Chapter 4 Everett
Welcome To The Circus, Five Finger Death Punch
My head is pounding as I feel the zipper climb up my trousers.
The release I was hoping for didn’t occur, again . It hasn’t since the war.
Only an empty release instead.
My back stiffens as a cold shadow creeps over my shoulders.
Then Seraphina’s voice scratches through my mindless thoughts as I tidy myself.
“Ya know, you really should try something different. Maybe you’d actually enjoy fuckin’ more than once a week. Especially if ya would take the bloody condom off,” she verbally spits at me as she reaches for a cigarette, still lying in her overdecorated bed.
“Mmph.” I nod, acting as if I’m acknowledging another ridiculous opinion of hers. Her brown eyes glower at me. Her lips pucker against the stick, her dark brown bob swaying with each movement.
Take off the condom?
No .
I only utilize her once a week to blow off some steam, knowing I can’t get attached to her acid ridden soul. It’s disturbing of me, but I’d rather not have someone with good intentions develop feelings for me, especially considering I have nothing but ice within my veins.
Seraphina acts so entitled to me since I only use her and not any of the other ladies within the massage parlor, but sometimes she needs to remember our relationship isn’t a relationship .
One time she tried to buckle me down with a baby by poking holes in the condom, but luckily I know everything that goes on.
She has readable actions, a large mouth and is unable to hide anything.
She boasted to the other ladies about how she would conceive my child and never have to want for anything again, for she’d have my empire.
Moronic wench.
Last thing a child needs is a broken father and a poisonous mother.
“I’m serious, baby, if you wouldn’t have me on all fours every time, and maybe took your clothes off , it would be much more enjoyable.”
The dark recesses of my mind push forward. No one will ever see my scars.
As I place my tweed coat back on, I morosely state, “So are you saying my cock doesn’t give pleasure?”
She halts whatever she is doing as I begin to leave her messy, darkened bedroom. It smells like musky lilac and cigarettes. I swear the woman never cleans.
“No, no, no, baby, that’s not what I meant.” She comes to me in her purple robe with sewn embellishments, curling her needy fingers around my arm. “I’m just saying if we try some other stuff, maybe you’d like it. Ya know, like the old times?”
I deadpan at the wall as the colder tone of my voice ebbs out, and I hold back the venom I want to spew at her.
“Seraphina, it’s been years. When we did the things that I liked, you went and told a couple people, who then mentioned it to a few other people, and I don’t like my business being told.
If it wasn’t for my manners, I would have had you killed. ”
Her eyes shift to the floor as her brown bob falls in front of her face, hiding her shame-ridden cheeks.
She lets go of my arm and clenches her fists, ready to strike.
“Ya know I can say and do what I want. You need to lighten the fuck up, Everett, and stop being such a stuck-up bastard. Jesus. Ever since the war you’ve become such a wanker,” she sneers, trying to get a rise out of me.
I want her to hit me. Maybe I’ll actually feel something for once.
She wants any reaction, just like every other encounter. She tries so hard to make me feel something, do something, but I feel nothing .
Leaving her townhome, I begin down the cobblestones, mentally reciting my never-ending list of things to do. Other townhomes pass by my peripheral as my thoughts continue.
Luckily some items have already been addressed, such as my meeting with the gang called London Order. Not many realize my hospitable manners are just tactics.
For example, having a nice luncheon, then taking the London Order to a meeting within the massage parlor, then offering “free” massages to the gentlemen who came to discuss business. The business of trading off liquor and firearms.
Once we have finished business, I stick a couple of them in some rooms together and they share a massage.
Sometimes it escalates, but every time, they relay business details.
Without them realizing it, I either have doubled pictures, small decorative doubled mirrors, or the high rafters which I utilize to gather intel.
These cocky bastards always talk after the meetings, thinking no one is listening and that my massage girls only speak Mandarin or Russian.
Luckily the meeting went well, and no one needed to get their ass beat today.
The London Order will take our trade and we will proceed meeting on a monthly basis.
I also use similar tactics within my townhomes, apartment complexes and the Morris Horn Hotel, when affiliated individuals of interest stay in them and I need to know what we are working with. The small, doubled pictures and mirrors strongly benefit my need of control.
