by Tia Lewis
Brother? Are you there? I stared into space and couldn’t move. It was a disorienting experience to watch him as he spoke, to hear the contradiction in appearance and sound. He was a short kid with a messy mop of brown hair and a soft-featured face; his nose was almost flat; his lips were thick and wet-looking; his green eyes were always watery as if could cry at any moment. But his voice was deeper than any man’s I had ever heard. He looked like a scared kid but sounded like a wise older man. I hear him say: Why don’t you want to give her up, brother? You’ve claimed her, yes. But do you really care about this girl? Is she more than just “yours?” What’s stopping you from telling Samson where she is, telling him to go and deal with her? Then you can get some help with the Russians. It’ll be much easier.
There was a pause, and I could see Kevin standing in the middle of the living room and see him curling a strand of brown hair around his forefinger like he did when he was thinking. But you won’t do that, will you? Because you’re starting to feel something for her right, brother? You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me, I hear him say.
“Who’s this?” Samson grunted into the phone, bringing me back to the present.
“Kevin? I miss you too, brother,” I whispered.
“Who the fuck is this calling me?”
Silence.
“It’s me. Liam.” I replied. My voice was shaken, and I took a moment to clear my head and snap back to reality. Kevin was no longer standing in the middle of the living room. Did I just hallucinate? I thought.
“It’s Liam,” I repeated.
There was a pause, and I wondered if Samson somehow knew about Tess, if right now the whole Drunk Harpy was descending on my apartment building. What if they had found her? What if they had her now? What if this was the end of it all? I thought. I felt a shiver move up my spine, a shiver I rarely felt. My muscles hummed as they did before a fight. This whole thing was one big mess. Who knew what this instant attraction—or whatever this is called would get me into.
In my head, as a reflex, I quickly planned what would happen if somebody came through the door with a gun. I would have to protect Mrs. McGreevy sleeping on the couch. I’d throw the phone at them, and then grab something—the thick phone book on the counter—and smash the bastard’s skull in. Then I would pull out my pistols and finish them off.
But when Samson talked his voice was relaxed, or as relaxed as Samson’s voice ever got. He had a sneaky, high-pitched voice, like fingernails on glass. It matched his catlike and underhanded appearance, his long nails, and his sharp-edged face. One look at him, and you knew he was up to no good.
“What is it?” He sounded irritated like he didn’t appreciate my call.
“I’m at your grandmother’s place. You need to come here and sit with her.”
“Why?”
I quickly explained.
“I heard she’s been doing that often lately.” Samson sighed, annoyed. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
“It’s not my job to take care of your grandmother, Samson.”
“I’m busy.”
“You need to put her in a nursing home. She needs around the clock care.”
“No. She’s fine in her apartment. I’m not wasting my money on no nursing home shit.”
“Then I’ll pay for her…”
“You can’t. I’m her power of attorney. I make the decisions.”
“Since when? Who did you pay off to make that happen?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“You’re asking for a bullet in your head,” I warned.
“Calm down,” Samson said with a devious chuckle. “What did Boss talk to you about yesterday?”
“Nothing,” I replied, feeling a pang in my chest. Once Boss found out about my deception Samson may well be the one sent to kill me. I thought about Tess waiting at Vinny’s, wondering if the Russians would nab at her any second. I needed to end this call because if I didn’t, I would reach inside the phone and strangle Samson to death for treating Mrs. McGreevy as a burden.
“Fine. I’ll be over,” Samson yawned. “Ten minutes. Will you still be at her apartment when I get there?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve got something important to do. Take care of your grandmother.”
Samson didn’t say anything else; he just hung up the phone. Samson knew that ‘something important,’ meant a job, and he wasn’t about to question me.
I glanced across the living room at the Mrs. McGreevy sleeping on the couch. I walked up to her and placed a blanket on her fragile body.
“Your grandson said he’ll be here in ten minutes.”
