Chapter 41 Seamus
Seamus
Six Months Later
My fists crack through teeth. Blood sputters from the groaning punk’s face, and he slumps to the side. If he weren’t tied to the chair, he’d probably collapse to the floor.
A single light shines in his face.
“Now that we’ve had a spirited discussion, I have one question for you.” I step back, flicking my wrist to toss some blood off my fingers. “Are you going to keep pushing onto the Morozov territory, or are you going to be smart?”
“Smart,” he moans and spits more blood. “Please, I’ll be smart.”
“And your friends?”
“Smart. Smart!”
“None of them want to die?”
“No, please.”
“Good man.” I give him a light pat on the forehead like he’s a dog. He whimpers, sobbing softly, as I turn away. Another job done. I shoot a text to Taras to let him know that his corners won’t be bothered anymore.
I appreciate the help, brother, he sends back.
Fucker better.
Finn’s waiting in the hall. “How’d that go?”
“Another young idiot. I swear, a new one’s born every day.”
“What’d he do, anyway?”
“He and some of his friends were selling cheap dope on Morozov turf.”
“Not even our problem?”
“You know how Taras can be.” I walk back through the house. More Whelan men are lurking around. Soldiers I’ve known for a long time. They nod to me respectfully as I pass. “That idiot lives in one of our neighborhoods, so he asked me to handle it.”
“Ah, I understand.” Finn gives me a sideways glance. “That’s why he’s not dead.”
“Exactly. The Russians would’ve strung him up in public and made an example. But I think beating some fear into him and setting him loose to tell all his friends how scary and dangerous we are is a more effective solution.”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“If that fucking moron decides to go back to selling, I won’t be nice to him next time.”
We reach the front stoop. It’s a beautiful day in Brooklyn. A young mother walks past with a stroller, totally unaware of what’s going on in the nondescript row home behind me. I wonder what it’s like living in a world where there isn’t death and pain lurking behind every doorway.
I’ll never know.
“There you boys are.” My mother’s leaning against a shiny black Jaguar, big sunglasses on her face. Her sleek red hair’s flowing over one shoulder. She’s dressed like a damn movie star. Sometimes I wish that woman would draw a little bit less attention to herself.
“Just finishing business.” I walk over and she lightly takes my arm. “How was the drive?”
“Oh, easy. I took the scenic route. I had a feeling you’d take your time.” She smiles and leans over to kiss Finn on the cheek. “You good, dear?”
“All good, Mom. Say hello to Alina for me.” Finn waves as he walks off. Several Whelan men peel off from their positions around the house and join him. More lurk nearby, watching over my mother.
“Sometimes I wish we could go walking in public without all the fuss.” Mom sighs as we stroll down the block together. The guards are good about keeping their distance, but it’s hard not to notice them.
“You know how it goes. The more power we have, the bigger the target.”
“Trust me, darling, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
“Sometimes I forget.”
She pats my arm lovingly. “Things good with Taras?”
“I’m sure he’s very appreciative of our help.”
“It’s always good to have a friendly Pakhan in your corner, darling.”
“That’s solid advice.”
“Helps when you’re married to his sister.” She beams at me and tilts her sunglasses down. “You look good. Did you do something different?”
I touch my chin. “Shaved last night.”
“Suits you. But it’s not that. Lately, you’ve seemed… lighter, somehow.”
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
She laughs and puts her glasses back in place. “You always talked about drifting with the wind, but you were always the heaviest of my kids. I don’t know where you learned to laugh and smile, but you used it to cover up all that anger and uncertainty.”
“Didn’t realize I was getting free therapy this morning.”
“I’m just saying.” She elbows me playfully. “You seem happy.”
“I am happy,” I admit, letting myself loosen up a little bit because I know what she means. I used to make a million excuses and spent my days trying to convince myself that I didn’t care about anything. No attachments, no pain.
That was never a good way to live. It ate at me quietly in ways I never noticed. I became detached. I drifted and floated, just like I wanted, and that made me rot from the inside.
“I’m happy for you then.” Mom slows as we reach the coffee shop. Two Whelan men sitting outside nod as we pass them. More soldiers are stationed at tables in the front, looking conspicuous in the fancy shop. But they’re necessary.
Alina’s sitting in the back. My wife’s blonde hair is swept back in a braid. She’s in a sweater and jeans, and I swear, she looks even more chic than my mother, which is a minor miracle. She stands and kisses Mom’s cheek first before hugging me.
“How’d everything go?” she asks casually as if we’re not talking about the brutal beating of a stranger.
Mom sits down. “He says it was fun. He enjoyed every minute of it.”
“It was successful.” I lean down and kiss Alina. “How’s the coffee?”
“Good, you should get something.”
“In a little bit. Mom, what do you want?”
“I hear that matcha stuff is good. I think I’ll try it.” She gets up again with a sigh. “But I can’t let you dote on me too much. It’ll make me soft.”
“I doubt that’s possible.”
Mom walks to the counter, smiling at the girl working there, and I join Alina at the table. We have a moment alone. I lean in and kiss her again, happy for her warmth.
“Your brother seemed happy with our agreement.”
“You saved their lives, you know.” Alina gives me a sideways look. “Maybe you’re the one getting soft?”
I snort and squeeze her knee. “Not soft. Just thinking longer term these days.”
Her eyebrows raise. “You? Long-term?”
“Believe it or not.”
“I’m shocked. What happened to drifting? Hard to plan for the future when you bend with the wind.”
“Fuck the wind. It’ll bend to me now.”
“Sounds about right.”
We sit at the table together, legs touching, her warmth against my side, my knuckles aching from brutally beating a man within an inch of his life, and I have to admit, I feel pretty good. I feel stable. More grounded than I’ve ever been.
“It’s green,” Mom says, making a face at her drink. “I didn’t know it would be green. But oh well.” She lifts it to her lips. “I’ll go with it anyway.”