Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Scotch
“I’m done, Dad,” I tell him. “I’m not doing this shit anymore.”
The phone is on loudspeaker on the counter as I dispense an ice water from the fridge, holding the cold glass against my forehead for a moment. This is it, I’m breaking away. I’ve seen the golden light of a new dawn at the end of the tunnel and Lula is standing right there, bathed in its glory. What I’ve done to deserve a second chance, I don’t know, but I’ll take it with both hands.
My dad chuckles. “That’s funny. You almost had me believing you found a conscience.”
“I mean it. It’s over. Do your own dirty work. Or don’t. Just leave me the fuck out of it.”
“Son, we’re so close. They’re holding out but I can almost taste their fucking capitulation. We almost have what we want.”
“What you want,” I point out.
He chuckles. “What we both want. Don’t tell me you don’t need the money, Scotch. You always loved money.”
No I didn’t, I want to say. Not until you got your fucking claws in me. Instead, I say, “Don’t want it, don’t need it. And for that matter, I don’t need you either.”
I reach across for the phone, ready to end the call. I’ll delete and block his number, then move on with my life. I want Lula. I want to meet her father and ask for her fucking hand like we’re in some sort of period romance. I want to make sure she’s happy for the rest of her life. I want to be the man she deserves, not the one she found.
I’m going to buy us a house. Something big enough that we can take care of her dad too. And have a family of our own, kids I can give a better childhood to than the one I got.
I can almost taste the freedom.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says in that slimy fucking voice of his.
“I don’t think so.” I go to end the call, but a part of me still wants to leave things on good terms. Or as good as they can be. “Bye, Larry. I genuinely hope you find some happiness.”
“I still have the shirt, son.”
I hesitate. My finger is hovering over the end call button. He’s bluffing.
Surely, he’s bluffing?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice level. He told me he got rid of all my clothes from that night. All of our clothes.
“Sure you do, Scotch. You remember that night as well as I do. I’ll tell you what I remember, shall I? You, crying like a little girl, that’s what I remember.” He chuckles. “Dad, why did you make me do it? I never wanted to hurt anyone. Boo fucking hoo.”
I work my jaw, trying to come up with something to say, but my mind is stubbornly conjuring long buried memories. The rival club owner and his business partner, lying in a pool of their own blood, choking as they tried to breathe. My knuckles cut and bruised. The smell of the gasoline and piss, how bright the lighter looked in Larry’s hand.
They were pieces of shit. Everyone I knew was a piece of shit. They probably deserved that beating and more. But so did we.
Just a warning, my dad said as he looked down at them. Next time, you won’t walk out of here alive.
The police investigated. They couldn’t find any evidence.
“I wonder what the sentence would be for those assaults,” Larry muses. “Given that it wouldn’t be your first offence. Well, it kind of would, but not the first one you’ve been sentenced for, eh, son?” He chuckles like this is all one big joke.
“I was fifteen,” I tell him. “A juvenile.”
“Sure, that might sway it. Might not. You want to take that chance, that’s up to you. Or you just help me out with this one thing. Tiny really, compared to a decade in prison.”
I hesitate as I try to process. Fuck. He could still be bluffing. But if he isn’t?
What would Lula expect me to do here? Admit to a crime I committed years ago? Take the rap for something I never wanted to do in the first place, that I thought was defending my father? Or hurt someone else to keep it all quiet and start a new life with her?
Would she lose all respect for me if she knew what I’d done?
“I do this, you give me that shirt,” I say through gritted teeth. “Then we’re done. I want nothing more to do with you.”
“Fine. Just make sure I get that junkyard for a steal.”
He ends the call and I smash my fist down on my phone, opening a huge crack across the screen. “Fuck!”
Before I can rethink, I flip open my laptop and pull up my latest sock account. Then I open my password manager and double-click the folder that contains the fucking nuclear codes. The password I found to Z’s Scrap web page. The one even I hesitated to use until now.
And I go to work.
It’s done. It’s over. The shirt is safely burning in a dumpster on the other side of the city as I walk up to Lula’s front door.
I might not like what I’ve done, but I can walk away and start a new life.
As I knock, I draw a deep breath and promise myself that’s it. From now on, I do everything for us, for the people that matter. Larry can rot for all I care.
It takes minutes, but then the door starts to open and I actually feel the grin spread across my face as I anticipate seeing her, being with her, for now and forever. “Guess what I’ve done—” I break off as I see her face.
And she flings herself into my arms.
“It’s all over,” she sobs. “Dad’s beside himself. I’m scared he’s going to have another heart attack. How can someone be so cruel?”
I pull her in close, my anger rising. Someone’s hurt her and when I find out who I’ll fucking kill them. “Calm down and tell me what happened. I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t fix this. It’s over. I’ve sold it. Signed the contract. It was the only way to take the stress away from my dad.”
“Sold what?” I ask, my mind racing. “What contract?”
“The business. Larry offered us a deal and we took it. It wasn’t what the place is worth but I just wanted out. It won’t be worth anything at all if we wait.”
“Larry? My dad?”
She nods. “I’m glad you’re here. I need you now, more than ever.”
It doesn’t make any sense. They sold their business to my dad? The same day he bought the scrapyard? My heart is starting to thunder as the pieces drop into place, but I don’t want to believe it. It can’t be true. “Your dad’s autoparts business? Importing and exporting?”
She shakes her head. “It was a lie. Can you forgive me? Please? It was just a little white lie. I wanted you to like me.”
I don’t fucking care about her lying. All I care about is that my world is being ripped apart. She’ll never forgive me. Never. And I can’t blame her.
“What business, Lula?”
“Z’s Scrap. I’m sorry. I was embarrassed. I wanted you to think I was going to be a singer.”
And just like that, my whole world falls apart. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until she’s out of my arms and I’m staring at my phone screen. My sock account is already logged into Facebook, the page for Z’s Scrap is right there, and there’s a video of Lula singing. Her dad was so proud of her he put it up online.
“It was you,” I mutter to myself. “Motherfucker, what have I done?”
She grabs the phone out of my hand and I don’t even try to stop her. Then she starts to back away.
“You? You’re the one that… Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like, Scotch. This account has been terrorizing me, threatening the business, driving away our customers.”
“Who’s this?”
Lula’s father comes out into the doorway behind her, looking curiously at me as she stares in hurt confusion.
“This whole thing was a part of your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Lula spits the words, backing away. “How could I be so stupid? Every warning sign was there and I just walked right on past them like a lemming heading for a cliff.”
I shake my head. “Lula—”
“I never want to fucking see you again!” She turns around, almost pushing her dad inside the house. The rental they will probably have to give up now without the scrapyard. I stand, dumbfounded as she slams the door in my face.
“Fucking Larry,” I mutter to myself. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”