by Hamel, B. B.
“Okay, Petey, don’t jump on me,” I said, pushing the door open.
Petey was a big black lab, three years old, and a rescue. When I got him from the pound, he was a skinny little thing, but over the last year I had rehabilitated him back into shape. He wagged his tail, excited to see me, sniffing my body and running around me.
“Hi, Petey,” I said, petting his shoulder and moving into the apartment. I pushed my door shut behind me and looked around, sighing.
My place was small but comfortable, the best I could afford on a new teacher’s salary. Clothes were draped over almost every surface, and I was thankful that Petey hadn’t ripped anything up. I felt bad leaving him alone all day, but I stopped by the apartment on my lunch break to take him for a quick walk. I ruffled the hair on his side and patted him as I walked farther into the room.
“Okay, Petey, feeling bored?” I asked him. He sniffed at me in response, running around in circles. He knew it was almost time for his nightly walk.
“Just a second, bud, let me get settled,” I said.
Living alone could be hard sometimes, but Petey made it better. Anyway, it definitely beat finding some strangers on Craigslist, or living with Chelsea. I loved her to death, but she was a slob, and that said a lot coming from me. Plus, she was allergic to dogs, and I couldn’t imagine living without Petey.
I dropped my bag on the couch and walked into the small bedroom, Petey nipping at my knees. I changed into more comfortable clothes, yoga pants and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. I went back out into the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt, pulling off the tab and taking big mouthfuls. Petey was practically having a seizure from anticipation, his tail wagging like crazy. I grinned at him as I finished my small meal.
“Okay, bud, walk time,” I said, and he went nuts.
I picked up two plastic bags from the small container I had on the kitchen counter and pushed them into my sweatshirt pouch. I grabbed his leash from the small wooden pegs I had nailed up next to the front door and looked at him.
“Sit down,” I said. He obeyed, tail wagging like mad. I knelt down next to him and fastened the leash onto his collar.
“Okay,” I said as I opened the front door. He excitedly went out into the hallway and stood there, tail wagging, as I locked the door. I grinned down at him.
“Let’s go over to the art museum today,” I said.
We walked down the steps and pushed out into the cool evening air. I looked down the empty block and started to walk north toward the river.
As we moved along the sidewalk, my thoughts drifted back toward college and the friends I’d lost. I wasn’t sure why, probably because Richie’s older brother reminded me so much of the guy I hadn’t spoken to since we graduated. There was something about the way he held himself, with such easy confidence and grace, and how quickly his cocky smile appeared on his face. Even when that guy Liam was trying to do his best parent impression, he still seemed like an arrogant, caged animal. But like my old friend from school, there was something more to him, something I didn’t really understand.
Back then, I was an addict. Well, I was still an addict, but I was recovering one day at a time. I was two years clean, and although I had slipped a little on going to meetings regularly, I still made it a point to get there at least twice a month. Without AA, I don’t know where I would have been. More importantly, without my friends encouraging me to get help, I would never have even found the courage and the desperation to get help. I was a mess, popping pills and snorting coke and who knew what else, barely sleeping and failing all of my classes. It took one horrible night, one blacked-out and dark moment to force me to turn my shit around, but I did and I never looked back.
It all felt so long ago, but talking with Liam had dredged those memories back up. They weren’t all bad, though they mostly were. More importantly, I had made it, I had survived those awful years. I had been on the path to self-destruction, but I took control of my life and surrendered myself to the program.
Petey squatted down next to a tree and did his business, pulling me out of my memories. I made a face.
“Must be nice, having a human pick up your poop.”
He looked at me and seemed almost guilty. I cleaned up the mess and dropped the bag off in a nearby trashcan, and then I looked around. We were a block away from the art museum, and although Petey had already done his nightly duty, I decided we might as well finish my planned walk. I started moving again, with Petey right next to me, his tail wagging, sniffing every random spot he saw.
Sometimes, I imagined the world through a dog’s eyes. There was the regular layer of everything we usually saw—shadows thrown from a flagpole, heavy green grass, granite shimmering slightly in sunlight, the scarlet red of the sunset—but there was also the smell world. Dogs existed in an entirely different place than we did.
I needed to get out more.
We hugged the sidewalk that curved around the art museum and took a left and headed up toward the river. Statues dotted the walk, but I didn’t bother to look at them. I’d read their plaques a hundred times already, at least. Petey wanted to smell them, but it was getting late and I didn’t want to let him pause for too long.
The place was surprisingly abandoned as we made it down toward the old water company. The sunset looked gorgeous reflected off the water, and the grass and bushes blew softly in the breeze. I shivered for some reason, although I wasn’t very cold. Something felt weird about the scene, but I had no clue why. I glanced around, noting how empty it was, as I made my way up to the railing that overlooked the Schuylkill River.
I stopped and leaned against its cool, smooth metal and looked out at the water moving lazily to the south. The buildings across the way looked huge and dark as the sun began to slowly dip below the horizon. Petey sniffed at a particularly interesting spot next to me.
“Found something good?” I asked him, and he wagged his tail.