She slowly opened her eyes and smiled. “Okay, Danny. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I have to go now,” I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“He always wanted you to have the key,” she whispered.
“Get some rest, Mrs. McGreevy.”
“Family is the key,” she breathed. “Danny saw something in you. He wanted you to have it.”
I got up and looked at Mrs. McGreevy in complete puzzlement. Was I hallucinating again? I thought. This was more words than I’ve ever heard Mrs. McGreevy speak. Even though I spent more time with Mr. McGreevy when he was alive at the Drunk Harpy—he didn’t want his wife involved in criminal activities—I never recalled Mrs. McGreevy being the talkative type. Even after Mr. McGreevy passed away, I felt a moral obligation to watch after her and even then she still didn’t say much.
“Mrs. McGreevy, Samson will be here soon.”
She removed her right arm from underneath the blanket and pointed up at me. I smiled, took her hand and was about to tuck it back inside the blanket when her fingers started shaking.
“Look,” Her trembling finger pointed to the wall behind me, and I looked back to see what she was looking at.
“Family has always been the key,” she muttered, beaming up at me as I carefully placed her unsteady arm gently to her side.
I turned around and slowly walked towards the framed glass family portrait that was hanging on the wall. I sighed when I saw it. It was a portrait taken three years ago of Mr. McGreevy and me at the Drunk Harpy playing a game of cards. I didn’t remember having that picture taken, but I couldn’t help but smile.
I turned back to Mrs. McGreevy who was dozing off but managed to whisper, “You’ve always held the key Liam. You just never knew it.”
“I need a beer,” I murmured, scratching my head. I was clueless about what Mrs. McGreevy was talking about, but I did wish I had the “key” to lock her apartment door. I never needed a key to her apartment since she always greeted me at the door to let me in, but I didn’t feel right leaving her door unlocked.
I walked to the kitchen and opened drawers from left to right. One drawer was overflowing with postage stamps, which burst out and fell to the floor, making a ruffling noise like a flock of birds startled from a tree. Another was filled with steak knives. The next two were filled with kitchen utensils. And then I came to the drawer I was looking for. It was filled with bills and keys. A small notebook with the words: To my darling wife, Darlene was written on the front and laid on top of the papers. I moved it carefully to one side and took the largest keyring.
Leaving her apartment, I closed the door and locked up. Kneeling down, I slid the key under the doorway.
I needed to see Tess. I needed to make sure she was safe.
9
It was not even midday when I left the apartment building. How the fuck does so much happen before noon? I wondered as I walked down the street. The traffic had stalled on the road because some jackoff with a four-by-four couldn’t manage to parallel park. I was too far away to hear the man, but I could see his mouth opening and closing, his hands tightening around the steering wheel as he advanced, reversed, advanced, and reversed.
I walked past twenty or so cars, all full of people with red faces, smacking their palms down on the horns. The blast of the horns filled the air like an orchestra that hadn’t practic
ed very well. The air filled with the intoxicating scent of gas as the cars rumbled on. The sky was blue, cloudless and the sun beat down on me as I walked, filling the air with sweltering heat. My black leather jacket and T-shirt clung to my body with sweat and beads of moisture prickled my arms. My legs baked in my jeans and boots. The air was so hot it felt like I was suffocating; it was as if someone was piling blankets on top of me. Makes sense, I thought. Things are heating up, after all. It didn’t help I was wearing my favorite leather jacket, but I had to disguise my pistols somehow. But as I approached Vinny’s, I forgot the heat. Tess was more important than anything else right now. Getting to her and moving out of the area was more important than this overbearing weather.
A group of kids leaned against the glass on the outside of the restaurant, a couple of them standing on skateboards. I walked past them and searched the diner. What appeared to be a thin man with his hood pulled up sat against the glass, hands in the kangaroo pockets of a black hoodie. A young waitress poured coffee to the customers in the booth near Tess and walked over to offer her a menu. Tess waved it away.
