by ML Gardner
“No. She had a softer side but didn’t like to show it much. She had a lot of regrets and I got the feeling that she was doing the best she could, she just had no idea how to go about doing it right. She told me toward the end of our time together about her father. And her bird.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cemetery at Midnight
She tossed the bottle on my bed. “You’ll have to make that last two days at least. I can’t get any more until then.”
“Where are you getting it anyway?” I asked, tucking it away under the corner of my mattress.
“Doesn’t matter. Just make it last, okay?” She was short with me and obviously tense.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine,” she snapped. It was the middle of the night and I hadn’t been called by Mickey. I assumed it was my night off and I had hoped to spend it with Gina.
She couldn’t sit still; jittery like a caged animal.
“You okay?” I asked again.
“What the hell is it wi’ you? I said I was fine! Damn, why do you care anyway? I gave you your doses for the next few days. You’re a big boy now and can pace yourself. What else do you want from me?”
I recoiled at her temper. “You just seem like something’s wrong.”
She didn’t answer, but walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. “I have to do something is all. Every time I swear I won’t do it, but it always gets me in the end.”
“What always gets you in the end?”
“The need to go. No matter how much I don’t want to.”
“Go where.”
“None of your business, John.”
“You remember when I asked you if you were one of Mickey’s girls? You said yes and no. Is that what you have to go do?”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “No,” she scoffed.
“Then whatever it is, let me go with you. Maybe I can help.”
“I’ve never let anyone go.”
“I’m not just anyone,” I reminded her.
***
We walked along the dark streets of London in silence. I was curious where she was leading me. Wherever it was, Gina grew more emotional the further we walked. She sighed deeper, her legs trudged slower, her face frozen in a stoic expression. We walked through a neighborhood of modest houses all crowded in together along a narrow street and heard a dog barking in the distance.
She stopped and picked a few flowers from a pot sitting on a stoop. They were wilted and beginning to brown around the edges of the petals. Clouds blocked out much of the moon’s light and after a steep hill and a sharp curve, the large gates of a cemetery loomed at the end of the road.
“What are we doing here?”
“What I don’t want to do.” She looked down. “What gets me every time. Every year this date comes and I try to get to dawn without coming here, but I can’t. I always end up coming. Sometimes I make it to sunrise, but I’ve never managed to stay away.”
It was on my lips to ask the obvious—who was here that she had to pay her respects to—when she started walking again. The tall gates weren’t locked and she pushed them open enough for us to sidestep in.
“Up there.” She pointed up the hill.
The clouds had parted enough to keep from tripping over headstones. It cast a blue-grey light on the graveyard, making it look eerily peaceful. I followed her as she trudged up the side of a knoll, swinging the wilted flowers at her side.
She slowed and then came to a stop, staring at the small cross sitting crooked in the ground near a nameplate.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“My father.”
She looked at the flowers as if it had been stupid to bring them and moved her arm to toss them aside. Changing her mind, she brought them to her side again and simply stared. I bent over to brush off fallen leaves and twigs from the nameplate and she stopped me.
“Let me,” she said, dropping to her knees. With a slow swipe, she pushed aside nature’s clutter and stared at the name.
“How did he die?” I asked.
“I killed ‘im,” she said softly, holding the flowers with both hands. “I broke his heart. I was an awful child. Always in trouble from the time I could walk. We butt heads and fought something terrible. Then one day, I just left. I stole every cent he had saved in a tin under the sink and disappeared and did every naughty thing he despised, just to get back at ‘im.
“After a few weeks I got scared, you know? I’d run out of friends and money. Not in that order, of course. I tried to go back. Wi’ my hat in my hand and my tail between my legs, I knew I’d done wrong. I went back. He opened the door and looked at me for a long time. Didn’t say a word. Then, wi’ tears in his eyes, he closed the door in my face.”
“What about your mother?”
“If I had one, I don’t know who she was. My father would never talk about her and I have no memories. No pictures, nothing. He could have found me in a turnip patch for all I really know.”
“What happened after that? After your father turned you away?”
“I walked the street all night, crying and scared. I went to the church and sobbed my confession to the priest. An’ you know what he did? He told me I wasn’t Catholic and turned me out. Told me to go beg to the Protestants. What kind of person does that?”
I had no answer for her and after a pause, she continued.
“I did some awful things to survive for the next month or so. And I very desperately wanted to die. Then Mickey found me and took me in. Shortly after that, my father died.”
She gently placed the flowers over his name. “I never got to say I was sorry.”
“He didn’t give you the chance.”
“No, he didn’t.” Her voice was resigned. There was nothing that could be done about it.
I had no words of comfort as she knelt by the grave, staring. When she was finished, she stood, took my hand and we walked back to her flat in silence.
Once there she poured drinks and tried to shake off the somber mood. She told me about the first night I spent at the warehouse, more about her father and her beloved bird, which stood on the table keeping a watchful eye on me. After enough drink to numb any feeling, she leaned over on the sofa with her head in my lap, talking to me as if she were storytelling to a child.
