Chapter Nineteen
~ He’s Got to Go ~
Mitch
I’m sat in the back corner of this dingy bar on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place that smells like stale beer and old cigarette smoke even though smoking’s been banned for years.
The lighting is shit, just a few weak bulbs hanging over scarred wooden tables, and the handful of patrons keep to themselves, nursing cheap whiskey and staring into their glasses like the answers to life are floating in the amber liquid.
It’s been five days since Finn disappeared. Five fucking days of radio silence from our little brother, and every single one of them has felt like a noose tightening around our necks.
We know Sinclair’s men are out there looking for all three of us.
This can’t just be about the shipment Finn stole.
It’s too much heat, too personal. James and I have been laying low in a shitty motel on the edge of town, paying cash, and switching burner phones.
If Mr. Sinclair gets his hands on us, it won’t be a quick death.
It’ll be slow, creative, and painful; we both know it.
James and I haven’t said much tonight. We’re sitting in silence, both of us nursing warm beers we barely touch.
The weight of the last couple of weeks sits heavy between us.
We knew shit would hit the fan the second Finn got jealous over those drugs.
They weren’t even our clients. Finn just wanted to expand, stumbled on a corner that was already buying Sinclair’s product, and threw a fucking tantrum when he saw the S.S.
stamp. We didn’t need to expand, we had a nice, steady profit.
But no… our stupid kid brother wanted to be a big shot.
James runs a hand over his face and sighs deep, the sound exhausted, when his phone suddenly rings… the one he only keeps in case Finn calls. He told the crew not to use it, to call the burner I have instead.
James frowns and looks at me. I nod once, answer it.
He picks up, keeping his voice low. “Hello?”
I watch his face carefully. His eyes go wide almost immediately. “You did what?!”
The anger in his hiss tells me everything. Finn’s fucked up again. Fear pricks sharp through my gut because whatever our little brother has done automatically paints a target on James and me too.
James closes his eyes, voice dropping even lower. “Finn, you fucking idiot… please tell me this is a joke. Please…”
He gestures urgently for my burner phone.
I frown, confused, but hand it over anyway.
I watch as he taps something in, his face draining of colour.
Then he passes the phone back to me. It’s an article that was pushed out just minutes ago…
one of those live local news feeds that pops up fast in a city like this.
There’s a photo of a warehouse by the docks engulfed in flames.
It’s not massive, but it’s enough to destroy.
The report says nearby dock workers witnessed the explosion but didn’t see anyone entering or exiting.
They think there were no human casualties.
I look at James, mouth forming the silent question: What the fuck is this?
James shakes his head, still listening to Finn on the other line, his face twisting with fury.
He licks his teeth angrily and hisses while jabbing the table with one finger. “Are you serious, Finn?! What the fuck is wrong with you, little brother! You’re going to get us all fucking killed!”
My heart races at the unknown. James laughs, bitter and sharp. “So… not only did you blow up his warehouse…”
My eyes go wide. Oh Finn… you didn’t… you didn’t blow up one of Mr. Sinclair’s properties.
Then James adds, voice rising despite himself, “Who the fuck is Christopher? What?”
I watch every shift in James’s expression, trying to piece it together from his side of the conversation.
James growls through a whisper, “You kidnapped someone?! How the fuck… why?!”
He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “You’ve lost the plot, brother. No, I’m not proud of you! You actually disguised yourself, stole a wheelchair, and followed them around a fucking mall?!”
I facepalm and groan, the sound low and miserable.
James finally hangs up, tossing the phone onto the sticky tabletop like it’s poisoned. He looks at me, eyes wide with disbelief and fear. “Mitch… fuck… he’s lost the fucking plot. What the fuck are we gonna do, man?”
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on us like a physical thing. The bar noise fades into the background. I take a slow sip of my warm beer, trying to think clearly.
James leans forward, voice barely above a whisper. “First option… we get the fuck out of dodge. Pack what we can, bail tonight. Start fresh somewhere else. New city, new names, leave everything and everyone behind. With or without Finn.”
I nod slowly, turning the glass in my hands. “We could do that. We’ve got some savings stashed. Enough to disappear for a while. Find a new setup, keep our heads down.”
James runs a hand over his face again. “But we’ve got a whole client list relying on us.
Regulars who pay good money for our product.
We’ve got the garage too, even if we have to rebuild.
We can buy a new place, start fresh on the legit side.
The regulars will come to us. We stop doing the dodgy shit…
no more trafficking, no more risky moves.
Just keep to ourselves… stay low, stay out of Sinclair’s way. ”
“Oh yeah?” I say, voice bitter. “You think he’s gonna let us stay in his city after the shit Finn’s pulled? Nah, James. You don’t get away with blowing up his shit and then… fuck… kidnapping one of his men.”
I wince at the word “kidnapping.” My stomach turns, but I keep going. “You know… ever since we let Finn join the business, he’s caused nothing but trouble, James.”
James nods, eyes distant. “I know… he should’ve stayed with our folk. We had a whole setup; we were doing so fucking good.”
We both fall quiet again. The weight of what we’re actually considering sits between us like a loaded gun on the table.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the idea forming but not quite settling right. “So… we either leave everything behind… or we betray our brother.”
James closes his eyes for a long second, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t believe what we’re even thinking…
I mean, if it were you, I wouldn’t even consider about it.
But… he doesn’t care about us. What’s he ever done for us that actually benefited us?
He doesn’t give a shit that Sinclair’s after us now. Meanwhile he’s hidden God knows where…”
I add quietly, “We may never see him again anyway.”
James opens his eyes and looks at me, the conflict clear on his face. “Maybe we can persuade Sinclair to let us stay.”
I frown. “How?”
James runs a hand through his hair, leaning in closer. “We give him everything we’ve got on where Finn could possibly be. Finn’s own bank statements, a list of every shitty property he’s ever bought with his cut… anything that might lead Sinclair to him.”
I stare at him. “So… you think if we give Finn to Sinclair, he might let us live? Let us stay?”
James nods slowly. “Yeah… I think it’s worth a shot.
Look, man, we’re in our forties. I can’t be bothered moving to a whole new city where we don’t know the rules of the streets, where we don’t know anyone or who’s gonna be loyal.
Here we’ve got everything and everyone we need. We just gotta rebuild.”
I let that sit for a long moment. The idea feels like betrayal, but it also feels like survival.
I nod, the decision settling heavy in my gut. “Fine… I can’t believe I’m saying this but… you’re right. Finn’s gotta go…”