13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
DECLAN
I enter Persey’s Place and find Axel at the back of the restaurant.
“You didn’t come home last night,” Axel points out as he takes a drink from his coffee and doesn’t even bother to look up at me, keeping his eyes trained on the spot where my head will be when I sit down.
“I’m aware,” I tell him as I sit. “The plants were returned to the greenhouse?” I ask him as a waitress appears and pours me a cup of coffee. I’m referring to the stuff we found while sweeping the bars. I had no idea the best way to handle it, so I reached out to Perez who said my brothers could drop it off to him and he would handle it.
Axel gives me a slight nod. We place our predictable order with the waitress, and once we are alone he looks at me. “Where were you?” he demands.
I do a stare off with him for a few beats. “Why? Did you need me?”
“You never ask me to cover you for the whole night. You ask for an hour, sometimes a few, never the whole night. Where were you?”
He has me there. “I was helping a friend.”
Axel stares at me for a few seconds, and then takes another sip of coffee.
“I had the crew do another search overnight at all of the places. They are still clean. No new hires until after this is sorted out. So we are down two people in the Flint location now. I have a few people that have covered the holes, but that is stretching us.”
“Okay, we’ll need to put the word out that we need some staff,” I say. “But nobody unless we meet with them first.” Axel nods. We didn’t handle hiring those last two knuckleheads, and it hadn’t turned out well.
Our breakfast comes and we go through some of our weekly rundowns. Axel and I meet like this each week. Sometimes Slade comes, but he is newer to the business, so he spends more time with Dad right now, learning the ins and outs. Axel is kind of the head security guy, and this slip in of those two fools has shaken him. He is now doubling his efforts at all the spots to make sure things are running okay. He is good at keeping everyone in check. He is a scary motherfucker, that brother of mine. Being in the marines made him that way.
When we are done and paid, we head outside.
I get in my car and call my dad, deciding I can kill two birds with one stone. I’ll get him alone to talk with him and he can help me out. I have been strung out and edgy about whatever is going on with him, and I need to get to the bottom of it.
“Dec,” my Dad says in salutation.
“Dad. Do you know how to install a doorknob?”
Silence meets me and then my dad lets out a deep chuckle. “Break something?” he asks me.
“Kind of,” I say, relaxing.
“Meet me at the hardware store.”
After helping me to buy a new doorknob and deadbolt, my Dad follows me to Vivian’s apartment. It is close to 9:30, and I hope she hasn’t left for work early. You know, so her apartment is safe.
Dad and I park on the street, and when my father gets out of his own car, he looks around curiously. “You have a friend that lives here?” he asks.
The neighborhood where Vivian lives is bad, but I think it is even worse in the daylight, if that is possible. Because while Vivian’s building is still the one in the worst shape, the ones surrounding it aren’t winning any beauty pageants either.
“Yeah, a friend from class,” I say.
He looks around warily but holds his arm out, silently inviting me to lead the way. As I go in and climb the stairs, I feel my temper rising that this slum hole piece of shit is where Vivian lives. I assume it must be dirt cheap, and she must not have very much income for her to live here. I can’t imagine this place is safe for a lot of men I know, let alone two young women, however sexist that may be.
We start up the stairs, and I notice that I walk up them easier than my father. I can tell he is pushing himself to get up them, and I file that away in the to be discussed later area of my brain. I need to focus on the task at hand right now. When we get to the third floor, I lead the way to Vivian’s door, the snowman wreath like a beacon of happiness among the rubble around it.
I knock on the door and hear footsteps, then the sound of something being moved, and Vivian opens the door to peek out.
“Oh, Declan,” she says, sounding a little surprised. Her reaction confuses me. I told her I was coming back, so why is she surprised?
“Hi,” I say as she opens the door wider.
She looks beyond me to my father, then her eyes flick quickly back to mine, hers now filled with concern. “This is my dad. I brought him to help me install the new knob.” I watch as the fear leaves her eyes and she relaxes.
“Nice to meet you,” Vivian says politely to my father, holding out her hand and giving him a small smile.
“I’m Jude Falco,” my father introduces warmly, taking Vivian’s hand in his.
“Vivian,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Vivian.” My father turns to me, smiling like a fool. And I know what he is thinking, like he’s put all the pieces together and this fix-it job for a friend makes total sense now. “Should we get to work, Dec?”
I nod, ignoring my father’s obnoxious smile, and we turn our attention to the door. We use the chair that Vivian has positioned behind the door as a table to lay out the equipment.
