“Do we give him the loan? If we do, at what percentage do we charge him before it’s paid off? Or do we take something as collateral?”
“Yeah, like his Camaro.” Tony laughs. Ludwig has a slick 1967 Chevrolet Camaro. Gorgeous sky blue with black stripes.
His daughter is a couple years younger than me, never actually spoke to her, but she seems nice. The Ludwigs almost had to close their store a couple times, their credit is shit and they can’t get a loan to save their life, let alone put a kid through college. The old man just can’t catch a break.
“You give him the loan, and when she graduates, you help her get her own practice and write us scripts for controlled prescriptions.”
My dad’s eyes light up like eyes of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, my uncle Tony’s mouth dropping in awe.
“If she doesn’t follow through with her ambitions, or the deal, then we whack the old man.” I crack my neck, awaiting my father’s grading of this so-called test. This way we don’t have to worry about our men who are going to doctors for shit, or us paying out of pocket for drugs. Mr. Ludwig will have to have a lot of faith in his daughter to go through with her graduating, and the deal afterward. His life is and will be on the line, so he better have a lot of faith in his daughter.
Silence falls over the room, my uncles looking to my father.
He nods, looking at the poker table.
“I’ll be damned,” he mutters before looking back up at me. “That’s fucking brilliant. Just brilliant,” he praises, and something weird settles in my stomach. Like butterflies, or a fuzzy feeling you get on Christmas morning. I don’t like that I enjoy his approval.
“You’re better than Kieran.” He points at me, but I don’t say anything. My brother would probably have a better plan, if not the same one. He taught me the trade of living the life on the other side of the tracks. You either learn to walk them, or get killed trying.
“I have a new guy that will help you with whatever you need. His name is Rip,” Dad informs as he puts the chips and cards back into their place on the table.
“Be here Thursday, at eight. I have a potential client coming through and I want you there, with that big brain of yours.” He looks up under his lashes, a maniacal look if any. My uncles might be impressed with my idea, but looking into my father’s eyes, he’s pissed I outsmarted him in front of his goons.
“Yeah. I’ll be here,” I inform dryly and leave the room before he can say another word. The smell of strippers’ perfume and smoke hit me like a brick wall, the beat of the music almost as loud as the pulse in my neck before I step outside and let out a breath I had been holding the entire time inside the other room.
Leaning against the brick wall that makes up the side of the building, I try to catch my breath and my sense of reality. I don’t want this, why did I do that? I should have said something else and failed his test. But I couldn’t, it’s as if something deep inside of me wanted to show him what I’m capable of and what he’s been overlooking all these years.
Now, I have the power to do whatever the fuck I want, and all I can say is New York is not safe in any way. Especially if all I desire is to show everyone what I’m capable of. I want to wreak havoc as much as I want to offer peace. There’s a fine line there and I want to find it.
Will I show mercy for women and children? The so-called respect I say I have, will it stay rooted in my soul when a man is groveling at my feet for one more day to pay his debt?
I’m afraid I shall not spare even a second more thinking about my character as long as my acts of solidity please a man I’ve been trying to my whole life.
A man gets out of a cab with a buddy, both of them laughing as they head inside, I slip into the back seat and tell the driver my address. Am I a good guy, or a bad guy? The notion teeters on my soul like a man on the bouts of sinning.
This is why I didn’t want this position. I’m too back and forth and in the world of mafia.. everything is final.
3
Romeo
In the back of the cab, I rock back and forth as we make our way back to my place, everything my father wants of me, and expects raining through my head like a bad storm. I know the rules of the game when running organized crime, there’s no room for weakness. Like my father and my grandfather, they’ve become ruthless, menacing men, not using their power for the greater good in any way. I can’t help but think with that much respect and hierarchy, why not try to help where you can? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the therapist’s words echoing in my head. Running my hands over my face, the lemony smell of the cab gives me a headache. I can’t help but wonder if Kieran knows anything about the meeting on Thursday. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I shoot him a text.
Are you at your place, or Leona’s?
Mine
Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I lean forward.
“Change of plans,” I tell the driver and have him go to Kieran’s apartment. As soon as we pull up to the curb, the headlights shine across the steps to the front of his place, revealing him sitting on them.
I give the guy a fifty.
“Keep the change,” I mutter, slipping out of the ripped up back seat. The fresh air of the night taking the ache in my temples to a tolerable pain.
He drives off, and my eyes meet Kieran’s. He’s sprawled out on the steps of his place, looking like a father’s worst nightmare with all his tattoos. I’m surprised he’s not in a suit, he’s always wearing the most top of the line shit.
“I figured you’d pop up,” he says with a slight grin. His hair disheveled, chest baring his tattoos of cheesy mafia quotes and tribal ink. Making my way to him, I sit next to him on the steps and pull out my cigarettes, lighting one. It’s funny if you think about it. Father always offered Kieran a smoke after doing something shady, but I was the one who picked it up.
“So, what brings you here?” Kieran asks with a bored tone, rubbing his palms together. He’s wearing sweats, I haven’t seen him in something so casual in a while.
“Father wants me to take your place,” I tell him, and for the first time a heavy awkwardness sets place atop my shoulders. I guess I never really thought that taking Kieran’s place might make him angry, or even feel the need to be my enemy rather than my brother.
“I figured he would,” he informs with a sharp inhale. “Is that what you want?” I can feel him look at me, but I keep my eyes focused forward into the dark. Random cars passing by giving a glimpse of brief lighting before the dark consumes my distant vision.
“I dunno. I think so,” I mutter, looking down at my hands. I really don’t know what I want anymore. I didn’t think I wanted the job, but when I was in that room tonight, something inside of me wanted to show our father I was more than capable of the position. That he’s underestimated me all these years but I don’t think I could be under his scrutinizing thumb overall. “It’s not like I can say no even if I wanted to,” I continue grimly. We were born into this, we are either beside our father or against him. I wouldn’t be surprised if I reject the offer if he comes off as pissed but is really grateful on the inside because it gives him a reason to come after me. Sometimes I swear I’m adopted.