The Killer's New Wife

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Ewan,” the Don grunted. “I want Colm Healy.”

  The words struck silence into the boys. It felt like a thick blanket was dropped down from the ceiling, and the tension ratcheted up wildly.

  “Dad,” Dean said slowly. “You can’t ask him to—”

  “I want Colm,” the Don said. “Kill him for me, boy.”

  Ewan didn’t move. His body was statue still, every muscle flexed. I wished I could see his face, but the back of him was a storybook of anxiety. I wanted to go over and kiss his neck and rub his shoulders, if only to help relieve some of that pain.

  “You don’t know it was them yet,” Dean said. “We’re not sure—”

  “Become sure,” the Don said. “Then Ewan, you will kill Colm.”

  “Dad,” Dean said, exasperated.

  But Ewan spoke up.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “Ewan,” Dean said. “He’s well-guarded. Come on, you won’t get close.”

  “They got close to us,” Ewan said, his voice on the edge of pure rage. “If they can hit the Don, then I can hit them harder.” Ewan stood up.

  “Colm,” the Don growled.

  “I’ll do it,” Ewan said, and turned away.

  His face was a twisted mask of pain and rage. I walked toward him, holding my hands out, and he took them. I led him away from the bed as Dean leaned forward and spoke quietly to his father. I couldn’t hear him, but I assumed it was soothing, or maybe arguing for him to drop this idea and leave Ewan alone.

  But Ewan wouldn’t leave it alone. I could see it in his eyes, could see the determination and hate. It was cold and horrible, and reminded me what he was, deep down inside, the killer, the monster. I took his hands in mine and went to the door, and together we left, back out into the hall.

  “You don’t have to,” I said weakly.

  He shook his head. “Yes, I do,” he said, and we left the hospital without another word.

  15

  Ewan

  Tara kicked her feet up on the dash of my car and leaned back in her seat. “How long are we doing this again?” she asked.

  “Until we spot a Healy,” I said, and peered through a pair of binoculars toward the club at the end of the block. It was a short building, lower down than all the row homes around it, with a dark green metal door, windows covered over by white wood, and no signs out front. A big guy in a black jacket sat on a stool outside, arms crossed over his barrel chest, and glared around at the otherwise empty street.

  “I don’t know why I agreed to do this with you,” Tara said, groaning.

  “It’s been twenty minutes.” I put the binoculars down and smirked at her, leaning over to put my hand on her thigh. “Come on, darling. The party just started.”

  She pushed my hand away. “Twenty long, torturous minutes,” she said. “Are you sure we’re in the right spot?”

  “I’m sure,” I said and handed her the binoculars for the tenth time. She took them and leaned forward, staring down the street. We were parked a block down, on the opposite side, far enough that we wouldn’t be easily spotted, but there was a clear enough view of the door. It was early, around ten in the morning, and I didn’t expect any important Healy guys to show up anytime soon.

  The place was called Heaven’s End and it was one of the filthiest strip clubs in the city. They barely pretended to be a gentleman’s club—the private dances inevitably had a happy ending, and the girls were all trafficked from some Third World country. Healy money must’ve continually flowed into police coffers, otherwise the place should’ve been shut down already.

  “Just looks like a door and a tired old fat guy to me,” she grumbled and handed the binoculars back.

  “What did you expect?” I asked. “Big neon signs that said, ‘come have sex with hookers here’ or something?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, I just mean, there’s nothing at all. It’s totally barren.”

  “That’s the point,” I said. “They want to be nondescript.”

  “And yet you know about it.”

  I sighed and rubbed my face. “Everyone in my business knows Heaven’s End, okay? Everyone knows the Healy family runs it, and everyone knows it’s a real piece of shit.”

  “You ever been inside?” She glanced at me with a curious frown.

  “No,” I said, glaring at her. “What do you think?”

  “Just asking.” She stretched her legs with a groan. “I don’t like stakeouts.”

  “They’re boring,” I said.

  “Can we at least have music?”

  “The battery will run out, so no, we’re stuck like this.”

  “Battery run out? You think we’re going to be here for hours?”

  I shrugged and tried not to smile as she let out a long groan.

  Truth was, stakeouts were the worst. I didn’t blame her for feeling bored and antsy. This was dangerous work, and a lot could go wrong. My face wasn’t widely known throughout the city, but there were guys in the Healy family that would know me by sight. If one of those happened to walk by and notice the two of us, we’d be completely fucked. Not much I could do about that, though.

  We spent the afternoon staring at a boring door. The equally boring doorman smoked seemingly endless cigars and paced around for a little while before slumping back down on his stool. That was probably his exercise for the day, considering the state of him. He was practically bursting out of his jeans and jacket, and I had to wonder why the Healys would put a guy like that on guard duty.

  Probably just the first line of defense. And besides, not many people in the city were stupid enough to attack a joint like Heaven’s End.

  I moved the car a few times as the day dragged on. If we stayed in one spot, it’d become a little too obvious. Tara complained, but not too much, and she went for a walk once or twice to stretch her legs and to get some food from the deli nearby.

