Chapter 7
When I get home and open the box, I find myself looking at old pictures of me and my dad.
Some are just of me at different times in my life—my first baseball game, my sixth grade graduation, as well as my college graduation.
There’s some birthday photos, and the day my dad bought me a car.
A lot of the important moments in life were captured.
As I continue to dig, I find letters I wrote to my dad when I was a kid—one saying he was my hero.
I’m surprised that he kept all of this, but also confused why he’s giving it to me. Unless…I don’t want to think about why, because the only thing I can think of is that he doesn’t believe he’ll be coming back.
I step away from the box, choosing to take a shower and get to bed. I might need to talk to Johnny again. I’m starting to think this situation my dad is in is a little more serious than they’re letting on.
For the next week, work occupies a lot of my time. On top of my normal duties, I’ve had to perform last rites for a member of my parish, two baptisms, and counseling for an engaged couple.
I’ve only reached out to Johnny once but it took him a day and a half to respond, and he only said there was nothing to update me on.
I’ve called my dad numerous times, but it’s clear his phone is turned off. My concern grows until it’s almost all I can think about, so on a Friday evening, I make my way back to the bar and hope Johnny is there.
The same man with the beady eyes and thinning hair takes my I.D. He doesn’t have anything to say this time, just a cursory glance at the license before his narrow-eyed gaze lands on me again. With a slight jerk of his head, he lets me know I’m free to go.
My eyes scan the room before I make the turn into the hall that leads to the office that my dad occupied until recently.
Before I knock, I lean in and listen, because I hear raised voices.
“I don’t fucking care. He shouldn’t have information I don’t,” Johnny says.
“What am I supposed to say? He’s not talking.”
“Figure it out.”
“All right.”
The voices get a little lower, or the customers get a little louder, because now I only catch a few words here and there.
“He doesn’t know who…but he’s not happy… looking for Cortez.”
Johnny responds. “Fuck.” That word comes through loud and clear. “Haven’t heard…but if he finds him...don’t let…”
I nearly press my ear to the door, unconcerned if anybody sees me. They mentioned my dad. Someone’s looking for him, but who? The one who wants to kill him? Someone else?
“He’s furious...won’t stop. We have to get…”
I lean a little too close and my body hits the doorknob, causing it to make a noise. I silently curse myself before quickly knocking.
The door swings open, and Johnny stands there with a vicious scowl on his face.
“Holy fuck, kid, you better be careful whose fucking doors you’re bumping into.”
“Sorry. Can we talk?”
The guy inside with him gives me a head-to-toe once over, his hand slowly coming around from his back. I don’t doubt he was reaching for a gun that’s hidden there.
Johnny sighs. “Fine. I don’t have much time.” He looks at the other guy—a short, stocky man that’s definitely younger than me. “Remember what I said.”
He nods. “Got it, boss.”
Once the door closes, Johnny sits down with a sigh.
“You’re the boss now?” I question.
His eyes flash in my direction. “Someone has to step up.”
A memory runs through my head. I was young—maybe fourteen, and Johnny was hanging out with my dad. They were laughing and talking about what they’d do if they were the boss.
At that time, I had a good idea what my dad and Johnny were into.
Mistrust runs through my blood.
“That’s something you’ve wanted for a while, right?” I ask.
Johnny narrows his eyes at me, his jaw clenching.
“You watch your fucking mouth. I’m tolerating this one time, because I’ve known you your whole life and I respect your father, and it’s the latter that’s keeping me from cutting your tongue from your fucking mouth.
Don’t you let those words spill from your lips again. ”
I hold up my hands in surrender, my heart racing in my chest, though I try not to let on. “I was just asking.”
He huffs out a breath, and when I study him, I see the bags under his eyes and his messy hair. He’s stressed and worried.
“I need to know more about what’s going on,” I tell him.
“Dad leaves me this box of sentimental memories, and you know him, he’s not a sentimental man.
He’s now MIA without his phone, and you’re in here looking like you’ve aged five years since I saw you last. And before you try to lie or downplay anything, I overheard part of the conversation you were having in here. ”
Johnny sighs again. “You know, you’re gonna get yourself killed. Listening in on conversations and running that mouth of yours.”
“Who’s looking for him?” I ask, getting back to the point.
“Just a triggerman. He’s working for another family.”
“He’s not in the family?”
“No.”
“Someone has to know where my dad is. Someone has to be able to go check in and make sure he’s still fine.”
“Sure, someone knows.”
“Okay, and?”
“And what, kid? You some mafioso now? What’re you gonna do with all this information?”
“I want to go see him.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. “And you shouldn’t even be here.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He leaves it there for a minute, but when I continue to stare at him, he continues. “It’s not safe. You got your little life all set up. You’re good. Keep it that way.”
I swallow down my anger, knowing it’s fueled by fear and shouldn’t be aimed at Johnny. I stand up. “I want updates. I want to know how close you are to finding this guy who's looking for my dad. I want to know when it’s safe for my father to come back.”
His brows lift slightly. “Okay, Father,” he says, emphasizing the title. “You want me to alert you when the problem has been dealt with?”
“Yes.”
Johnny looks slightly amused. “Sure thing. Anything else?”
Now he’s just humoring me, so I stand up and get ready to leave.
“Oh.” I stop and turn around. “Last week, there was a guy here. He was staring at me from across the bar. Then he was outside as I was leaving. He watched me as I drove off, but he was on his phone. Is that something I need to be concerned about?”
Johnny’s brows knit. “What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Angry demeanor. Five o’clock shadow.”
“He have any tattoos?”
I shrug. “He was covered up.”
“He never asked you anything?”
“No.”
“It’s probably nothing. I’ll look into it, but hey, don’t talk to anyone about this place. Your dad. Anything.”
“I know, Johnny. I remember the rules.”
He dips his chin. “I’ll be in touch.”
I leave, no longer sure if I want to hear from him or not. I won’t know if he’s calling with good news or bad.