I walked by where Tess sat and knocked loudly on the glass. A few of the other patrons turned at the thump-thump noise. Two elderly men who were so old they looked like twins—white head hair, white nose hair, white ear hair, white eyebrows—looked up and then back down at their food. I glanced back as I walked down the street. Tess was on her feet and walking toward the door of the diner, skirting around another waitress carrying a tray heavy with jugs of lemonade and stepping aside to let a toddler pass by.
As I walked briskly, I scanned the area for anybody following me. When you were in this business long enough, it was second nature to always be on guard. However, I didn’t see anyone who was trailing me, looking at me over the tops of newspapers or glancing at me through car windshields. I didn’t see any tattooed men or men in business suits. I didn’t hear a Russian accent, and I didn’t have that instinctive feeling that came over me before I was attacked. I didn’t know how it worked or what to call it, but I had learned to trust it.
I believed the Russians had either gone looking for me somewhere else or figured since they had my money all they needed to do was wait for me to come for it. It wasn’t as if I was going to let this shit go. They had my fucking money, and I would get it back.
I made sure to walk in the most open place possible. Several times I came to crowds of pedestrians shoving into each other, pushing and nudging. I walked around them onto the road and continued walking until I was clear of them. When I glanced back, I saw Tess and her focused but frightened face peeping from the black hood and doing the same. Her fists were clenched, poking out of the bottom of her sleeves as she trotted along at a quick pace as she tried to catch up to my long strides.
Just then I felt a vibration in my jean’s back pocket. I forget I had my cell phone with me since I rarely used it. I was more of a face-to-face type of guy.
Could this be Boss? Fuck!
I grabbed the phone from my pocket and answered the call, but I kept walking. I held the phone to my right ear still scanning my surroundings and smiling with amusement as Tess struggled to keep up with my fast pace.
“Hello?”
“She’s dead, Liam,” Samson said before hanging up.
My heart dropped into my stomach, and my spirit deflated as I realized that I would never see Mrs. McGreevy again. In my line of work, death was a usual occurrence, as familiar as an old friend, but this hit far too close to home. I crossed the street and went back the way that I’d came, knowing Tess would follow close behind me.
Shit just got real.
You would’ve thought I was participating in a marathon with how fast I ran to Mrs. McGreevy’s apartment. I pushed pedestrians aside, knocked over a vendor cart selling bootleg DVD’s, and jumped over two trash cans that spilled over onto the sidewalk. Tess went into a total panic mode when I told her I had to leave and gave her the directions to the Sleepy Inn Motel. I didn’t tell her any details since she was distraught enough and didn’t understand why I would go back to my apartment building when the Russians were after us.
I ran up the staircase, skipping two and three stairs at a time until I was on the second floor. I leaned against the hallway wall to catch my breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I adjusted my jacket and took a deep breath. Her door was unlocked, and I let myself in.
She was gone.
I paced around her apartment, sweating profusely, heart beating fast. I didn’t see any signs of foul play. An unsettling feeling began welling inside me. There was something wrong in her home—but I couldn't quite tell what it was. I felt as though I had entered her apartment with the gas stove left on; the atmosphere was dense and weighed heavily on me.
I called Samson.
“I need answers. Now!” I barked into the phone.
“Calm down, calm down,” Samson said, nonchalantly. This fucker didn’t act like his grandmother had just died.
“How did she die? I just left…”
“You already knew she was dying. The woman was in her eighties, for fuck's sake,” he snickered, and I could hear the joyous laughter of men, glasses clanking and the radio in the background. He was probably at the Drunk Harpy, I thought.
“What the fuck happened, Samson?”
“I was late arriving at her apartment because I had more important things to take care of first. Boss informed me about this new casino ring opportunity and you know I couldn’t let that pass that shit up. We’re talking about big money here, Liam.”
I clenched my fist and continued to pace back and forth in Mrs. McGreevy’s living room.
