Page 80 of The Dearly Departed

"There are people I have to deal with in my line of work," Gerald said, keeping his voice low, gentle. "Bad people. They're killers, too, but they don't just kill other bad people. They kill women, children. And before they do that, they do terrible, horrible things to them."

The business … Leonard's business … the funeral home that'd been in his family for decades, centuries …

It'd go under.

I would fail everyone. I would destroy everything we’d ever worked toward.

"They do things like what you went through," he said, whispering now. "Wouldn't you like to kill those people, Abraham? The people who hurt you, your brother, and your little friend? Didn’t you want to kill them then?"

"Fuck you," I said through a clenched jaw, shaking my head.

"I'm giving you a gift—don't you see that? You can take your revenge on the type of people who—"

I interrupted him with a slap of my hand against the tabletop, my gloved palm covering the image of past me ending another man's life.

"People like you," I hissed, leaning closer to Gerald's round red face. "People who could watch children scream and cry and suffer and do nothing to fucking stop it."

"What did you want me to do?"

"You knew!" I shouted, my voice loud and thundering. "And you did nothing."

"I was a junkie on the streets," he argued, a helpless look in his eyes. "I couldn't give you kids what you needed then. Just like I couldn’t save your mother.”

"So, you let us go through Hell."

He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the table and said, "I'm sorry. You want an apology? There it is. I’m sorry. I truly am. And I’m sorry I've never said that to you before. Hell, I should've said it a long time ago. That would've been the right thing to do, but you know me. Doing the right thing's never been my forte. But I'm saying it now, if it's worth anything to you. I'm sorry."

"Not sorry enough to not fucking blackmail me though, right?"

He sniffed a bit, easily brushing compassion aside. "It's like I said, kiddo. Business. Nothing more. I see an opportunity, and I gotta take it. You understand though, don't you? That's how you ended up where you are, isn't it? You broke into that man’s house, saw an opportunity, and”—he offered a nonchalant shrug—"took it."

I froze as my eyes bored a hole straight through him.

I hated that he had a point. There was no comparison between a teenager finding shelter from the streets and a grown man asking another to kill for him, but it came down to the same basic principle.

We were both just looking for someone to take advantage of, a way to keep our own head above water.

But …

Unlike Gerald Crowley, my purpose had never had a single thing to do with me. Sure, I'd benefited from the perks of having a nice roof over my head, a guaranteed job, and food in my belly. But it was never about me.

It was always about protecting those smaller and more helpless than me.

Shawn. Ike.

And that was still my job. It was up to me to keep them from falling victim to whatever bullshit tricks Gerald Crowley had up his sleeve. Sure, I could kill him and his little henchman over there right now, in this moment, but he had already alluded to knowing other bad men. Monsters. Maybe some were even lurking in the shadows behind him in this very room.

How many were worse than the man sitting before me?

How many cared enough to avenge him?

"Well," I said with resignation, clasping my hands on the table and leaning forward, "after all this time, Gerald, you finally got me."

A slow, satisfied grin spread across my father’s face as he said, “Once again, kiddo, you’ve made the correct choice, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled to hear it. I assure you, you will be compensated well for your services.”

He leaned back in his chair, continuing to smile fondly at me, before announcing that he needed another piece of pie. He was celebrating, and he was thrilled—but who could blame him?

It had taken him over three decades, but the man had finally won.