by Hamel, B. B.
I laughed again and grabbed his duffle. It was as heavy as my own. I climbed out of the car slowly, heaving the second bag over my back. I paused for a second, and then I pulled the one duffel open and tossed Leary the two big stacks of cash from Colm’s safe. He grinned at me.
“See you, Leary.”
“Stay safe, Liam.”
I nodded and he drove off. I waited a minute or two until he was completely out of sight until I started my long trek back to the safe house, taking a circuitous path.
Hopefully, there was only one more suicide mission, and all of this could be over. Hopefully, the people that deserved my revenge would get it. I pictured that as I trudged along, lugging the two duffle bags on my back.
The real work could begin.
Chapter Twenty: Ellie
––––––––
It was late and I was exhausted, but it wasn’t like I was going to get a wink of sleep, not with Liam out there breaking into the office of the most dangerous guy in the city.
I sifted through the pages spread around me in the living room again idly, though I don’t expect to find anything new. I’d been through them top to bottom maybe a hundred times, and I had them practically memorized. Unsurprisingly, nothing new jumped out at me, although the signs were all still there: small money moving around to various offshore accounts, all very shady and weird. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Liam insisted that it suggested Colm was stealing from the old boss.
Frustrated, I tossed the papers across the room and flopped onto my back. I knew I wasn’t really mad at the papers; really, I was worried as hell about Liam. He had been gone for a few hours, and it was almost dawn. I could practically feel the sun starting to peek over the horizon. He should have been back, or at least he should have called. Actually scratch that; I didn’t have a phone.
I groaned. I wished more than anything that I could be out there with him, even if I was just off to one side keeping watch. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been stuck in one place for so long. I itched for something. Really, I itched for him, for his cocky smile and his muscular body, for the depth underneath his stupid jokes and tough-guy act. Over the long days of living with him, I had discovered something I didn’t expect. The worry churning up my gut meant something, and I knew that I should figure out exactly what, but I was afraid.
There was a scratch at the door, and the knob turned, and instead of the usual fear I felt every moment since it all started, relief flooded through my system. When he pushed open the door and stepped into the room, two huge black duffle bags slung over his back, sweat dripping down his brow, I didn’t hesitate. As he dropped the bags on the floor and locked the door, I threw my arms around him, pressing myself against his broad, strong back.
“Hey—” he said, but I squeezed him and he shut up.
I breathed his smell in deeply, savoring the sweat and the feel of him. He was so solid, the most solid thing I had ever felt in my entire life, and I couldn’t imagine him leaving me. I couldn’t imagine him disappearing.
“It’s okay,” he said softly.
I pulled away, feeling a little embarrassed. “I know it is. I’m just glad you’re back.”
He turned and grinned. “Missed me?”
I rolled my eyes and gestured toward the bags. “Is that it?”
His eyes lit up and he nodded. “Everything from his office.”
“And you didn’t get caught?”
He laughed. “I’d be dead if I did.”
“You’re incredible.”
“I know.”
I walked over to the first bag and dragged it into the middle of the living room, clearing out the old papers. I upturned the bag, letting the papers and binders and folders spill out like an avalanche, cascading all over the space. Even though each page meant hours of more work, I felt elated and excited. Finally, I was going to be able to help out. I was going to have a job to do.
“Easy there,” he said.
“This is my domain,” I replied, dropping to my knees and starting to sift through everything.
“Your domain?”
I nodded, not really paying any attention to him. “Yeah. This is my thing. I’m going to find what you need.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
I glanced up at him. “You don’t have to keep protecting me. We’re in this together.”
I couldn’t read his face for a second. After a moment, though, he smiled softly and yawned. “Fine. I’m not arguing. You hungry?”
I nodded again, not really paying attention. He said something else, but I was completely immersed in my task, moving the pages around and skimming through their contents. He grumbled and stepped past me, going into the kitchen. I heard him banging around, and the smell of cooking eggs and coffee wafted through the house. My stomach growled, but I refused to be distracted. I still had hundreds of pages to go through, and I was keenly aware that every second counted.
I had no clue how long I spaced out for. After a little while, skimming a document and finding a place for it become automatic. I was beyond exhausted, both physically and mentally, but I didn’t think that anything could have pulled me away from that task, not at that moment at least. My hands moved, one page after another, words and phrases and numbers waving and mixing in my vision, pages dropping into piles. I was a computer, I realized. I was a process. I was the conduit between chaos and organization, and that organization could easily save our lives. One missed number, one missed line, and we were done for. Picking locks and breaking skulls, that was important. But sifting data through the vast mounds of paper and constant streams of numbers and letters was equally essential.
And more than anything, I knew that everything meant something. It wasn’t just a bunch of random words and symbols amounting to nothing. It was a vital force in our lives, it was a record of the past, an actual, tangible proof of things that came before. In my hands I held the secrets to the mysteries of things that were long gone, lost in the sea of time. With enough data, I thought to myself, I could prove that anything happened, pin down exactly where each moment started, the genesis of every thought and feeling.
