Fathers

by Matt Rogers

  King followed with his lips pursed and his insides tight.

  Today of all days, he thought, sending his anger through the air, hopefully shooting it in Slater’s direction, wherever the hell the man was in Boston.

  Today of all fucking days.

  13

  Slater hovered there, keeping quiet.

  Tyrell looked like he was dreaming. His eyes still wide, his pupils dilated with shock, he asked, ‘Am I dead?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You gonna shoot me too?’

  Slater shook his head. ‘They said they’d hurt you for bringing me up. So I didn’t really have a choice.’

  ‘What you mean?’ Tyrell said, his voice jumping up an octave. He was scared, shocked. ‘What you mean you didn’t have a choice?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Nah,’ Tyrell said. ‘That’s bullshit. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. You said that yourself. Unless you were lying to me, but I don’t think so. I think you a good dude. I think you just tried to help me. So you didn’t have to come up here. You didn’t have to do that.’

  Slater didn’t say anything.

  Tyrell gestured to the dreadlocked crew leader’s body. ‘You know who that is?’

  Slater sighed. ‘Someone important, I’m sure. Did I just get the whole Boston underworld on my ass?’

  ‘That’s my uncle.’

  It froze Slater in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at the body. Tyrell’s uncle had landed face-up with his gangly limbs splayed awkwardly. Oddly enough, the most noticeable feature wasn’t the blood pouring out of his head, but his right foot facing the wrong direction. He’d broken it when the life sapped from his body, and his ankle twisted one hundred and eighty degrees as his deadweight fell on it.

  Death could be an ugly, brutal thing. Up close it scarred your soul, haunted your memories, especially if you’d never seen it before.

  Tyrell was in shock, but he didn’t look overwhelmed by the sight of four corpses.

  Which made Slater realise his life had probably been hell.

  Slater said, ‘Family isn’t always blood, kid. He said he was going to make you squeal for bringing me up here. You got any idea what that might have meant?’

  Tyrell took a step back and fear flared in his eyes. So he knew exactly what that meant.

  Slater followed him out into the corridor, where several residents had emerged from their apartments at the sound of the gunshots. Slater met the eyes of the closest resident — a woman who must have been in her seventies, her skin shrivelled like a prune — and made himself look perplexed. The Glock 43X was already concealed back in his holster, so there was nothing incriminating about him. He asked, ‘What was that noise?’

  He raised his voice loud enough for almost everyone to hear.

  The woman shook her head, her lips flapping, at a loss for words.

  Slater shook his head in return. ‘This place ain’t safe for my boy here.’

  He grabbed Tyrell by the wrist and hustled him down the hallway, headed for the stairs. No one stopped them. It was impossible to tell where exactly the shots had come from, not in the frantic confusion of the moment. The apartments were shoeboxes. If they were wide and sprawling, maybe it’d make identifying the source easier.

  Whatever the case, Slater got Tyrell to the staircase and they descended down through the bowels of the structure, away from the murder scene.

  On the first floor, they passed a tall stooped man in a leather jacket with a heavy suitcase in his hand, hurrying up past them. He barely noticed them going down, brushing past his shoulder. All his attention was focused on clutching the suitcase.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Tyrell muttered, ‘That’s the guy. I thought you were early.’

  Slater gripped his shoulder and steered him down the final couple of flights. The lobby was packed, dishevelled residents milling about in all sorts of attire, from dressing gowns to their underwear. There was a droning backing track of confused mutterings, and suspicious glances fired in the direction of everyone who came down the stairs.

  Slater breathed into Tyrell’s ear. ‘Act as confused as them.’

  ‘I am, man.’

  They pushed past people, and Slater wore a look of shock. He knew it wouldn’t be pandemonium. If this was Central, there’d already be news crews here, but gunshots in Roxbury seemed to be accepted as a natural consequence of living there. Already the lobby crowd’s attitude was morphing from surprise to irritation, and those who’d impulsively fled their apartments in their undergarments were starting back for the stairs or hitting the elevator panel.

