Chapter 2 – Ethan
Two
Ethan
A few weeks later, in Boston…
“I remember when I used to call you my little bear. Now you’re a very very big bear.”
“Mom… I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need you reminding me that you used to call me little bear.”
I need a break from the bullshit we both went through today. I got mom set up with her new oncologist but hearing all those big science words just made it all too real. Mom is sick and I can’t look at her without facing that reality.
I can’t let it break me and I can’t show her how fucking scared I am.
“Will you call me when you get to the bar?”
“No. Because again, I’m a grown ass man.”
“Well, you’re still my little boy. I remember changing your diapers. Vividly.”
“This is why I need to be at the bar.”
She laughs and my heart catches. I love my mother enough to die for her, but I don’t know if that love will be enough to save her.
“Fine,” she says. “Just be careful with all the temptation out there. Wyatt says you still gamble.”
“Wyatt thinks he’s Jesus.”
“Hey,” she says. “Don’t talk about my favorite child that way.”
“Yeah right,” I mutter, wrapping my mother up in a conciliatory goodbye hug. “I am definitely the favorite. Especially because I’ll bring back mozzarella sticks from my meeting.”
Mom loves everything deep fried and cheesy.
“Okay, you’re right. You are the favorite. Have a good night. I’ll be on the couch watching the new season of Love Is Blind .”
“Do I even want to know what that is?”
“You should go on it,” mom says. “That way you can find a girlfriend.”
“Alright. Heading to Mulligan’s now.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
I let her have “sweetie” because it’s a lot less embarrassing than “little bear”. We live close to Mulligans and close to this office building with a med spa, lawyer’s office, and a therapist’s office that specializes in addictions. Weird ass combination.
Boston’s only problem is being too fucking cold, but I don’t stand out too badly over here. In some states and places, bikers look rough and out of place, but Boston has its own deep mafia roots. I did a job with dad a long time ago in Boston, working with the prominent Irish crime family – the Murrays.
Tonight, I expect Darragh Murray in Mulligan’s, but I don’t recall if he’s the one I met. The bartender can tell I’m from out of town. He looks at me too curiously and stares too long when I order a bottle of whiskey. When Darragh Murray enters Mulligans, I almost laugh to myself that I could have ever not recognized him.
He has blatant tattoos indicating his position and membership in the mob. And he has that look. Fierce blue eyes – a sharp stare. Features that were all taken directly from his Irish motherland. I look like more of a Caucasian mutt in comparison. The recognition is mutual.
“You’re Southpaw’s brother.”
“Bear.”
I extend a hand and find a firm, strong handshake. The kind that inspires confidence in doing business with a man.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry I’m late. Had to put the kids down to bed.”
“Understood.”
“You look just like Wyatt. Fucking crazy.”
Darragh Murray used to fight. I gambled (and lost) on a few of those fights. Aside from the fighting, I don’t know what kind of man he is or whether I believe Wyatt that we can trust him.
“I heard you have experience with running black market casinos,” Darragh says. “My brother and I are interested in getting one started in Boston but… we have a unique set of challenges to confront.”
Complexities? I don't have to ask more questions for Darragh to open up to me.
"We have a lot of problems with Puerto Ricans, problems with the cops, and problems with high-rolling customers who don't pay up."
"Can't you handle the cops?"
The bartender brings Darragh a half-pint of robust, amber beer. He nods as he takes the first foamy sip off the top.
"Yes," he says. "I thought you might have the strength to handle the high-rolling customers who don't pay up."
"Some muscle."
"My brother Callum just had his second and I wouldn't normally accept that as an excuse but... he also injured his back. Word travels fast around this city and it'll be a matter of time before there's more chaos than I can handle."
"And you're the one in charge?"
"Of this," he says. "I answer to my brother Aiden. You'll meet him eventually. We just want to make sure that you're ready to do business."
"Yes. I have enough to invest in start-up costs and the experience to handle non-payers."
"Good," Darragh says. "We like to stick to breaking fingers and toes, knees if necessary... pulling out a few teeth and slicing off ears. No further unless absolutely necessary."
Cold, emotionless work. Any man dumb enough to rob a family of mobsters that runs Boston the way the Murrays do deserves what's coming to him.
"Nothing I can't handle."
"Jim," he calls to the bartender. "Get another pint for my friend, Bear."
We exchange contact information so Darragh can keep me in the loop and like a typical Boston guy, the conversation descends immediately into the recent performance of local sports teams and fighters in the new local boxing championships.
"You bet on sports?" Darragh asks casually after discussing the Patriots recent performance brings him close to visible frustration.
"Too much."
Darragh grins. "You'll get along just fine here then. In about a month, there's a big lightweight boxing match with ten grand in prize money. The guys fighting have never fought before and... whole thing should attract a big crowd."
"You have odds on any man in particular?"
"No," Darragh says. "But you look like a gambler. I bet you have good instincts."
"Sometimes."
Darragh laughs. "That's good. I'm sure you do better than you think."
"Like I said. Sometimes."
"Hm," Darragh says. "Well, I'll let you know how much you need to start. My younger brother is the guy running the books. I'll put you in touch."
"Definitely."
I feel a little guilty at the thought of indulging in something as frivolous as gambling while mom is sick. It's one thing to establish a business out here and get into some type of routine but... my life needs to be focused on the most important thing right now. Mom's treatment. My family. Doing what's best for the club.
But think about how much I could make... The odds for each match are a simple 50/50 toss up. It's hard to get chances better than that. Darragh and I drink until we're drunk enough to move from the bar to the pool table.
He kicks my ass the first round, then asks if I want to put money on the next game. It's too easy of a hustle. I nod, pretending that I'm too drunk to really get my shit together and then I clean his ass out of $5,000 before Mulligan's closes.
"My wife is going to kill me," Darragh groans drunkenly as he hugs me goodbye. "But this was all worth it. Pleasure doing business with you, Ethan Shaw."
"See you around."
Mom is asleep when I get home. I count out $2,000 from the stash I won off Darragh and slip it into her purse. Rule number one of being the oldest Shaw brother -- you always look after your mama.
When I get into bed, the liquor hits me with the worst type of thinking. The way you get when you know that not everything is going to turn out all right. When the danger coming feels too big for you to stop it.
There's a wave crashing into our family. Cancer. And the only person who can stop it is me. I might be mom's favorite, but it's not because I'm the good guy. Wyatt is the good guy. Owen is the peacekeeper. I'm the older degenerate brother who could never keep his ass out of trouble.
Mom used to say I never saw a precipice I didn't want to dive straight off of.
"You have a death wish, Ethan," she used to say. "And I wish you didn't, but it's just like your dad. Just like him."
A little love, a little resentment. But there's no one who will talk about me the way mom talks about dad.
And when she's gone, I'll have no one at all. Wyatt might be the head of the club, but I'll have to be the head of our family and it scares the fuck out of me to do it at all, much less to do it alone. Being the protector never came naturally to me. Destructive behavior? Yes. But this responsibility is too real and too important for me to screw up.
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