“Ellie?” Liam’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I looked up, startled. He was standing above me, looking concerned.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I asked, my pulse racing.
“Everything’s fine. I’ve been calling your name for, like, five minutes.”
I felt heat rise in my face and embarrassment overtook me. I realized I had been completely ignoring him, so lost in my task that everything else around me had disappeared.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Come on, eat something, then you can get back to work.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to stop, not while I was in the groove, but I was probably a little delirious from lack of sleep. Plus, my stomach was grumbling. Reluctantly, I stood up and padded after him as he walked into the kitchen.
He gestured at the table and I sat down in front of his trademark eggs and toast. It smelled amazing and tasted even better, probably the best he’d ever done. He put a mug of coffee in front of me that I sipped gratefully as he sat down and tucked into his own meal.
We shoveled our food down in silence like that, though it was a comfortable silence. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and looked at me appraisingly, sipping his coffee. The sun was rising through the kitchen windows, filling the room with a weak gold and red light.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m fine. Ready to get back to work.”
“You should sleep first.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m done sorting.”
He nodded and didn’t argue.
“What’s next?” I asked him after a beat.
“Next, we go through all that shit, and eventually I approach de Barra, hopefully with some real solid leads.”
I nodded. “You think he’ll help?”
�
�I honestly have no clue.”
We lapsed into silence again. Finally, Liam stood up and stretched.
“Well, I’m going to sleep.”
He walked across the kitchen and I watched his body move, so sure of himself and smooth. As he passed by me, something gripped my chest, some unexplainable urge, and I reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked down at me, surprised, and I stared back at him, my mouth hanging open.
“Liam, I—”
Before I could say what was bubbling up through me, he reached down and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pressed his lips against mine. I dug my fingers into his back and returned his kissed with a hunger I hadn’t realized was there. I could taste him, plus his sweat and his coffee, and I loved every second of it as a shiver ran through my chest and my spine. I felt him run his fingers through my hair.
Slowly, the kiss ended, and he parted from me. He kissed my forehead softly, and I stared up into his serious face, his eyes full of passion and darkness and sadness. I didn’t know what to say, though I didn’t think he needed me to say anything. I knew what he meant, and he seemed to understand what I meant. I fucking need you, is what I wanted to whisper, but it was already written all over my body, scarred across my eyes.
We parted, our hands lingering together for a second. He squeezed my palm and let it drop. He turned and left the room and walked upstairs. I heard the shower turn on as I sat in the silent kitchen, finishing my coffee and watching the sunrise through the tiny window.
When I was finished, and it was officially morning, I got to work on the dishes. I scrubbed and cleaned until the place looked decent again. The shower ended, and I heard the bedroom door shut. I smiled: Liam hadn’t slept in a bed since everything started. Well, he deserved it.
I walked out and looked over the papers. I was ready. I was ready to dive in, to give myself over to the flow of sorting, of a menial but important task.
I was ready to try to save my own life.
Chapter Twenty-One: Liam
––––––––
I watched her work for a few days. She was unstoppable, breaking only to use the bathroom, to eat, or to sleep. I helped as best as I could, but she had a system; besides, she said, I’d only mess things up. I grinned to myself, remembering the look on her face, the determination. I couldn’t have argued with her even if I’d wanted to.
She was a machine. I was bored out of my mind, restless and anxious to get back out into the world and to do something, but she was insistent that I be patient. I prowled around the house like an animal, and probably annoyed the hell out of her, but she ignored me. Slowly, she started to notice things, little discrepancies here and there. The papers I had didn’t match some of the papers that I stole from Colm. And then, after almost a week of staring and reading and annotating and rereading, it suddenly all clicked for her: he had two sets of books. The papers I had were faked, doctored, though not faked very well apparently.
The set we stole was the real set, with the real list of his transactions. Once she figured that out, it was pretty easy to start piecing together his financial history. And holy shit, did Ellie figure it all out. One thing after another started tumbling into place for her, and the very next day she stood up and practically screamed. Scared the shit out of me at the time, but she was so excited she couldn’t help herself. She had to explain it all to me twice before I understood what I was looking at, but once I did, I wanted to fucking scream, too.
Colm had been shaving small sums of money off the top for years, ever since he started in the Mob. But he couldn’t do that himself, not without getting caught. That was always my issue: how is he stealing without anyone noticing? Ellie figured out that he wasn’t, he was bribing people to stay quiet. She pointed out the accounts, twelve of them in all, of the people who he was slowly paying off over the years. More small sums, but it all added up over time to millions of dollars moving around between a few hands. It was all some complicated pyramid scheme to rip off the main boss’s take.
The thing that had made her scream, though, was a photocopy of a check, buried in a binder full of papers. We were having trouble connecting Colm with a lot of the bank accounts we saw scattered all over the place. He wasn’t stupid enough to have all of these things in his own name, unfortunately, although we both knew he was behind it all. But that check blew the whole thing open. It was for some paltry sum, twenty-six dollars, and it had been deposited into an account that moved its money into another off-shore account that accepted other deposits from other local accounts.
And the check was made out to Colm Brennan.
