Ringgg.
Glancing at my watch, I smirked before reaching over and answering my cell phone. “Brother.”
“What have you done?”
“The first time you call me in five years, Brother, and that is what you ask me?” I tried to get up, to leave her to rest, but she just held on tighter, so I gave in and stayed put.
“I saw you this morning, so spare me the bullshit. I’ve gotten five ODs this evening. Two of them had GHB in their systems, the third had PCP, and the last two had ketamine mixed in with heroin.”
“Did you say five? That can’t be right—”
“I know how to do my fucking job. When did you start slacking on yours? You’re mixing shit now?”
“I trust you can do your job, Brother.” I tried not to let him kill my mood. “I just figured the death toll would be much higher by now…apparently, I need to lower my expectations.”
He was silent, but I merely laughed. GHB? PCP? They mixed date rape drugs with smack? Were they just excited or stupid?
“You’re doing this on purpose—”
“Being a doctor in this city is going to get a lot more stressful for a while, so good luck, little brother,” I replied, hanging up, and when I did she shifted under me.
“I think that is the most civil conversation I’ve heard you and your brother have,” she muttered.
“You’re right,” I said. She rolled over and I missed the feel of her on me immediately. Grabbing her arm, I pulled her back on my lap. “Where are you going?”
“It’s a little hard to have a conversation with you when your cock is inches from my face,” she said, shifting until her ass was right on top of me. “Better.”
“Not for me. I liked where your face was.” I grinned as she made a face at me. Pulling her closer to me, she put her arms around my neck. “Let me guess...my wife wants to know what my brother and I were being civil over.”
She nodded.
“Drugs.”
“What?” she asked, surprised by the answer.
Nodding, I repeated it again. “Apparently the doctor didn’t like that his drug dealer brother had a bad batch of drugs on the street causing people to OD before reaching his hospital.”
“He can’t blame you for every drug dealer on the street,” she said as if that was obvious, and it proved how innocent she was to this.
“Yesterday he could,” I told her honestly. “Because yesterday I supplied every drug dealer on the street. But not anymore. I told Cillian the Callahans pulled out of Boston, which means he’s now the supplier. However, over the years more and more people in the Northeast have become addicted to heroin. The demand is high and because my family also controls 99 percent of the heroin coming into the port here that means the Finnegan brothers don’t have enough and they’re mixing anything they can to sell. The money will rain on them for a little bit and they’re going to think they are kings, but the demand will only worsen as people’s highs are cut short and they come looking for more.”
“And I doubt the Callahan family will give up their 99 percent,” she said, connecting the dots. “Which means they’ll have to mix more and more and people will start to die faster and faster.”
“Also causing the government to have to step in and face that ugly secret no one wants to admit…there is a drug problem in Massachusetts. The druggies don’t give a fuck where their high comes from as long as they get their fix. The government can ignore it if there isn’t a high death toll. People don’t complain if they get rich. It’s a system that has been perfectly regulated by us to give them all what they wanted and now we’re gone.”
Her eyes widened as she realized the logical conclusion. “It’s going to be like the old days! Like in the movies with gangs at war trying to get the best drugs. The cops on a chase. People dying with needles in their arms. It will be chaos.”
“Keep going. Think what happens when most of those inner city hospitals no longer get those mysterious donations?”
The smile that crossed her face gave me chills. “You’re evil, Mr. Callahan.”
“I’m just getting started, Ivy,” I told her, the plan in my head coming together. “Everyone needs to remember their roles. This city. Those who hurt you. The Finnegan brothers. Wyatt—”
“Wyatt?” Her eyes widened. “What do you plan to do to your brother?”
“How much do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she said, staring deep into my eyes. “Tell me everything. You promised not to use me without my permission.”
I placed my hand on her cheek, stroking softly. “Once you get into my mind, Ivy, there is no escaping.”
“I know.”
I smirked…then I told her.
My family revolutionized organized crime. We created a balance. We made them need us, and they became so comfortable they forgot what it was like without us…what a bunch of ungrateful little bastards. I wondered if this was what God thought about the Israelites.
If so they were going to need to repent.
To repent they must be sorry.
To be sorry they must feel pain.
So let there be pain.
TWENTY-ONE
“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.”
~ Jack Kerouac
TWO DAYS LATER
ETHAN
I saw the car slow next to me as I ran down the street.
I knew who it was. How could I not when he’d called almost three dozen times in the last two days?
He apparently didn’t get it.
Running faster, I missed my turn toward the house, running instead around the block once more, the wind pushing through to me, filling my lungs with the air that smelled like coffee and bagels. My heart pounded against my chest, out of synch with the sounds around me: people rising from their beds, throwing out the trash, talking on their phones. I preferred swimming for this reason. I didn’t want to hear anyone. I didn’t want to smell anything. I sure as hell didn’t want the goddamn mayor tailing me.
Stopping, I took another deep breath, checking my watch before walking into the local corner deli. The old man behind the counter glanced up from his tablet, tilting his head down to look over his small framed glasses. Realizing it was me, he nodded and picked up his tablet, heading toward the back.
“Kitty, you know where the damn newspaper app is on this thing?” he yelled out as he went. A few seconds later power lights beside the camera switched from green to red.
Grabbing a basket, I went to the fridge with the milk in it. No sooner did I move that the bell chimed behind me.
“Two percent or whole?” I asked him, staring at the milks.
“Wife usually says two, but I’m a whole kind of man,” his deep voice said, and I reached for the two.
“Can’t be going against the wives, now can we, Takahashi?” I looked at the gray-haired man who stood beside me with dark eyes, almost eye level with me. “How is Kyoko?”
“Good. She’s taken up pottery,” he said.
“Pottery,” I repeated, moving to see the cereals and he, of course, followed. “Interesting hobby.”