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Now Fergus swallowed, his eyes wet. “Aye,” he whispered. “That’s what happen’d. Yer da brought ya right to me. I’d never seen ‘im so angry and scared. He told me to use ‘im. No holdin’ back. But in the same breath he told me that you would never be part of it. You’d never know what it was like to hold on to yer son and pray that the wall held up and if the wall failed that yer own body would keep the bullets away from ‘im.” He cleared his throat, lowering his face to his hand for a moment before he lifted it. “What else could I do? I agreed, and the next two years was when the legend of the German Reaper really took ‘old of the city. But ya’d never know it was ‘im whenever he had ya. It was like ‘e was two different people. Finn was pleased ‘bout yer da’s renewed interest in what he called ‘The Movement’ and I guess he thought t’ings could go back to ‘ow they were before yer mum. He started pushin’ lines. I tried to mitigate, I did. I tried to get Finn to back off and I tried to get yer da to bend a bit on the lines I thought had give. But I knew, I knew, that you was a line we could not cross. I warned Finn when he start’d talkin’ about the trouble ‘e and I got into when we were kids while lookin’ at ya doing yer homework in the corner. I warned him that I wouldn’ protect him from yer da if he crossed that line.”
“But you did, didn’t you,” Issac said softly.
“I did,” Fergus breathed. “Yer da was gonna kill ‘im. Someone got his knife off ‘im and ‘e broke a bottle to go after Finn. I’ve got a scar still from keepin’ ‘em apart.” He pulled back his sleeve to show a long jagged scar on his forearm, running his thumb over the raised flesh. “I told ‘im to go home. I told ‘im I’d handle Finn and that his family needed ‘im. Yer mum only knew trouble had happened and you were so upset I was sure she wasn’ gettin’ the story from ya. I told ‘im we’d talk tomorrow after ‘e dropped ya off at school.” He sighed. “We did talk. ‘E told me ‘e was leavin’, that Sarah ‘ad had enough and so ‘ad he. They were leavin’. They were takin’ ya far away from all of this and startin’ some place new. I begged him not to. I tol’ ‘im I understood, I wanted the same t’ing for ya, that I had almost secured a sit down wit’ the Russians and Italians an’ if it went well it would change the way the city was run. It’d make it safe for our kids, for his son. Just two weeks more. I need’d ‘im for that sit down. I knew Emil Volkov ‘ad a son yer age and I knew Antonio Esposito regularly hosted his men’s families whenever the war got too concernin’ for their wives and kids. I was sure if they heard yer da talk about wantin’ a safe place fer ya and yer children, they’d see it was the right t’ing. ‘Gimme two weeks, Lu-Lu,’ I told him. ‘Two weeks to get ‘em to talk wit’ us. I won’ call ya before that. Not fer anyt’ing. Just wait.’” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “’E agreed but ‘e said that if Sarah wouldn’ wait; if she left, ‘e’d follow. When he didn’ answer… I thought she didn’ wait. It hurt but I understood. She never liked us and I had already failed ‘er son once.”
Issac looked down at his hands where he had held them in his lap, knuckles white on the blanket. “So it was my fault,” he said softly.
Fergus’s head jerked up. “Wha- no, nonononono,” his hands came forward, bruised and calloused fingers wrapping around his. “No, lad. Never t’ink that. Don’ say somet’ing like that. This was somet’ing between Finn and yer da. It had not’ing ta do wit’ ya.”
“If it was between the two of them then why did he kill my mom,” Issac demanded, not looking up from their hands. “Why did he unload the pistol in her?” He blinked and there were droplets of water on Fergus’s hands, still wrapped around Issac’s. “Why did he do this to me?”
Fergus’s fingers tightened. “Finn hated Sarah,” he said softly. “Long before yer da came ‘round. Like I said, we knew ‘er before yer da. She never gave any of us the time of day. ‘Er reputation when it came to guys like us was could be summarized as ‘fuck you and fuck off.’ She never quite lost that mindset, though I ‘ad thought she was warming up to me a bit after you were born. Yer da was the only exception.” He paused. “Did they ever tell ya ‘ow they met?”
Issac shrugged, a few more droplets falling onto Fergus’s hands. “I know it was at a dance, but… that’s really it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fergus nod. “Aye… I suppose they thought ya’d be a bit too young fer the whole story.” Another pause. “I was there that night. I don’t ‘ave all the details they would ‘ave been able to tell ya, but I can tell ya about it… if ya want?”