I was beyond impressed. That check was a needle in a haystack, almost literally considering the mountainous pile of paper she was sifting through. She had insisted that it was only a matter of time before she had a clear picture of it all, and she was right.
I wouldn’t have been able to do it. As much as I hated to admit it, I wouldn’t have been able to find what she did.
I kissed her then, after the scream, after I understood what was happening. I kissed her hard and for a long time, because I fucking needed her, wanted her badly. It wasn’t just her body, though that helped; it was everything, the way she smiled, the way she joked, the serious expression she got when reading a bank statement, her courage.
Above all, her courage.
––––––––
The subway train clacked around a bend. I was riding north, a dark hood pulled up to cover my face. I knew it was a little bit of a risk to take the subway, but I was in a hurry. Besides, Colm’s people rarely went north. It was de Barra’s territory, out and out. And de Barra wouldn’t expect me to come on foot, which was part of my escape plan. We were meeting in an empty lot at the edge of his territory; I didn’t trust him enough to go directly to his home turf, and so I had Leary reach out and set up the meet. That was two days ago, right after we found the stuff about Colm we needed.
She didn’t ask me not to go. I half expected her to, but she didn’t. I could tell she hated everything about the meeting, hated my plan, but she knew I was going to do it whether she wanted me to or not. And I hated saying no to her. We slept together in the shitty old bed those nights, though I guess I shouldn’t say we slept. Truthfully, we fucked like teenagers, and I couldn’t get enough of her smooth skin, the way her lips parted slightly as I slid my cock into her for the first time. It was almost too much, how badly she wanted my mouth and my fingers to explore her soft spots, but I loved it.
And as I was getting changed to go, I loved that she pinned me up against a wall, her eyes burning. I had grinned at her, made some joke, but she dropped to her knees and tugged off my pants.
“Something to think about on your ride there,” she said as she slipped my already rock-hard dick into her mouth.
I don’t think I’d ever come so hard in my entire life. My hands wrapped in her hair, muscles tense, as thick spurts of cum shot out into her greedy mouth. Fuck, and she didn’t miss a beat, cleaning me off with a fucking smile. She was right: it was a great image to have in my head as I went off to what was probably going to be my death.
The train shuddered and stopped, and the doors opened. I looked up and caught the sign: Olney Station. I jumped up and hopped off, blending into the throng of people walking up the stairs. At the top, out on Olney Avenue, I turned right and began the walk out toward whatever was going to happen.
De Barra’s territory was a shit neighborhood. Most of north Philly was a shit neighborhood; for a bunch of reasons, it basically became the ghetto. It was the place the city had forgotten. Abandoned buildings with their windows boarded up dotted the streets, broken glass and trash littered the ground, and cars up on blocks were at almost every corner. Any empty lot was covered in garbage and other crap, like needles and empty dime bags. There were good people all over north Philly trying to make a life for themselves and their families, but years of shitty policies, housing segregation, and the loss of manufacturing jobs basically wiped out any go
od prospects for most people trapped up here.
And de Barra took advantage of that. There were a lot of desperate people, and desperate people were willing to work for a psychopath selling drugs and stealing whatever wasn’t nailed down. De Barra ran his territory well with a tight fist, although he was constantly fighting off other local gangs. It was a war zone, more or less, like something out of the news, and I was sure that I wouldn’t see a single cop car my entire time in the hood.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I wasn’t trying to save the fucking world. I was trying to save the people I gave a shit about.
I made a right at the block ahead and glanced at my watch. I was running a few minutes late, which wasn’t a big deal, but I picked up my pace anyway. Sweat was running down my back, and the familiar weight of my gun pressed up against my spine, tucked into my pants. I pulled the hood off my head, not caring who saw me.
I could see the spot up ahead. Parked in front of it were two large black SUVs, which I guessed were de Barra’s people. We had said no guns, but I didn’t think for a second that his people would come unarmed. Frankly, I was surprised he had agreed to see me at all; I had expected him to insist we meet at his home restaurant.
My pulse skyrocketed as I crossed the street, heading directly for the empty lot. Back in the right corner of the lot, there was a small alley, about wide enough to fit a single car plus the dumpsters that I knew were back there. Otherwise, it was penned in on all sides by residential buildings. They weren’t de Barra’s people, but they were still people used to seeing shit go down on a regular basis and who probably wouldn’t talk to the police. But I was banking on the fact that de Barra didn’t control the streets, hoping that would make him think twice about putting a bullet in my head right in the middle of the field.
As I walked into the lot, the second of the two black SUVs opened up, and three men climbed out: two goons I didn’t recognize and Boss de Barra himself.
I stared at de Barra. It had been years since I last saw him, but he was a hard man to forget. His jet-black hair was about shoulder length and pulled back into a tight ponytail. He wore a long black coat, which hid who knew how many guns, plus dress slacks and dress shoes. His face was tight and drawn, wrinkled from years of smoking, but his eyes were a fierce, deep blue. He looked like some sort of animal, maybe a giant rat or a wild cat. He smiled at me and spread his arms.