“I really appreciate this,” Vivian says, standing behind us. “I can pay you for the new knob if you tell me—”
“It is all taken care of,” my father interjects. “Don’t you mention anything about money again. We are happy to do this.”
“Okay,” Vivian says with a shy smile, seeming to take it much easier when my father says it than she would if I were to say it. And that is annoying.
Vivian walks into the kitchen area, which is only about six feet away from us, to leave us to work. I unscrew what is left of the doorknob on the door and remove it.
“A friend, huh?” my dad says softly to me as he opens the packaging on the newly purchased knob.
“Yes,” I reply tightly.
“Sure,” he says, nodding and desperately trying to hold back a smirk.
“You got something to say, old man?” I ask him, purposely ignoring his stare.
“Not a thing,” he says, but I can see him still smirking from the corner of my eye.
We work in silence after that. It is pretty straightforward, but there is a part I am having trouble pinning together. I am about to slam the stupid fucking thing together when my dad takes it from my hands.
“Sometimes, you need to just stop and look at things a different way, Dec,” he says. He picks up the two pieces and spins them a quarter of an inch, sliding them together easily and then screwing it in the door. “You have a bad temper.”
“So?”
He gives me a look—the Dad look—that shuts me up and tells me to slow my roll. “So nothing. I had a bad temper—”
“Had?” I interrupt in disbelief.
“Yes, had,” my father says through his teeth, giving me a stern look. “But I have found over the years that in most situations, if I slow down and look at it from all different angles, I’m not so mad, or angry or frustrated. And sometimes the alternate perspective makes me happier.”
My dad speaks in riddles a lot more as he gets older, I notice. I just nod, and since he is in his serene haiku mood, I decide to get in there and try to get him to talk more.
“You talk to Perez since Cruz was found?” I ask him, starting off with business. I figure this is a safe place to start, and I’ll work my way to the other, more personal questions I have.
He nods. “He’s not happy. The kid is still officially on his payroll, and someone killed him. He’s got people working to try and find out the who and why. It’s personal for him.”
“Does he have any more information as to why we were involved?”
“No, I’ve been trying to look into that myself.”
“Does it have anything to do with that phone call the other night?” I ask as I focus all of my attention on the screw I am working into place.
“I told you what that was about,” my father says, not missing a beat. I wait, but my dad is silent as he tries the keys in the lock, making sure they slide in okay and lock and unlock the knob. I open my mouth to try and keep him talking when he stands up and walks over to Vivian, who is wiping down the counter.
“Good as new,” he says, smiling at her and handing her the new key.
“Thank you, Mr. Falco,” she says sincerely to him, then she turns to me. “Thank you so much, Declan,” she says with a smile. Those eyes. Damn, they lock me in. She looks so much better, I notice. Still not one hundred percent but so much better than she had the night before when I found her sleeping in the classroom.
“You are very welcome, Vivian,” my father says for us, then he touches a hand to his pocket. “Excuse me, I just have to take a quick call,” he announces and leaves the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“I think this one won’t fall apart in your hand,” I tell Vivian.
She rewards me with a small, hesitant laugh.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel much better,” she says. “I ate and took some Tylenol. I mean, I’m not a hundred percent, but last night I think I was like negative fifty percent, so I am much improved and ready for work.”
I want to demand she stay home and rest, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing that my argument about her job is worthless. She has no reason to listen to me about her life, despite how much I want her to. “We never got to work on our project. Do you want to get together today at the library after you are done with work?” I don’t even know where the suggestion for this came from. I don’t usually ask for things. Usually I am demanding, direct, and a giant asshole. But when I am around Vivian, I feel like I need to be softer. Something deep in me tells me to handle her gently.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, but I work my other job tonight at seven.”
“You work two jobs?” I ask, my tone full of complete disgust and anger.
Vivian recoils just a fraction at my tone, but recovers instantly, her defenses coming up. I hate myself in this moment. So much for me being softer and gentle.
“Yes, I do,” she replies frigidly.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat, “what about Saturday?”
She gives her head a little shake. “It’s my weekend to work, so I’m on tomorrow night too.”
I take the rejection and decide it is time for me to leave. If I keep asking, I’ll sound like a desperate kid, and I don’t want that. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in class then,” I say, turning.
“I’m off on Sunday though,” she says to my back. “We could meet then.”
I stop at the door and turn to her. “Okay, see you Sunday at five.” I exit out the door and down the two flights of stairs. I feel light and a little excited as I do. I’m just about to exit the building when I see a small plaque on a door near it that says, “LANDLORD.”
I rap on the door. I can hear a TV and some coughing in the background, but no one answers my knock. I knock again, a little louder this time, so I know that I can be heard over the TV, but again no one answers my knock.