That’s when I heard it. Down by the river, almost directly below me, there was a loud splash. Surprised, I leaned over the railing, letting it dig into my stomach as I dipped my head downward, my hair spilling all around me.
There, standing in the shadows of some small trees, were two big guys in black sweatshirts. Floating in the water, half submerged, was what looked like a black package, wrapped in plastic and duct tape. It was slowly sinking, and the two men were rolling another package after it.
I had no clue what they were doing. As far as I knew, dumping trash into the river was illegal, but that was probably why they were doing it quickly and quietly. I watched as they stood together, rolling the second package along the dirt and stones, and heaved, tossing it into the water after the first. There was another loud splash, and the first package dipped down below the water, with the second package not far behind it. I heard the one man grunt and say something, but I couldn’t make it out at my distance.
Suddenly, Petey started barking and jerked at the leash. I looked back at him, and he was staring across the lawn at a squirrel, barking like crazy.
“Petey, no,” I said firmly.
“Hey,” I heard someone call out, and I looked back over the rail.
The two men were standing directly below, staring up at me. I stared back, shocked at the expressions on their faces. One man was handsome and gruff with a thick beard, and the other was shorter and heavier, and was wearing a black wool cap. Both of them looked shocked but furious, as if I had walked in on them doing something terrible.
And maybe I had.
“Hey, lady,” one called out to me.
Immediately, I pulled back.
“Shh, Petey!” I said, quieting him down. The squirrel was gone, but Petey was still on high alert.
“Stay there, lady,” I heard the voice call out again.
Why would they need to yell up at me? The whole thing was weird and shady, and I didn’t want any part in it. I had been in plenty of fucked up situations in my past, and I had developed a sixth sense for danger. Without a second thought, I
began walking fast, heading back toward the museum. Petey could tell that something was wrong by how fast I was moving, and he whined softly, his tail wagging hard. We began to climb back up the steep hill, angling toward the relative safety of the museum and the more crowded sidewalks. I knew my best bet was to reach light and a crowd, assuming that they wouldn’t do anything insane in front of witnesses. I got to the top of the hill when I heard him call out again.
“Stop, lady!” he yelled.
He appeared at the top of the staircase that led down to the ledge on which they had been standing. His face looked enraged as he began to move toward me.
Fear and adrenaline spiked through my chest, and I began to run. Petey kept up beside me, trotting hard as I jogged fast toward the sidewalk. We hit the pavement hard and I kept my pace up, not slowing down to look back. I jogged down another hill, toward Kelly Drive. Cars whizzed past, their headlights making shadows of the trees. I glanced back as I began to cut right, heading back toward my apartment, and saw the man following me, far back but coming fast.
My heart raced, pure fear nailing down to the core of me as I picked up my pace. I had no clue why he would chase me, but obviously they had been doing something illegal that they hadn’t wanted me to see. What was he planning to do if he caught me? I kept running, Petey keeping pace, as we made our way south, running toward my apartment. There were more people out on the sidewalks, and I felt a little bit safer, but not nearly enough to stop running. The fact that the guy would run after me meant he was serious, and crowds probably wouldn’t be enough to deter him. I kept moving, hoping people would mistake me for a jogger, and not sure why I cared what anyone thought.
As I made a left, I glanced back but didn’t see the man behind me anymore. I had crossed over from the relatively open space around the museum back into the crowded city blocks. I couldn’t tell if I had lost him or if I just couldn’t see him through the other pedestrians. I slowed down my pace to an easy jog, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I realized how exhausted I was from my short sprint, my whole body on fire, my leg muscles tight and painful, my chest heaving. Petey kept moving beside me, glancing up at me with confusion.
I made another right, heading back to my block. I weaved my way through the other evening walkers, past closed bodegas and barbershops and beer stores, past local bars and delis and more, and finally crossed onto my block. I climbed the stoop quickly, unlocked the front door, got Petey inside, and slammed it shut behind me.
Breathing deep, terror still pulsing through me, I moved up the stairs, unlocked my apartment door, and went inside. I took off Petey’s leash and slammed my deadbolt shut. I ran to my front window and peeked out: nothing unusual. I watched for what felt like ten minutes, but I didn’t see the man that had been chasing me.
What was in those packages? They were pretty large, and they looked really heavy. They were crudely done, so they must not have been professionally wrapped or something. And they didn’t sink immediately, which I thought was weird. It must have been something bad if that guy was willing to chase me for catching them, though. I was in a relatively secluded spot, and I guessed those guys had dumped whatever into the river before without any issues.
I moved away from the window, my heart rate and breathing coming under control.
“That was crazy, wasn’t it, Petey?” I said to him, and he whined at me. “What’s the matter?”
Then I remembered that I hadn’t fed him yet.
Sighing to myself, I pulled his food out of the cupboard and gave him his nightly scoop. As he devoured it, I put the teakettle on to boil, hoping something warm would calm my nerves.
I had never run from someone like that before. For a second there, I had genuinely feared for my life. I had no clue what that guy would have done if he had caught me, and I was glad he hadn’t.
