Chapter Five #3
The air inside is thick with the smell of damp concrete and salt from the harbour.
Empty wooden crates are stacked near the walls.
A few of my men stand scattered through the room, arms crossed, silent but not relaxed.
They straighten when I come in, shoulders pulling back, eyes cutting to me before shifting back to the centre of the room, where Jackie hangs from the chain hoist bolted to the ceiling beam.
The docks special. His hands tied off, rope run through the iron hook at the end of the hoist, his body left hanging just high enough that the toes of his boots skim the floor.
Someone’s already worked him over. One eye is swollen nearly shut, the skin split above it, blood dried down the side of his face, and bruises darken his jaw.
I keep staring at him, trying to make sense of what the fuck he was thinking. Jackie Higgins has been part of the docks so long he feels built into them, same as the pilings and the salt-rotted boards. Now he’s strung up in the middle of the room like any other man stupid enough to cross us.
I cross the floor slowly, letting the scrape of my shoes carry. Jackie lifts his head when I get close. His eyes are unfocused, but he knows who’s standing in front of him.
“Jackie,” I say.
He swallows hard. “Boss—”
He says it like he still has the right.
“You know why you’re here.”
His mouth opens, then closes. Nothing comes out.
“You’ve been with us a long time,” I go on, voice even. “My da trusted you. I trusted you. What the hell were you thinking?”
He shakes his head weakly, as if there’s anything left to deny.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Don’t insult me.”
The rope creaks overhead as he shifts his weight. I look him over, then lift my eyes back to his face. “I’ll give you this,” I say. “You’ve got balls.”
“Shipments come in light,” I continue. “Crates disappear. And you thought nobody would notice.”
“I was gonna fix it,” he wheezes.
“That’s the thing about snakes,” I say, stepping closer. “They always think they’ve got more time.”
I hold out my hand. Danny, one of my top men, steps forward and slaps the bat into my palm.
“Here you go, boss,” he says under his breath.
I close my fingers around it and lift, sliding the end under Jackie’s chin.
His head tips back until his eyes meet mine.
He tries to look away, but the bat keeps him pinned.
“I want you to know that this isn’t just business,” I tell him, my voice low. “This is personal.”
He knows what that means. Years on the docks. Years of trust. Years of knowing better.
“You understand?” I ask.
He manages a small nod against the bat.
I lower it and step back.
The first swing lands across his ribs. The crack echoes sharp through the room. Air blasts out of him in a broken scream, his body jerking against the rope. I don’t stop. Second swing. Lower. Third. Harder.
I keep swinging. Years of memories with Jackie driving each one.
Jackie at my parents’ table for Sunday dinner.
Swing. The bat connects with meat and bone.
Blood sprays across the concrete. My da’s hand on his shoulder, promoting him to head of dock operations.
Swing. Him giving me advice, earning my trust. Swing.
The bat lands hard. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.
Him lying to my face about the shipments.
Swing. He lets out a low groan and pisses himself, the front of his pants darkening.
Blood pools at the corner of his mouth, then spills down his chin.
His breathing turns wet and uneven. But he’s still breathing, still conscious.
Good. He needs to understand what he did. What it cost.
The only sound in the room is the crack of the bat against Jackie’s body. No one moves. No one interrupts. My men are watching. Learning.
When I finally stop, Jackie sags in the ropes. His head hangs forward, breath dragging through shallow pulls.
Alive. That’s enough.
I let the bat drop. It hits the concrete with a hard thud that echoes through the room.
“Cut him down,” I order.
The rope is sliced, and he falls in a heap on the floor. Nobody rushes to help him.
I turn and walk out, tossing the words over my shoulder without looking back. “Make sure he finds his way to a hospital.” I don’t wait for an answer. I know it’ll be done.
My palms sting from the grip of the bat, and the smell of blood and piss is still stuck in my nostrils, sharp enough that I can taste it at the back of my throat.
I breathe in and let it out slow, but it doesn’t clear a damn thing.
I do it again anyway, then again, like that’s going to do something.
Doesn’t matter.
Jackie got what he deserved. By morning, everyone in Southie will know he’s a thief, and that the Byrne family has washed their hands of him.
I climb into the Cadillac and start the engine, and my mind goes straight back to Alannah. Her laughing on the rides. The pink bear tucked under her arm. Her hand closing around mine when the Ferris wheel lifted us off the ground. The kiss she left on my cheek before she slipped out of the car.
A thief caught. A message sent. A few hours at the fair with my girl.
All in all, it was a good day.