  Slater guided Tyrell out of the building, into the concrete no-man’s-land between the neighbouring apartment blocks, both of which dwarfed them. The fire escapes above them were like metal skeletons twisting into the sky.

  Slater studied the boy. ‘You don’t look like you hate me.’

  Tyrell lifted his gaze. There was still shock there, but mixed with some sort of fatalistic resignation, which was strange for a young boy. Like he’d already accepted his lot in life, realised that nothing but bad things would happen to him.

  Tyrell said, ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘You’re not treating me like I’m radioactive, and I just killed your uncle. He was a real piece of shit, huh?’

  Tyrell had to take a moment to compose his thoughts. But he eventually nodded. ‘Yeah. I didn’t like him. I was wondering … y’know … what to do next. ’Cause I got nowhere to go.’

  ‘Did you run away from home?’

  Tyrell’s shoulders were slumping now, reality setting in. ‘How you know so much about me, man?’

  ‘Your uncle mentioned your dad.’

  ‘You two have a good chat?’

  ‘Not really. That’s about all I know. He pulled a gun on me after that.’

  ‘Sure it weren’t the other way round?’

  Slater shrugged. ‘It happened fast. Your uncle looked ready to shoot me the moment he laid eyes on me. I take it he didn’t like strangers.’

  ‘He don’t like anybody,’ Tyrell said, then dwelled on his words. ‘Didn’t.’

  Slater said, ‘You got a mother? Or is it just your dad?’

  ‘I got one, sure,’ Tyrell said. ‘I dunno who she is.’

  Slater nodded. No point lingering on that any longer than necessary. ‘Why’d you run away from home?’

  ‘Just stupid shit. I wasn’t thinkin’.’

  But Slater could see something hidden in the boy’s eyes, like he’d put up walls to protect what little family he had left.

  Slater said, ‘I’m not going to hurt your dad, if that’s what you’re thinking. What just happened, upstairs … I wish it never did. I’m sorry. I never wanted to kill anyone.’

  ‘Then why’d you get involved?’

  ‘Something about you,’ Slater admitted, even though he wasn’t sure whether it was the right call. ‘You’re a smart kid. If I can see it, anyone can. I didn’t want you wrapped up in this shit. I wanted to talk to them, make them see the light.’

  ‘Those guys wouldn’t have seen anythin’ you tried to show ’em,’ Tyrell said. ‘I think they’re … evil. I only been with them three days. Already I wished I never went to ’em.’

  ‘Can I take you home?’

  Tyrell hesitated. ‘Where?’

  ‘Back to your father’s.’

  Tyrell shook his head. ‘You’ll just do to him what you did to those guys.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘He’s no better than them.’

  ‘I told you I never wanted this to happen. I’m not what you think I am.’

  Tyrell looked at him. ‘You think I think you a killer?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Nah,’ Tyrell said. ‘You just a weird dude.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Most people, they don’t really wanna help. Y’know? They see someone like me and maybe they go home and tell their family how I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing
. You don’t think I know that? Maybe they say they should pull me outta where I’m livin’. But those people … they never go into the building. It’s all just words. With you it ain’t words. You do what you say you gonna do. That’s why you weird. But it ain’t a bad weird.’

  Slater smirked. ‘Let’s get you home, kid.’

  14

  The midwife greeted them in the lobby of OB-GYN.

  They had to go through triage before they were moved to the Labor & Delivery Unit, and the small woman wearing the name badge “REBECCA” made that clear to them. She ran them through the procedures, speaking mostly to Violetta, who nodded dutifully along. King was happy to take his place up the back of the trio. He could break bones with his bare hands, shoot up an entire compound of mercenaries, but this…

  Not his specialty.

  He was man enough to admit that.

