27
I move my hair aside and open my eyes. Liam is sitting on the carpet, his back to the wall, and he is watching me quietly.
“Thanks to me, now there’s even more drama in your life.” I say in a cracked voice, trying to smile at him.
“If you tell me where that son of a bitch lives, I’ll have him taken down tonight,” he says in an evil voice.
“She told you?” I ask, amazed. “Isn’t that against her professional ethics?”
“Screw ethics.” He grimaces angrily. “She works for me.”
“Everything’s so different in your world,” I yawn and sit up wearily.
“ Our world,” he corrects me. “Anyway, I haven’t seen anyone in your fancy world punishing that piece of shit.” He gets up and stands in front of me. “We may have different rules, but they’re quite clear.” He gives me his hand and I stand up. My body is cramped and sore. He massages my shoulders and I groan. My hair is loose over my shoulders and I pull it back in embarrassment.
“Go take a shower and then come downstairs. I’ve arranged supper for us.” He caresses my cheek, careful not to touch my hair.
I shower and go downstairs in a robe. My face is still puffy after such a long nap. Even the hot water didn’t soothe the pressure in my body.
“Wow…” I murmur when I see the lavish dining table. Liam crosses his arms and smiles at me. He’s wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt. I can’t see his scars, his face is shining and radiating, like a bight aura surrounding it. “I’m not dressed, maybe I’ll go up—”
“Leave it.” He walks over to me, takes my hand and kisses it and I notice that he is still avoiding contact with my long, disheveled hair.
He pulls a chair out for me, and after I sit down, he sits opposite me. There's a white tablecloth on the table, the table is set with fancy plates and crystal glasses. There’s a bottle of wine in the middle, and trays filled with salads and different types of food. My stomach starts growling, but I wait quietly for him to make the first move.
“Are you going to say grace?” he asks seriously, and I turn white. He bursts out laughing and I stare at him in confusion. “What are you waiting for? Dig in.” He pours me some wine and I laugh freely as I stab my fork into a juicy tomato, but the heaviness returns almost immediately. I sigh and I see him looking at me, concerned.
“We served on the police force for five years,” he starts talking, and I realize that he is trying to change the atmosphere. I chew my food and watch him curiously. “Mike and Tommy were in my unit.” He takes a sip of wine and continues. “Our job was to stop the drug dealing in town. Maybe stop isn’t the right word – but at least to reduce it considerably. We did a pretty good job. We dedicated ourselves to our mission and everyone knew not to mess with us. We knew how to walk a tightrope between what we were legally allowed to do and what we needed to do. We knew everyone – from the big dealers all the way down to the small distributors. We cracked them down until they were helpless. We didn’t let up, not even for a moment. We had well-paid informants, and we rewarded them accordingly. All three of us were decorated. We were dedicated to the job, we lived on the streets day and night. Until it all exploded.” He is silent suddenly, finishes his wine in a long gulp and smiles bitterly. “I got some information about a drug house on the South Side. We went in with our weapons drawn, but instead of drugs we found kids. Boys and girls. No older than ten.” His gaze is fixed on the wall in front of him. “They would see clients there.” The meat gets stuck in my throat and I cough and flinch in terror. “You understand?” he stops staring at the wall and looks into my eyes. “Little kids. And their pimp was sitting there counting his money.”
“Oh my God!” I mumble.
“God isn’t in places where these children cry,” he answers dryly and grimaces in disgust. “So, what were we supposed to do?” He taps the table with his finger. “Bring him before a judge so that he’d get out after a year or two and go back to his business?” I don’t react and he hits the table. “No,” he says. “I decided this time I’d be the judge and the executioner. I aimed my gun and shot that scumbag in the head.” He smiles and I can’t move. “Tommy and Mike finished off the clients.” He pours himself some more wine and fills my glass as well. “So, we were quietly kicked off the force.” He raises his glass to me and drinks. “They didn’t want to make too much noise about pedophiles’ businesses going on under their nose.” He snorts in disgust, “Everybody won.” He strokes the tattoo on his wrist and smiles when he sees me staring.
“The letters BP, Boston Police, symbolize my old world in the police force. And the sword symbolizes my new world.”
“Then how…” I start to ask and fall silent, searching for the right words. “Then how did you change sides so drastically? From upholding the law to breaking it so blatantly?”
“We don’t break it blatantly.” He strokes my hand. “We break it subtly,” he sniggers. “We don’t sell drugs to kids and we don’t employ minors. Everything else is crap.”
“Fine, I can see that you’re not letting plain facts get in the way… but still, if you get caught, it will ruin your lives.” I hold his hand for a moment before he pulls it away.
“If.” He shrugs indifferently. “Meanwhile, we’re making lots of people’s lives much better.” He winks.
“That’s one way of looking at it. A twisted way, but still a way.” I say and continue eating as I think about the terrible story he just told me.
He lights up a cigarette and I clear the table and wash the dishes. My head is spinning with so many thoughts. He’s not just a brothel owner and a drug dealer, he’s a murderer as well. But despite these terrible facts, he has morals. Twisted morals that bizarrely make me want him even more. If I suspected before that I had lost my mind, now I’m sure of it.
When I return to him, he’s deep in thought. My heart expands suddenly, and I feel the need to comfort him. I sit on his lap and he kisses my lips gently, his hands are limp by his sides.
“Touch me,” I ask, and he puts his hands on my hips and kisses me again. I shake my head. “Touch me the way you want to,” I insist, and he raises one hand towards my hair and stops. His pupils shrink as he looks at me tensely and I close my eyes and whisper, “Touch me, I know you won’t hurt me.” He puts his large hand on my head and strokes my hair. My body grows stiff and I am breathing heavily.
“I will never hurt you.” He leaves his hand on my hair and kisses me softly. “And if anyone ever hurts you again, I’ll make sure they die in agony.” I take a deep breath, lay my head on his shoulder and try to relax my body.
Several minutes pass and I feel his body awakening, so I stand up. “Not yet,” I say sadly. “I need to process everything that happened today.”
“Take as much time as you need.” He rearranges his jeans at the crotch and lights a cigarette. “You’re still on sick leave anyway,” he laughs, and his laughter releases my tension.
I go to the kitchen and turn on my laptop. I have new tasks from Professor Sawyer – just what I needed. I’m drawn into the fascinating world of issues of artificial light and I only raise my head when the room is flooded with natural light.
“Is it morning already?” I ask in confusion.
Liam, who is sprawled on the sofa, looking at two sheets of squared paper, turns his head to me. “Yes,” he laughs. “We really should go to sleep.” He stands up as I rub my eyes and follow him upstairs. “You didn’t go to the bar last night,” I say in astonishment as I walk towards the bathroom.
“Even criminals can take a day off.” He takes his clothes off and goes to the shower. I sprawl on the bed, and when he lies down beside me, I hear his muffled voice in my dreams.