Page 94 of The Dearly Departed

Leonard had needed money. I knew it. The old place was falling apart. Hell, that night we’d snuck in, the door window had already been broken long before we got there. The paint was chipping; the floorboards were ancient and creaking. He saw an opportunity when we showed up—he saw help.

And when he saw Gerald, he’d seen it again.

Help.

But he couldn’t just accept it for nothing. He couldn’t take what he knew in his heart to be blood money.

It had to be in exchange for something … because at his core, he had still been a good man.

Is it still possible for me to be one too?

Leonard didn’t kill anyone, I thought. He wouldn’t.

He’d hate me now if he knew what I had become.

“We still need that money,” I finally admitted, bending against the truth in what Gerald had said. “We don’t make enough for all of us to get paid and keep the place going.”

And just like that, what little bit of humanity I’d seen in my father disappeared with the mention of business and knowing that I needed him.

Because that was all this was about, wasn’t it?

Making me desperate and dependent.

“You’re already being paid for your services,” he said, folding his hands over his belly.

“Right,” I said, ignoring the chill that ran down my spine.

“And that should be more than enough to cover your … other business expenses. I mean, as more bodies pile up, the more you’ll be pulling in.” He smirked like he loved the thought of me ending lives and doing his dirty work.

Because he does love it.

He probably gets off on it.

“I don’t want to put that on them,” I said. “Let me make the same deal as Leonard. We’ll handle the funerals for your guys if you pay us to do it.”

He steepled his hands, tapping his fingertips together in true villain fashion as he stared at me with skepticism.

“But no more big drop of cash at the start of the year,” I negotiated. “I don’t want to raise any more suspicion with Shawn. He digs into things when something doesn’t line up, and I don’t want him digging into this. It’ll look as legit as possible. Money is paid when the funeral is booked, period.”

“And what if Shawny boy questions some of the … hmmm, what’s the word I’m looking for?” He tapped his chin, then said, “Questionable clientele coming through your door?”

“And how will that be any different from what’s been going on for the past fourteen years?” I challenged, tipping my head. Then I shrugged, feigning cluelessness. “Town must be going to hell. What can you do? Money is money.”

A smirk spread across his face, a look of both satisfaction and endearment. “That’s right,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “Money is money, my boy. No matter how you get your hands on it, it all pays the bills.”

Sensing that this conversation was reaching its conclusion, I stood up and stuck my gloved hand out toward him. He stared at it for a moment, as if the gesture was nothing more than a trap, but then he accepted, grasping my palm and shaking it firmly.

“Pleasure doing—"

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” I said through gritted teeth, dropping his hand like a cold, dead fish. “This isn’t a partnership. It’s survival. Nothing more than that.”

He folded his hands over his gut again as I turned to take my leave. But I felt his eyes on my back as I tugged the mask on and headed to the door.

“Just remember something, Abraham,” he said before I could exit the room. “Hating the devil isn’t enough. The more you let his claws sink into your soul, the more like him you’ll start to become.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Age Thirty-Four