  So instead he did what he was best at. He analysed the OB-GYN Department for threats. Then he scrutinised Rebecca. She looked like she was in her thirties but King figured she was around twenty-five. Stress had aged her prematurely. She was already small in stature and thin in build, but her pale skin had been made paler by the demands of the twelve-hour shifts, plus what King guessed was a turbulent home life. There was nothing he could put his finger on to confirm it, just a general hunch. She would have been very pretty if her cheeks weren’t hollowed out and her eyes weren’t wide and jumpy with a mixture of fatigue and stress. Her brown hair was pulled back sharply in a ponytail, flattening the streaks of grey running through. Those jumpy eyes darted in every direction, faster than King could keep track, even as she explained the details of their stay. It was like she was reading off an invisible teleprompter, but she was doing the best she could. King felt a stab of pity for her. She needed some time off.

  She finished her spiel, only half of which he caught, and said, ‘Right through here, please.’

  The trio shuffled deeper into the ward.

  Now it was all too real.

  15

  As they walked toward the car, Tyrell said, ‘What am I gonna tell my dad?’

  ‘I can talk to him if you want.’

  ‘You promise you won’t hurt him?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Tyrell must have had a dozen thoughts running through his head, but apparently he came to a shaky decision, because he said, ‘Aight. Can we stop somewhere first?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Three days ago, when I ran, my dad sent me out to get money from Zeke.’

  ‘Who’s Zeke?’

  ‘Dad’s friend.’

  ‘Why’s your dad got you doing that sort of thing?’

  ‘He’s busy with other stuff.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So…?’

  Slater said, ‘I’ll give you money. Let’s get you home.’

  ‘Nah,’ Tyrell said, bowing his head. ‘It’s not just money.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Tyrell noticed the tone. ‘Not what you think. Not drugs. It’s…’

  He trailed off.

  Slater said, ‘Look at me.’

  Tyrell met his gaze.

  Slater said, ‘Tell me it’s nothing bad. Don’t look away when you say it. I’ll know if you’re lying.’

  ‘It’s nothing bad.’

  Was there something there? For the life of him, Slater couldn’t tell. Tyrell was either using the shock of witnessing the bodies to mask his emotions, or telling the truth, or just an incredible liar.

  The boy sighed. ‘Look, man, everything’d go a whole lot smoother if I went back to my dad with what I was s’posed to pick up. Can you not gimme a hard time about this? Help me out here…’

  Slater couldn’t get over how composed the kid was after seeing the bodies of the men he’d been staying with. Three days, Slater had to remind himself. That’s all Tyrell was there for. Any longer and he might have started to get attached, no matter how badly they treated him.

  The whole situation was playing on his conscience. He felt nothing at killing the drug dealers. It wasn’t that, it was…

  Hard to put into words.

  He said, ‘Sure. Whatever you want. Where’s Zeke’s place?’

  ‘I’ll direct you.’

  They got into the Porsche Cayenne and Tyrell rubbed the leather of the passenger seat. ‘Nice car, man.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What you do?’

  ‘Hard to explain.’

  ‘You used to do what those guys up there did, right?’ Tyrell asked. ‘Then you got out. I see you.’

  Stewing with introspection, Slater had to roll Tyrell’s words over twice in his mind before he understood them. ‘What? No.’

  ‘That’s how you knew I was a lookout. You’re an old dog. What did you used to sling? Meth? Heroin? Uncle Jeremiah moved H. That’s what they were waitin’ for up there. Three kilos. You know how much that’s worth? Score of a lifetime. You should have taken that guy’s case in the stairwell. You coulda done it. You bigger than he was. Woulda been easy. Then we woulda been rich.’

  He was babbling now. The adrenaline response was kicking in with full force, delayed until the shock wore off. He was still speaking his mind when Slater said, ‘Tyrell.’

  Tyrell shut up, waited a beat, then said, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Forget about Jeremiah. Don’t say anything to your dad about him, okay? That’s what you’ll do if you know what’s best for you. He was killed in a gang shootout, alright? You weren’t there.’ He paused, his mind forming new questions. ‘Did Jeremiah call your dad when you went to him after you ran away?’