Samson continued. “Anyway, I finally made it to her place, and she was laying on the couch, but she wasn’t breathing. I checked her pulse, and she was dead. I made a couple calls, and I had my people take care of the disposing of her body...”
“This wasn’t a crime scene.”
“And? You thought I was going to pay thousands of dollars for a proper funeral? I never took you for the comedic type.” Samson laughed. “At least now I can stop wasting my money on the old fart because she ain’t ever did shit for me.”
I hanged up.
“Fuck!” I roared into the empty apartment. I breathed out heavily, my heart was empty and hollow. As much as I wanted to stay and investigate to make sure Samson was telling the truth I knew I had to leave now. It was already a foolish decision for me to come back here knowing that my apartment is one floor above Mrs. McGreevy’s and I could be greeted with gun-wielding Russians at any moment. But it was a foolish decision I was willing to make to check on someone who had been like a mother to me.
What I wanted to do was go to the Drunk Harpy and dispose of Samson’s body after I take an ice pick to his brain. But there was no time to confront him, and it was far too risky. I felt uneasy about this situation and had to make sure my next move was calculated. I had to play chess not checkers. Additionally, Boss would be there, and I still didn’t know if Samson or any of the crew knew about Tess.
Tess!
I was so distracted that I completely forgot Tess was by herself heading to the motel. What if she didn’t make it? What if the Russians recognized her and kidnapped her again? Fuck! My nose flared, and I shook my head as I took one last look around Mrs. McGreevy’s apartment. I will deal with this later. I thought. I had to get back to Tess.
I turned around and was about to leave her apartment when I saw the hanging wall portrait that Mrs. McGreevy had pointed to earlier—the one of Mr. McGreevy and I playing cards at the Drunk Harpy. I stood in front of the portrait and stared, saddened by the fact that both of the McGreevy’s were gone.
On a whim, I decided I would take the picture with me. It was the only keepsake that I would have of the McGreevy’s and knowing Samson he would just toss the picture in the dumpster since he wouldn’t be able to sell it.
I grabbed the framed glass portrait and lifted it up off the wall and heard a rattling noise. M
y forehead creased as I shook the frame up and down. I turned the portrait over and peeled back the panel. A silver key fell down to the ground along with a small white piece of paper. The key. My heart started pounding at an increasingly rapid pace when I remembered Mrs. McGreevy talking about how Mr. McGreevy had wanted me to have a key. I bent down and leaned the portrait against the wall and picked up the key and the piece of paper. Door key? I thought as I studied it. I then moved my attention to the piece of paper and saw a message written in pen:
“ÇßSH0²¹00¹088 429 Finchley Hampstead Road: If all else fails and the light turns to darkness.”
What the fuck? I found myself pacing back and forth, a bit disoriented, biting my lip as I always did when I was nervous or baffled. I didn’t have time to waste; I couldn’t decode this message so I quickly put the key and the note in the pocket of my leather jacket and ran out Mrs. McGreevy’s apartment to be with Tess.
10
The motel was called the Sleepy Inn, but the two E’s in the middle of sleepy were missing. My kind of place, I thought.
The motel was built with light brown brickwork and had a cigarette machine that stood beside the entrance. The automatic doors were jammed, and a sign had been haphazardly written on a piece of cardboard and hung on a sheet of metal which read: Force door. When I got closer, I saw the pole had been a flagpole. Bits of red, white, and blue fabric stuck to the sharp point.
The swimming pool was brown and objects floated in it: Band-Aids, soggy pieces of paper, a few pens, and a magic 8-ball. Will I make it out of this shit magic 8-ball? Oh, ask again later. Great. There were two levels of rooms, the first hidden in shadow under the extended balcony, and the other on the balcony which stretched around the motel. I saw a young woman in a skimpy hot pink dress which rode up her ass, leading a man in a gray business suit across the balcony.