Issac didn’t respond, still looking down. He didn’t know what he wanted. He believed Fergus’s story. He believed that Fergus hadn’t known what had happened that night and wouldn’t have known to look for Issac. Logically, he knew Fergus had no real fault in the events that led to what happened, except for allowing Finnegan to stay around. But the logic didn’t matter. Logic didn’t give Issac his parents or his childhood back. He had spent so long leveling that blame on Finnegan and the Clovers as a whole that he couldn’t let it go.
“Ya can say no, lad,” Fergus said softly, his voice thick. “I won’t lie ta ya and say I won’ be hurt by that, but I don’ want to push ya. I understan’ if ya never want to see the likes of me ever again.” He took his hands away as he spoke.
Without looking up, Issac saw Fergus pull his coat around and reach inside of it to take out an envelope that looked ready to burst open.
“I just wan’ ya to know ‘em,” he said, setting the envelope down on the table in front of Issac.
“I don’t want your money, Fergus,” Issac said softly, looking at the paper.
“I’s not money, lad,” Fergus told him. “I wouldn’ insult ya by t’inkin’ this is somet’ing I could buy my way out of. These are just some of ‘em. I’m too protective of my albums to let anyone ‘elp me go through ‘em all and make copies, so there’s more to come. If ya don’t want ta see me again, I’ll get them to Tony ta get ‘em to ya.”
Issac opened the envelope, hardly daring to breathe as he pulled out a stack of over a hundred photos, face down at the moment. He suddenly remembered Fergus often carrying an old camera around his neck when he was young. Issac’s fingers shook as he flipped over the first picture, seeing a date and his and his parents’ names written on the back in Fergus’s handwriting. His vision blurred as he took in the three people in the photo. His dad was standing in a park, looking up with the wide smile Issac had forgotten about. His mum was on his arm, lifted off the ground by his dad’s strength with her head thrown back in a laugh and her hands on his shoulder and chest. A toddler was on his dad’s other arm, hands blurry in front of him as he looked at his parents. He could see other people in the picture, vaguely familiar men with clover tattoos holding drinks or plates, a couple of kids running around. “I thought she didn’t like you,” he said, wiping his eyes.
“She didn’,” Fergus said. “Tolerated us at most. It took two weeks to convince ‘er to come to the pub so we could throw ‘em a baby shower. But she loved yer da enough to give us the benefit of the doubt sometimes.” His finger touched the picture lightly. “It was yer da’s birthday in this picture. She’d always come around fer yer da’s birthday, even when they were datin’. It was important to ‘im. ‘E wanted ya to feel like ya had a big family. Never knew about his life before ‘e came here, but ‘e wanted ta have a big family.”
Issac gave up trying to get his eyes to clear, still staring down at the photo, and not brave enough to flip over any more. “How- How did they meet?”
Fergus let out a soft breath. “Like ya already know, it was a dance,” he said. “Back then there was a dance hall that lots of people went ta. Lots of two-bit gangsters would get dressed up to dance wit’ pretty girls, and lots of pretty girls would come ‘round to dance wit’ the dangerous men. I t’ink… I t’ink it was part of the thrill for most girls. It felt safe because they were in public and everyone knew where they would be, so they could mingle with men they wouldn’t dare get in the arms of. For the most part, the men understood the arrangement. They got to be up close and personal wit’ those pretty girls, but only as long as the song lasted. We took yer da there same day he got his Clover. We wanted to celebrate and most of the lads could think of no better way than wit’ beers and pretty girls. Yer mum- Yer mum was usually at the dances, but she didn’ dance. Her friends were among the girls that wanted to feel the thrill of a dance with a gangster, but yer mum was only there to keep an eye on them. Like I said, ‘fuck you and fuck off’ was her motto to anyone marked as a gangster of any kind. It was practically a right of passage to get a dressin’ down from Sarah Wall Flower Murphy. No one took it seriously when they approached ‘er. Except yer da. I swear ya could see Cupid’s arrow strike him righ’ in the ‘eart the moment he saw ‘er across the room. Finn and I tried to talk ‘im out of it. Yer da was a sweet’eart when he wasn’ the German Reaper. I didn’ want ‘im to get ‘urt by the first girl he approached. I was worried Sarah would ‘urt ‘is confidence when ‘e started talkin’. Yer da’s English was passable but ‘is accent was quite thick- not that I’m one to talk- but Sarah held not’ing back when it came to crushing men ‘oo dared approach ‘er.”