  ‘Nah,’ Tyrell said. ‘They not on speaking terms. That’s why I went to him.’

  Slater breathed out. ‘Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go get your damn money from Zeke, then we’ll go to your—What’s your dad’s name?’

  ‘Marcus.’

  ‘I’ll have a strong word with Marcus, and that’ll be that.’

  Tyrell noticed Slater’s agitation and said, ‘You fucked up back there, didn’t you?’

  Smart kid, Slater thought.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I did what I had to do given the circumstances. I’d just prefer it hadn’t gone that way.’

  ‘You pretty calm for having shot all them.’

  Slater looked over. ‘You’re pretty calm for seeing them shot.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You saw their bodies. You saw your uncle’s body.’

  ‘What’d you say back up there?’ Tyrell said. ‘Family ain’t always blood?’

  ‘I did say that.’

  ‘That’s what I think, then.’

  ‘Because I said it?’

  ‘Nah,’ Tyrell said. ‘Because I know what Uncle J done. He wasn’t a good dude. I’ll … uh … I’ll leave it at that.’

  ‘Did he do anything to you?’

  ‘He ain’t get the chance. But he would have.’

  ‘What exactly are we talking about here?’

  ‘I get … uh … well, you heard me before. Sometimes I talk a lot. Sometimes I’m real quiet for long stretches and then I get all these thoughts and I won’t shut up about them. So on the first night I was telling them all about why I ran away from my dad, and Daniel goes, “Hey, Jeremiah, what you say we give him some sleep medicine?” And, like, I’m not stupid, man. I know he wanted to shoot me up with a little H, keep me quiet, make me — uh, what’s the word? Like a dog that does what you want it to.’

  ‘Obedient,’ Slater said.

  Now he was glad he’d dealt with the whole crew. If he’d left any of them alive, after listening to Tyrell’s story he would have had to march back up there and put bullets in the survivors’ heads.

  Tyrell finished, ‘Well, yeah, man. Uncle J was thinking about it. Last night he almost did it. And then this morning he got even closer. But I think he wanted me sharp for the lookout position. I ain’t never had H before. He ain’t know what it would have done to me.’

  Slater said, ‘Uncle J g
ot what he deserved. Forget about him. Now tell me how to get to Zeke’s.’

  He reversed out of the parking space and floored the Porsche out of Roxbury, ignoring the eerie wail in the distance of sirens descending on the apartment blocks.

  Slater said, ‘And how old are you?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  Twelve.

  Without Slater’s interference, the boy never would have had a chance.

  16

  They waited in a temporary “triage” room, which Rebecca assured them wouldn’t take long.

  Then they’d be moved to the Labor & Delivery Unit, but for now they milled around in a private room in OB-GYN. Alonzo had allowed them to anonymously purchase the very best health insurance, so their real names wouldn’t flash in the system like a homing beacon for the upper echelon of the secret world. It gave them benefits in Mass General, namely privacy and an expedited wait time.

  Violetta was stretched out in the hospital bed, a pale sheet draped over her legs, trying to get comfortable between contractions. Rebecca had already performed a twenty-minute procedure to electronically monitor the baby’s heart rate and the time between contractions. King had hovered over her shoulder the whole time, keen to understand the process. He’d survived every op that way.

  Better to know as much as you can about what’s happening than to be oblivious out of laziness.

  Now he tapped his foot on the floor and thought about how many cameras there were in the ward, how terrible their security measures were, what sort of damage a professional hit team could do. He’d brought his concealed carry, but if they had automatic rifles it wouldn’t matter if there was a skill differential. They could simply spray through these flimsy walls if they brought the right weaponry. And they’d do it under the guise of faceless mercenaries, so there’d be no connection to anything remotely official, which meant they wouldn’t have to worry about the civilian casualty count. They could probably even use it as a political tool, blame it on terrorists.