4
Rip
“This place is bloody awesome!”
Thomas zooms around the hotel room like a kid on Christmas morning, leaving his bags by my feet to get for him. I step over them and roll my suitcase into the bedroom closest to the front door, phone to my ear.
I run a hand through my hair. “Jordan, I still don’t understand why you’re ringing me.”
Jordan’s sigh comes out heavy through the line. “He has only half the cash and says he’ll have the money next week. Something about medical bills he’s having to pay that is making it hard to get the rest.”
“Is this the same man you let off easy last week?”
Jordan gulps. “Yeah.”
I balance the phone between my shoulder and ear and unzip my suitcase. “Then he doesn’t get another chance.”
He pauses, and I can sense his inner turmoil from across the country. “I don’t think he’s lying, Rip. He needs a little more time. And… he’s old.”
Taking a deep breath, I long for a cigarette to calm me down. If only I were a smoker.
I hate when they put the newbies—specifically the younger ones—under me. They ask so many questions with obvious answers, and I’m not patient enough to answer them in the guiding way that they need.
Jordan is a fifteen-year-old kid with more muscle strength than a bodybuilder, but way too much empathy. He can take on two men twice his size in a fight, but fights back tears when he has to take the money someone owes us because they’re “struggling.” Tough shit. Whether or not they’re having a hard time, they still owe us, and we can’t keep letting them off the hook forever without them taking advantage.
At least I’m not in England, so Jordan can only pester me with ridiculous questions over the phone, and I can choose when to end the call.
“You know the answer,” I keep my tone level as I speak. “Old or not, he doesn’t have the cash. Don’t be a moron.”
The quiet makes me think he hung up, but I can still hear him breathing, unsure. “Understood.”
I end the call without another word and toss my phone onto the queen bed. As much as his endless questions make me want to pull my hair out, I feel for the kid. Being thrust into life as part of the Requiem is a struggle to get accustomed to, whether you’re fifteen, thirty, or twelve like I was.
The Requiem is the name of the crime organization led by George Redgrave. It runs on Irish mob roots, sure, but we’ve always taken in whoever proves useful, and it has always done us well in the end.
The life warps your mind. Right and wrong turn into decisions, and because you’re new to it, you lose the part of yourself that knew the difference and have to fight your way back.
Not having morals is the simplest and fastest solution, and the first most choose. I picked it, too, until I understood whata dangerous path it is to forgo all sense of good and bad. So, I guess it isn’t such a bad thing that Jordan, six months into doing this, is still battling the chaos that is his thick mind.
Thomas is right behind me, looking over my shoulder at the spacious bedroom. “Beaumont Grand is hooking up its employees with mini-apartments. No wonder the people love them.”
My brother isn’t wrong; the hotel room is unlike any other we’ve stayed at. There are two bedrooms, both with wood floors and a queen bed in the center. The bedding is so white that any stains will easily show up. Not to mention the marble bathroom is so spotless that it looks unused, the luxurious living room, and the mini-kitchen equipped with a high-end stove, microwave, and sink. Tommy’s right, it’s a bit of a squeeze compared to a standard apartment building, but it’s way bigger than an average hotel room.
Our temporary contract with the Beaumonts grants us living arrangements while we work for them, and I have to say, they’re better than I thought.
Beaumont Grand has a strict rule about employees with immediate access to internal family spaces—they must stay on site. Staff such as managers, housekeepers assigned to private wings, personal assistants, drivers, and chefs must stay in this very building for the duration of their employment. It’s one of the main reasons why many people apply for positions here.
They claim it’s for staff safety and to foster a family atmosphere at Beaumont Grand, but I call bullshit. It’s so they can watch phones, cameras, and what’s happening on the property, so employees don’t accidentally see things they’re not supposed to. That, and to snuff out unwanted guests like myself. I have to hand it to them; it’s a smart way to keep everyone under a watchful eye.
“I could get used to this.” Thomas crashes onto my bed, limbs spread out wide like a starfish, grinning. “Wanna check out the arcade tomorrow?”
He acts as if we’re on a bloody vacation. “We didn’t travel all this way to go to the arcade. Or have you already forgotten?”
That wipes the smile right off his face. “How can I with you reminding me every ten minutes?”
Thomas may not like my friendly reminders, but he needs them. My brother is only two years younger than my twenty-three, but maturity-wise, he might as well be freshly eighteen. His attention span is that of an ant, which makes for some pretty sloppily done jobs and plenty of spontaneous arcade visits.
I thought I was mishearing Mother when she told us about our next big job. Thomas has always been so poor at lying he couldn’t even lie to our mums about the money we took from their office to flaunt on two sisters we’d met hours before, back when we were teens. So, how much sense does it make for him to go on a long mission involving infiltration and deception?