And that pisses me off.
I pound the door with the side of my fist this time, nearly sending it flying open. This gets movement on the inside.
The door is ripped open and a man who has hit every branch of the ugly tree as he fell to earth stands before me. “What?” he sneers at me, his beady eyes narrowed, looking me up and down.
“You Tim?” I ask.
“Who wants to know?” Tim asks back, real original like.
“Listen, 3C is having a problem with the water—”
“Yeah, I’ll get to it,” he says, rolling his eyes and moving to shut the door, but I slap my palm against the door, holding it open. Tim looks at my hand on his door and then back to me. “You got a problem, buddy?” he asks me.
“Like I was saying, 3C is—”
“Do you live here?” Tim asks me.
I feel my vision starting to see red. “No.”
“Then I got nothing to say to you. Now get the fuck out of here!” Tim shouts, pushing my arm from the door. I use the same arm to fist his shirt, pushing him back into his smelly apartment and against a wall, then slamming the door shut, locking us inside together.
“I will get the fuck out of here when I am done telling you what I need to tell you,” I growl into his face. “Do you fucking understand me?”
Tim’s eyes go wide with fear, and he nods slowly, his jaw slack in panic.
“Now, you small-dicked fuck job, you may think you are king shit running this fucking slum and bullying the tenants, doing what you want, when you want. But you fucked with the wrong god damned guy. I don’t know what you are charging, but you should be paying people to live here. You got me?”
Tim gives me a little nod.
“The women in 3C had a problem with their door. Did you know that?”
Tim gave his head a small shake no, and I feel my pulse ratchet up. “Oh, no? Because they say they’ve been telling you about it for the better part of a month. So someone is lying to me, Tim.”
“I, uh, I maybe knew—”
I slam my fist into Tim’s stomach and drop him to the floor. I crouch down beside him. “I don’t fucking like people like you, and I hate people who fucking lie.”
“I’ll fix the door,” Tim moans, grabbing at his gut as he writhes on the floor.
“Oh, it’s too late for that one, because I just fixed it,” I explain to him. “But you will fix their water,”—Tim nods wildly—“today.”
Tim stops nodding, and starts frantically shaking his head no. “I can’t. It’s a problem with the whole building. I don’t have the money to fix it now, and it can’t be fixed in a day. I—”
I stand up and put my foot lightly on Tim’s chest. My foot moves up and down as if riding waves with the motion of Tim’s panicked breathing. “You have been collecting rent, and I know it isn’t going back into the building, so what have you been doing with it, Timmy boy? Hmm?”
“My rents are way lower than anyone else—”
“But you still get some, so what are you doing with it?” When he doesn’t immediately answer me, I move my foot, putting just enough pressure on his fat neck to upset his breathing and make him nervous.
“Horses,” he wheezes out, grabbing at my foot with both hands.
“Ah, the ponies,” I say, nodding with understanding. “Well, you seem to suck at picking those as much as you suck at being a landlord.” I push my foot down a little more. “Get the water fixed, Tim, because if you don’t, my size thirteens on your neck are going to seem like paradise compared to what else I have in store.”
I give a final shove into his neck and walk back through the door, slamming it closed behind me. My father is waiting for me in the hall, leaning on the wall opposite the apartment. He gives me a slow smile as I come out.
“What?” I demand, still hopped up on my interaction.
My father angles his head to the exit, and I follow him as we walk to my car. “What?” I ask him again.
My dad hesitates before he speaks, something I don’t recall him ever doing. “I always worried that without your mother, I was going to turn you boys into just a bunch of thugs, like me.”
“Dad, you aren’t—”
He ignores me and speaks over me. “I run some nice places, but make no mistake, Declan. Deep down, I am a thug. And I want so much more for you, but honestly I don’t know how to be anything else and provide for you boys.
“But watching you change that doorknob for Vivian, and watching you, uh, negotiate with the landlord, shows me that you aren’t a thug. You’re a man trying to help people that are struggling in the best way you can. You’re a good man, and that’s all I hoped you’d be, and I’m proud of you.”
“I just threatened the guy with my boot on his throat to fix some pipes. I don’t think that’s the tactic of a good man.”
“Yeah, but you tried to talk to him,” my father points out, “and then you had to meet him at his level. Because you want what is best for Vivian. That’s what a good man does; he takes care of those he cares about.”
“She is just a girl from class that I feel bad for, Dad,” I tell him.
But my Dad has already started walking away. “Sure she is, Dec,” he says. “See you tonight.”