“I left you to rest but not before reaching down to touch the brown curls that had won the battle against the hair oil. More threatened to follow, springing up—defiant little buggers. I covered your freshly bandaged back with a blanket and left the room, wondering why I had a hard time taking my eyes from you.
“I felt sorry for you, like I did a hungry stray animal, but this was something more. Of all the men Deek had tried to slip into Mickey’s operation, five at least, never had I done this. I’d given them the same boot in the crotch warning and they’d scurried away looking for another opportunity and no one heard from them again.
“I wasn’t in the habit of taking things in. There was my bird, I reminded myself as I locked your door from the outside and walked down the dimly lit hall. But that was different. Walking home from the warehouse one night I spotted this bird with its broken wing, flopping around an alley, squawking wildly. I scooped it up and took it home, having no idea how to care for it.
“The bird had no idea how to react to humans. We learned together and I enjoyed its company after a long night of work. Its broken wing never healed and it couldn’t fly. I felt no need to cage it.
“I let it wander freely and it makes me smile when it chirps to be lifted when I sit in a chair to read. It was the first and only time I’d felt love for another living thing. Save the bird, I wasn’t in the habit of feeling sympathy, either. And I had a great deal of sympathy for you, John.
“I frowned as I put away the medical supplies, not liking your name. It was plain and didn’t suit you. It crossed my mind to give you another. After all, you didn’t know better. I didn’t think you would care. I rolled a few names ar
ound, trying them on for size. Irritated that I couldn’t think of one right away—after all, it had taken me two weeks to name the bird—I dug around the closet. My closet.
“The door is a thin metal one, unassuming in the long hallway. It had no lock and didn’t need one. Everyone knew this was my closet and no one bothered it. I keep all manner of things, extra clothes for men and women, some canned food stacked in a box, some extra opiates in case I needed some cash beyond what Mickey gave me to survive on, basic medical supplies, some herbs I used in case one of Mickey’s girls wasn’t careful and needed a purge, and a picture of my father wrapped in a fine linen pillowcase.
“I unwrapped the frame and stared, forcing myself to show no emotion; as if he could see me and might think me weak. I’d tried so hard to please him growing up. As his cold eyes stared back, I expected them to soften, realizing I knew how greatly I’d failed to make him proud. The image never changed, whether I showed emotion or not. Smothering it with the pillowcase, I shoved it to the back of the closet with a whispered curse word.
“I decided to head home. The fatigue of having been awake for more than twenty four hours began to settle over me and I knew you wouldn’t be awake for a long while.”
“Almost makes you feel sorry for her.”
“Almost,” Aryl said, with a shrug and a flat tone.
“No one there was who they seemed. I think…” He stood up and reached for his bag. “You want to take a walk?”
Sloan glanced at the clock. It was nearly four a.m.
“Sure, why not.”
Aryl swiped his glass off the table. “Grab the wine, would you?”
***
They walked through the hall, liberating a few bottles of alcohol from service carts along the way, and found the second class lounge. Aryl turned on the light and glanced around.
“If you don’t want to sit here we can go outside. It’s not raining,” Sloan said.
“No, that’s fine, let’s sit over there.” He pointed and Sloan followed.
They went to the far corner and sat in high backed chairs. Aryl chose the one with its back to the wall, so he could see the entire room, and put his feet on the table between them.
“As I was saying, I think that’s why I stayed. I realized that I wasn’t who I seemed, either. Part of me, a small part of me, fit in there. In that aspect, anyway. But regardless of that, I didn’t trust anyone. Not after what Mickey did to me.”
“What did he do?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Earning It
“You sent for me?” I walked into Mickey’s office and didn’t bother to sit down. If I looked bored it was because I was. I expected him to turn around and send me to go find someone else. Seemed like the last couple of weeks that was all I was good for. My duties hadn’t expanded much, except for spending a few early mornings monitoring the improvised drinking hall and breaking up a few fights.
So what he said next, I didn’t expect at all.
“I’m sending you to make a delivery.”
I tried not to show my surprise. “But only Digby makes the deliveries.”
“Yes. And do you know why only Digby makes the deliveries?”
“Because you trust him.”
“Exactly. So why do you think I’m sending you tonight, Johnny boy?”
“Because you trust me.”
Mickey dropped his smile. He suddenly looked defensive. Angry, even. “Because I want to trust you. This is your first test. One of many.”
“Where?”
“This is a new client who isn’t going to accept delivery to his residence until he knows he can trust us. Of course we wouldn’t deliver to an address blind until we know we can trust him. It’s all about trust, Johnny boy, you know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“He wants to meet you in the same spot you set up Yurik’s overthrow. You remember where?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He’ll be there at one o’clock. Go to the supply room and Digby will get you what you need.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Don’t let me down, Johnny boy. You make the delivery and bring back payment. If you try to take off with either…” He leveled his head and stared ominously at me. “I’ll send Kinsey to find you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Mickey.”