  “How many times have you done something like this?” she asked as the afternoon wore to a close and the sun dipped down, sending scattered pink rays along the tops of the buildings. She looked gorgeous in the long, soft lighting, and I was tempted to reach out and touch her shining auburn hair.

  “More than I’d like to admit,” I said. “In my line of business, there’s a lot of waiting around.”

  “When you go murder people,” she said flatly. “Don’t call it your line of business. You murder people.”

  “I kill people,” I said, not ashamed of it. “I’m sure you don’t like that.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “It’s a horrible thing.”

  “True,” I agreed, looking out the windshield. We were closer to the door, close enough that we didn’t need the binoculars. I’d move us again in a little bit to a different spot down the street, but we were fine for now. “I never thought I’d have the stomach for it.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked softly. “I mean, the morality? It’s wrong to kill people.”

  “I don’t think about my immortal soul all that often,” I admitted. “I figure, at this point, why bother? I’m already too far down that path, darling.”

  “I just mean, doesn’t it bother you at night? How many men have you killed?”

  I closed my eyes for a second and could see all their faces, even the most recent guy, his body thrashing as I drowned him in the toilet. I’d never forget them, each one of them different and impactful, and I carried them with me wherever I went, even her father, that rotten bastard. Even he remained in my mind, because he was a person, even if he was a broken and terrible person. I took justice out on him, and I’d pay for that one day, but I wouldn’t take it out on myself.

  “You don’t want the number,” I said. “But I think about them.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because they’re bad people,” I said softly and leaned forward, peering over the steering wheel. “You think the kind of guys I go after have clean hands? I kill the killers, Tara. They send me over drug pushers, abusers, murderers
, thieves, and worse, guys like your father. I carry those deaths with me but I don’t let them weigh me down.”

  “I couldn’t do it,” she said, staring straight ahead. “All that blood. I don’t know how you stand it.”

  “I don’t think about it,” I said. “And when I do, I don’t mind. The world’s a better place without them in it.”

  She smiled slightly. “Would it be a better place if you weren’t here? Or what about the Valentino family? Don’t act like you kill out of some moral superiority.”

  “I kill for my family,” I said, frowning. “I do what I have to do.”

  “Nobody has to be a killer,” she said.

  “Without men like me, the world would be a darker place.”

  She didn’t reply to that, and I didn’t expect her to. What I did was hard to understand, especially for a girl like her. Even though she had a fucked-up father, she was raised sheltered and didn’t know about the darkest sides of humanity. Those blighted, broken people were all around, preying on the weak and vulnerable, and the Don sent me after them. Maybe he did it for his own selfish reasons, to keep the Valentino family in power, but it didn’t matter to me one way or the other.

  If the Valentino family weren’t running the streets, it would be someone else, and I’d rather have some control than none at all.

  I was good at killing. And sometimes, it felt right to choke the life out of some bastard that threatened my friends and family, or to put a bullet through the head of a sex trafficker. If that meant I was a bad person too, if I was just as broken and deranged, I’d accept that, but I wouldn’t stop.

  Ahead, halfway down the block, a couple of people began toward Heaven’s End. The doorman, who had been pretty lethargic for the past hour and I was beginning to wonder if he might fall asleep, suddenly stood up. Tara noticed too, and sat up straight, leaning forward.

  I squinted against the setting sunlight, and caught a glimpse of a man coming close. He was tall, chiseled jaw, muscular build. I’d recognize that bastard anywhere.

  “Ronan,” Tara said softly.

  I nodded slightly. “Yeah, that’s him,” I said, then stopped and stared at her. “How the hell do you know that?”

  She looked away from the door and her mouth fell open. I could see the excuses flash across her face like she wanted to lie to me, but couldn’t come up with something fast enough. My hand shot out and I grabbed her wrist, held it tight, and leaned closer.

  “Tara,” I growled. “How do you know that man is Ronan Healy? Have you met him before?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head rapidly. “I mean, yes, but recently. Not before all this.”

  I clenched my jaw, but released her wrist. I wasn’t going to intimidate her if I didn’t have to, but I suddenly felt a wave of paranoia wash over me. I’d been a target for the other families for a long time, and I wondered how far they’d go to get me.

  “I think you should explain,” I said slowly, not looking away from her, and she shrank back away from me, against the car door.

  She didn’t speak at first, and she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, before finally letting out a frustrated sigh. “I meant to tell you,” she said, “but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

  “Tara, what happened?” I tried to keep the edge from my voice, but didn’t manage it.

  She flinched, like I’d slapped her. “I went for a walk a few days ago,” she said. “I was so cooped up and you went somewhere, so I thought it would be safe, you know?”

  I closed my eyes. I remembered her coming back from somewhere after I went to a meeting with Dean and I hadn’t pressed her on it, but I thought it was strange at the time. That must’ve been when it happened.