He let out a small laugh. “The other’s were no ‘elp. They started placin’ bets on how long until ‘e was back as ‘e started over to her.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “When another guy beat ‘im there, I was almost relieved. Yer da wouldn’ interfere wit’ someone else. But the git apparently came in wit’ nasty, vulgar comments that Lukas wouldn’ repeat but made ‘im angry any time someone mentioned it. I can’t tell ya what exactly was said fer any of this but yer da was close enough to ‘ear the t’ings being said and ‘e told me that ‘e wasn’ going to let that stand. Grabbed the wanker by the back of the neck and pulled ‘im back away from Sarah before she could get a word in. Told ‘im ‘is mother would be ashamed of ‘im for speaking to a woman like that and made ‘im apologize. Even from across the room, we knew that it wasn’t Lukas Maus but the German Reaper comin’ to rain ‘ell on the poor bastard if ‘e didn’ do what ‘e was told. My understandin’ is the wanker stammered out some piss-poor excuse of an apology and yer da glanced at yer mum to see if she was satisfied wit’ it. ‘E said it didn’t look like she was so ‘e put ‘im on his knees and told ‘im to try again.”
He spun a finger in the air. “Whateva ‘e said for the secon’ one was good enough fer yer mum apparently, ‘cause ‘e was allowed up and ran off wit’ his tail between ‘is legs. Then just like that the German Reaper was gone and Lukas was back and extremely embarrassed by ‘is own behavior in front of Sarah. We could see him fecking blushing from the other side of the room and he clearly forgot he just got tattooed ‘cause he tried rubbin’ his neck and ‘urt ‘imself. I can only imagine that the fact ‘e was so ready to ‘urt another man for bein’ rude to ‘er one second, then bashful and awkward the next charmed Sarah more than her caution and rules. She grabbed ‘is arm when ‘e started to retreat and they ended up standing together the rest of the night, just talking about whateva came naturally in their conversation. They never quite separated after that. The next time yer da had a job to do for the Clovers… Like I said, ‘e didn’ like bein’ a Reaper. ‘E did it because we needed ‘im to do it. After most jobs, ‘e’d go back ta the pub and drink ‘till ‘e forgot English and numbed whateva part of ‘im hated ‘imself. But after meetin’ Sarah? ‘E called ‘er that night instead of heading back wit’ us. Asked ta see ‘er. Ta my shock, she said yes and ‘e went to ‘er that night instead of the pub. The nex’ mornin’, he came back around and wasn’ his usual moody self. Finn tried to claim it was just ‘cause ‘e wasn’ hungover but… Yer mum and da had the kind of love people dream of findin’. The person that can make ya forgive yerself ‘cause they love ya, and how can ya hate something they love.”
Issac swallowed, suddenly thinking of Felinus. “Did you find it?”
“Come ‘gain?”
Issac looked at his godfather, searching for something in his face. “You said they had the kind of love people dream of finding. Did you find it?”
A sad, pained smile curled Fergus’s lips. “Nah, lad,” he said softly. “I thought I ‘ad once, but they gave that love ta someone else. I never found another person who could fill that hole. What ‘bout you? Is there someone who makes yer heart flutter?”
Issac made himself scoff even as his throat constricted. “I haven’t had time for that,” he said, looking away from Fergus. “I’m neck-deep in a Masters degree, and until recently I lied to every single person who came near me so they couldn’t get close. In any case, no one who knows everything would be interested in sticking with me.”
He caught a glimpse of Fergus’s eyes shifting from him to a point past him, to the makeshift bed and workspace Felinus had created on the room’s couch. “Lad, I know I don’t ‘ave the right to give ya advice or comment on yer life,” he said slowly, “but are ya quite sure on that last part?”
Issac’s eyes darted over to the blankets and pillows, then down to the new cell phone in its near-indestructible case, then to Fergus. “I’m just an investment,” he said, feeling his throat tighten. “It’s all temporary anyway. To the end of my degree at most. He’s just making sure he doesn’t lose out on a connection later on down the line.”
Fergus took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he muttered something that might have been a prayer under his breath. “Issac, I’ve made ‘investments’ like that in the past,” he said, opening his eyes to stare at him. “And there was never an investment so important that I would ‘ave spent t’ree days sleepin’ in the hospital, let alone t’ree weeks. Assign people to look after ‘im, sure. Pay for the bill, absolutely. But t’is isn’ what ya do for an investment on a grad studen’.”
“Maybe you just don’t need to have as much control as he does,” Issac challenged, restraining himself from taking a jab about Finnegan being proof of that.