He sat back in his chair with his cigarette hanging limp in his hand. “Let’s hope not.”
At midnight I put my book down and as I got dressed, Gina knocked twice and let herself in. Mickey had stopped ordering my door locked a few weeks ago.
“I have something for you.”
I looked over my shoulder at her with question. She held out a small round snuff box. It was silver with red embossed flowers.
“You know what this is?”
“Looks like a pill case.”
“Of sorts.” She stepped closer and held it up, using finger and thumb to open the tiny hinged lid. Inside was a flat, neat pile of powder. Her eyes danced. “Want to give it a try?”
“What is it?”
“Cocaine. I thought you might switch to this, if you insist on taking something.”
I gave her a hard look. My medicine was my business and during a heated argument last week I’d made that clear. I didn’t need her to dose me out or monitor me. I was adept at hiding cravings and had learned to control what I came to think of as the monster.
Either way, it was none of her damn business any longer. She was plenty pissed when I kicked her out of my opiate management. Threatened to tell Mickey, even. To which I answered by pulling her close to me and telling her I’d tell Mickey all the times she stayed with me in the warehouse. All the times she’d taken me to her flat. I’ll never forget the look of fear that crossed her face and with a weak nod she agreed to leave me alone about it and keep quiet. And now here she was trying to hook me on something new. Something she could control me with.
“No, thanks.”
“Aw, c’mon, John. It’s not something that hooks you, not really. It just…” She reached around and grabbed my backside. “Adds to the fun.”
I jerked my hips away and turned. “I said no, thanks.”
“What’s got you so crabby?”
“I’m not crabby, Gina. I’m just not interested,” I said casually and threw her a glance to make her question whether it was her or the drugs I was referring to. It worked. She took a step back.
“Oh, I see.”
“Besides, I have a job to do for Mickey tonight.”
“I heard about that.” She kept her eyes low, twisting the hem of her blouse. “Movin’ up in the operation, are you?”
“I guess.” I struggled with the top button and when I finally made it cooperate, I looked in the mirror.
“You look handsome,” Gina said.
I preferred her like this. Not so damn sure of herself. Which is exactly how she’d been since I refused to let her control my medicine. She spent her time around me looking for a way to be needed. I pulled a box from under my bed and opened it. It’s where I kept my bottle of liquid tonic. I held it up to her in a toast and smiled before I took a dose. Not a big one, just enough to keep the nerves down for the job tonight and last me until I got back.
“I was thinkin’ about stayin’ wi’ you tonight,” she said quietly, her tone was one expecting rejection.
“If you want to.” That fight had changed things and I liked being the one in charge. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
I gave her a passing peck as I walked out.
***
Digby was waiting outside the door to the inventory room. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. His small frame was strung tight with tension I could feel ten feet away.
“Hey, Digby.”
He twitched his head in acknowledgement and pulled keys out of his pocket, turning to the locked door. I watched him working the lock with a deep frown. He was always skittish, as small traumatized men were, but something else was o
ff here.
“What’s wrong, Dig?”
“Nothin’,” he mumbled.
“No, what’s wrong?” I put my hand over the lock. Digby turned to me, flustered and unsure.
“Why’s he sending you? Huh?”
“You mean Mickey?”
“Yeah, Mickey. All of a sudden he’s sending you. Not me. He don’t need me anymore.”
“That’s not true, Digby. You’re his most trusted man.” He looked disbelieving.
“Mickey told me that he’s sending me to do this so I can be trusted, fully. I’m getting tired of running and fetching, you know?”
“And then he’ll have you doing the deliveries and he won’t need me no more. Out in the street I’ll go.”
“No, Digby. Mickey will always need you. And I wouldn’t take your job even if he offered it to me. I promise.”
Digby’s eyes flittered around and then up to me. “Honest?”
“Honest.”
“Well…I suppose if he was trainin’ you to work with me…that wouldn’t be so bad. Sometimes I go on real long drives and it gets lonely. Be nice to take you to keep me company.” Digby nodded, agreeing with himself.
“That sounds fine.” I glanced at my watch. “We can talk more about partnering up later. I’m going to be late.”
“Right.” Digby opened the door, ushered me in and closed it quickly, throwing the bolt. It wasn’t a large room but it was filled from floor to ceiling with medicine.
“Mickey’s got whatever you want,” Digby said with pride. “Got cocaine powder and tonic, opiates for tonic or smoke, morphine pills or liquid…you name it, Mickey’s got it in whatever form you want.”
My eyes were drawn to a long wooden shelf stocked ten deep with the amber bottles I knew so well. There was enough to last me a lifetime. I could feel Digby watching me stare in awe and I quickly composed myself.
“What do I need for tonight?”
“You need morphine.” He began rummaging around the shelves. Finding a cloth bag he tossed in ten large bottles of pills and several bottles of tonic. To that he added a snuff box, identical to the one Gina offered him. “Mickey always likes to sweeten up a new client. We give ‘em a taste of the product, most likely they’ll be back for more.”