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  She told me the whole story: meeting Ronan in the park, his threats, his attempt at winning her over, the way she ran home. When she was done, her cheeks were flushed, and she leaned toward me again.

  “I promise, I didn’t tell him anything,” she said quickly. “He wanted to try to convince me to help them, but I told him to go to hell.”

  I nodded slowly and looked back at Heaven’s End. Ronan was inside, and the doorman was back on his little perch, but looked wide awake now. I wondered when someone would come to relieve the poor fucker—he’d been there for hours now.

  “That’s it then, huh,” I said gently. “They think you know about your father’s business.”

  “I think so, yeah,” she said. “That’s why they’re desperate to take me away, and I think that’s why the Don wants you to keep me around so badly.”

  “Fuck,” I said and leaned my head back against the seat.

  I should’ve seen this, but I hadn’t realized it until right now. Of course she was right—the test was only part half of the equation. The Don didn’t do anything without having some hidden motive behind it, and now I completely understood why he was so insistent on keeping Tara around.

  They wanted her father’s business. They wanted his routes, his methods, his contacts, his girls, his fucking drugs. They wanted it all, because the Don wanted to expand our whoring business.

  I felt a ripple of rage and pushed back against it. That couldn’t be right. The Don knew how I felt about trafficking, knew how much I despised selling girls like they were prime rib in some restaurant. He knew I wouldn’t work for him if he grew that side of the Valentino business, and for years it had languished, just one minor piece of the entire puzzle.

  Now he wanted to bring Tara into the fold, and to mine her for whatever secrets she held about what her father did for a living.

  But she didn’t know a goddamn thing. I was sure of that, surer than anything else, and the Don didn’t realize it. He lay in his hospital bed, thinking Tara held the key to unlocking the sex trade, and all he had to do was sacrifice my dignity to get it.

  I squeezed my eyes shut then opened them again and put the car into gear.

  “Where are we going?” Tara asked.

  “Moving down the block,” I said then leaned across the seat and put my hand on her leg. I pulled her hair toward me and made her tilt her chin up. “You’ve got to promise me something.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, voice slightly strangled.

  “Never talk to Ronan again,” I said. “Stay away from him. Don’t leave my sight until this is over.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “I didn’t mean to. Now let me go, you’re hurting me.”

  I kissed her and tightened my grip in her hair. She gasped and made a slight moaning groan while I held her there. I broke the kiss off and released her, leaning back in my seat.

  She stared at me, chewing on her lip. “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we watch for Ronan to come back out then follow him,” I said.

  “Are we going to hurt him?” she asked, sounding slightly worried.

  I shook my head. “No, he’s not my target. But I might hurt someone around him.” I glanced at her and wondered how much she gave a shit about Ronan, and what they’d talked about. Maybe he would be worth picking up if I got the chance, though Ronan was not some common street soldiers. He was dangerous, and I thought I could take him in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  Better not to risk it then. Find an easier target, and go from there.

  She didn’t answer, and we went back to waiting for them to come out.

  16

  Tara

  The rest of that night was a frenzy. We tailed after Ronan until midnight, when he finally disappeared into a house a quiet neighborhood deep in West Philly. Ewan watched the front for a while before calling it a night.

  We didn’t talk much back at the apartment, and I fell asleep not long after that. I had vivid dreams of Ewan breaking into my house and burning all my things, then burning me in the process, and the whole time I liked it, the fire felt like pleasure on my skin, like feathers tickling the hairs on my arms, and I wanted him to keep burning me forever.

  He woke me up early the next mornin
g. “Wear something comfortable,” he said, and left to make coffee. We drove out not long later and parked near that house again. It looked nicer in the daylight, with a black front door and matching shutters. The front stoop looked new, and the facade was clean and fresh, like it’d been refinished in the last few years. The rest of the neighborhood was in decent shape, but not as nice as that house.

  “You think he lives here?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” he said. “I’m not sure though.”

  Another silence. I sipped coffee. He stared at the door. I wanted to crack his head open and read his mind like a book.

  I couldn’t understand his obsession with all this. It was like he didn’t care about life and death. He talked about killing only the bad people, but he had to see how absurd that was. All these men were bad, including his own Valentino family, and if he had cared at all about justice or any of that crap, he’d go after them all, or he’d join the police, or something like that.

  Instead, he went right on killing. “I want you to admit something to me,” I said, watching his reaction carefully.

  “All right,” he said. “But I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “You kill people because you love your family,” I said. “Not because of some sense of justice or whatever it is you think.”

  He tilted his head. “You’re not wrong, but believe it or not, people can have more than one reason for doing something.”

  “But I don’t think you do,” I said, pressing. “I think the Don took you in as a boy, and now you feel like you owe him your life and your soul. But I don’t think you owe him all that, Ewan.”

  “Yeah?” He turned to me, eyes suddenly hard. “What do you think, then?”

  “He saved you back then,” I said, looking away, unable to take his angry, hurt glare. “That doesn’t mean he owns you. I feel like I owe you a debt, but do you own me?”