I shook my head. I would have to alter my dog-walking route for a while, at the very least. That, or risk those guys seeing me again. Briefly, I wondered if I should call the cops, but what would I have told them? I couldn’t really describe the men I had seen very well, and it wasn’t like they’d still be there. As the kettle boiled, I decided it was best if I just forgot about the whole thing.
Maybe that guy didn’t mean me any harm at all, and I overreacted. Maybe he just wanted to explain what they were doing, and it was a totally innocent misunderstanding. As I poured the hot water into a mug, I decided that was what happened. I dropped a bag of mint tea into the hot water and let it steep, remembering the slap the packages had made on the muddy-brown river water.
Petey looked at me quizzically, and I smiled at him.
It was over. Things would go back to normal. I could forget that guy and move on. At least it was a good story I could tell people in the future.
I sipped my tea and smiled, laughing at how stupid I was to run like that.
Chapter Three: Liam
Every morning was more or less the same: I picked the kid up at his mom’s house, hoping that nothing had happened overnight, I drove him to school, dropped him off, and then I headed out to my territory. Day in and day out, like punching the clock at some regular-ass job.
Except there was nothing regular or normal about what I did.
I pulled around back behind my place and stopped my truck at the end of the alley. I cut the engine and climbed out, stretching.
My place was one of the best pub spots in all of south Philly, at least in my humble opinion. It may have been a front for laundering my less-than-legal business transactions, but I made sure to take at least a little pride in it. Some guys had Laundromats that stank of urine, and some guys ran delis with disgusting meat, but not me. I made sure to keep my beer list fresh, my menu delicious, and my décor modern. The hipsters loved my shit, and they had no clue that they were buying their overpriced beer from a violent mobster. I loved looking out over my place on busy nights at the rich kids in their trendy glasses, wondering how many of them would run screaming if they knew who I was and what I did.
I pushed through the back door and into the kitchen.
“Morning, boss,” Luis said, looking up from prepping for lunch.
“Morning,” I grunted back.
Luis ran the kitchen and wasn’t involved in the shady part of my business. Like all my other workers, he probably had a pretty good idea about what went on, but I paid him well and he kept his mouth shut and did his job, which was exactly what I looked for in an employee.
I nodded to the other kitchen guys and pushed out into the main room.
“Morning, Liam,” Colin said.
“Morning,” I said, walking behind the bar and pouring myself a coffee.
Colin was my number two, although that didn’t mean much. I controlled a good-sized neighborhood near where my restaurant was located, which meant that I was tasked with selling the drugs, protecting the businesses, and extorting anyone who refused to pay. Sometimes we broke knees, and sometimes we just threatened. Overall, my territory was clean and easy, but mostly because I worked to keep it that way.
In terms of the overall Mob’s structure, I was middle management. Colin was one of many up-and-coming young guys, stepping into spaces left by the older generation that had either run off or been killed during the chaos of the past month. I didn’t know much about him, but he had come highly recommended. I had no clue how he had gotten the promotion to my second, but he was a decent worker.
And I didn’t trust him. Not one tiny bit.
Colin was about my height and strong. His dark hair was kept short, and he typically wore the same uniform of a button-down shirt and loose-fitting chino pants. He said he liked to look professional when he collected the take from the junkie dealers we employed.
Personally, I didn’t give a shit what he looked like. I was more worried about the knife he was inevitably going to try to slip into my back.
That was how you lived when you began to climb the ranks. One eye open all the time, even if you weren’t one of the top bosses.
“What’s on the menu?”
He shrugged. “Luis got something.”
I nodded and sipped my coffee.
“You seeing Brink today?”
Colin nodded. “Take goes up.”
“Bring Joey with you.”
He looked confused. “Why do I need Joey?”
“Just do it.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Brink was our local junkie dealer, and our go-to guy for picking up the week’s cash. Joey was one of my soldiers, though I didn’t know him all that well. From what I could tell, he wasn’t interested in fame or climbing the ranks: he just wanted to be made Right, to crack skulls, and to live honorably. Also, he wanted money and pussy, but who didn’t?
“Luis,” I yelled.
The kitchen door opened. “Yeah, boss?”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs and shit,” he said.
I gave him a look. “Scrambled, ketchup, hold the shit.”
“You got it.” He disappeared into the back. Colin chuckled and I sipped my coffee again.
That was our routine. I showed up early, I got some coffee, I went over the day’s jobs with Colin, and I ate. Normal, routine, like punching a clock, except dangerous. Way more dangerous.
As Luis returned with my food, Colin’s phone rang.
“Colin,” he said, answering.
I glanced at him and then did a double take. His face was white, and he looked terrified, like he had seen a vampire or something.
“Okay, hold on,” he said.
He stood and walked over to me, holding out his phone.
“Big boss wants to talk to you,” he said.
I gave him a look. “What’s with you?”
“It’s Boss Brennan. He wants to talk to you.”
I dropped my fork and grabbed the phone. No wonder the kid looked like he was about to shit himself. Colm Brennan was the head boss of the Irish Mob, at least ever since the chaos happened. When the old boss Michael disappeared, Colm began cutting throats and knocking skulls until there was a nominal peace and he was in charge.
