war was on. I don’t know what they were doing, but in retrospect, I guess they were talking about strategy… and maybe making bombs.”