I take in a deep breath, smelling the welding factory off in the distance, and slowly exhale.
Then, realizing my craving for a cigarette is making my irritations rise, I reach for the lighter and cigarette within my coat pocket.
I think of my next chore on the never-ending list of shit-to-do, the Den.
I need to make sure everything is in order.
Unfortunately, someone has been stealing from the pub, and tomorrow I need to look over the books with my brother Kenneth. Though tonight I will pay a visit, observe the surroundings and see if I can spot anything.
Kenneth handles the books for the family and is the smartest of us all.
He doesn’t get his hands dirty unless he absolutely has too.
He was also a captain in the war, worked in battlefield logistics, while my dumb ass was on the battlefield.
He is the only one who truly has any inclination of what my head may be going through after the war, but he was also safe behind a bunker while I was wrapped in barbed wire .
As I arrive to the back street of our family pub, the Den, I nod to the guards, Carl and Gerhardt, at the side door. They are dressed in all black, with tactical clothing and a small arsenal underneath their wool coats.
The Den is more than just a pub. It also has an underground tunnel, interconnected with our other establishments for easy monitoring and access.
The back of the building has a spiral staircase that heads up to the third floor, all back behind a brick wall that the public knows nothing about.
Small offices lie behind this portion of the building, as well as storage for anything we may need.
My favorite features are the doubled mirrors that allow me to watch the barkeeps and patrons on each floor.
The first two floors are for patrons and the third is for special events or meetings.
The town knows not to go up there.
I take note of the stock we have in the back and carefully count what’s in the safe. Afterward, I walk through the corridor and shut the door behind me to gaze out the double-sided mirrors overlooking the bar.
It appears to be a normal night. Patrons are laughing, smiling and singing along with the piano player. My pub keeps, the twins, Lyle and Lloyd, are putting on an act. Entertaining customers left and right, serving drinks while moving faster than some of the racehorses we keep.
It’s a pity that someone feels the need to steal from us. To be honest, if they asked for money we would probably donate it to them—we look out for our community, we take care of our people, our tribe. I’ll address the issue and who it is with Kenneth tomorrow.
I monitor the bar and notice Lloyd leaving his post to come toward the back.
As he walks through the back door to grab clean glasses from the kitchen, he eyes me standing by the mirror. He flashes that crooked old smile as his glinting silver hair shines in the low-lit kitchen.
“Eh, boss! ’Ow ya doing? Am I livin’ up to ya standards?” He puffs out his chest as he grasps two glasses in either hand.
I start walking in his direction. “Oi, of course you are.” I pat him on the shoulder and look toward Lyle. “How’s your brother doing? I know he was getting over some stress and being sick, eh?”
Lloyd shrugs. “Ah, thanks, boss. He is doing real well actually. The doctor you sent over ’elped him much!
I won’t tell no one yer actually a big softy.
” He winks at me and starts to head back toward the pub, then stops before entering.
“You catch the bastard who’s stealing from us?
” His facial expression changes from playful to serious.
That’s one thing I love about the twins: they are loyal to the core for us Aftons. They were my father’s best mates and luckily I inherited their loyalty.
“I think I have. I’ll be dealing with them tomorrow. You enjoy your night and don’t worry about the bastard.” I nod toward him, crossing my arms. “You need any help with more glasses?”
He chuffs at me, “Boss, I’m glad you humble yourself, but I’m not gonna ask you ta do grunt work by bringing out clean glasses.”
I wave him away as I turn to gather more clean glasses from the end of the counter.
Clint, the young kitchen hand, is scrubbing away in the sink, focused on the task at hand.
He is still so young and innocent at fifteen years of age.
Mother begged us to give him a job before he could turn to stealing and doing small crimes, after his father passed away in the war.
I couldn’t say no to her. Figured small jobs in the kitchen wouldn’t be difficult and not as dangerous as others.
“Keep up the good work, Clint,” I murmur as he startles and apologizes for not noticing I had arrived.
Lloyd laughs abruptly. “Oh, Clint, you’re gonna make me drop these glasses, mate. God love ya, boy!”