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Of course, Sean had been the de facto janitor for the gym so it would have been his job, if he hadn’t been the victim. I helped my father inside, one arm under his, trying to avoid the blood. I took him up the stairs to the apartment, then got him situated in the living room with a glass of Guinness.
Conor had gone to his bedroom, but my father needed a drink to wind down.
Then, before I began processing my own grief, I spent the next half hour cleaning the floor in the gym where my brother had fallen after being shot by an FBI Special Agent during my uncle's arrest on a RICO warrant.
The next day, the gym opened at the usual time and life went on, as it does in any business after a tragedy. Luckily, my cousin John was the day manager. He arrived the next morning and so I was able to spend time with my dad and Conor, planning the funeral and memorial.
Conversation gradually turned to the events of the previous day. Donny was now in federal custody and would be charged eventually.
"When you live by the sword, you die by the sword. Isn't that what Donny always said?" Connor glanced between the two of us.
"Donny's small potatoes," I said, shaking my head. "Getting him means nothing. It's got to be someone ratting him out."
My father was a mess. He turned to me and said, "I need you," his voice haggard. "I can't do this on my own anymore. My ticker," he said and patted his chest. "I can't take the stress. Donny did most of the managing so I only looked over receipts. You went to business school. You know more about running a business that the rest of us put together. It's logical for you to take over, Hunter."
I sighed and closed my eyes, coming to terms with the reality of the situation. He was right. I was the logical choice to take over now that Donny was in custody and Sean was dead.
"I have
a year to go on my contract," I said. It was true. I'd signed on for a five-year stint in the Marines and I loved my job.
"I know you never wanted to get involved with the family, but I need you. You were always the one who was going to manage things." He looked at me, his expression pleading. "I'm not good with managing things. You know that."
Of course I knew he wasn't a manager. He was a boxer. He owned a gym, and he could count money, but where he really excelled was in teaching new boxers how to fight, picking out the good ones, the ones with potential, and training them up to top fighting shape.
That had been his strongest skill all his life; the success of the gym and fitness clubs had been due solely to Donny's greater management skills.
Like Sean before him, my dad had too many knockouts when he was young and foolish. Too many concussions. As a result, organizational issues were not his thing. Business was not his thing. He didn’t run anything in terms of the business—that was Donny's purview. Now that he'd had a couple of heart attacks, my father merely hung around the gym, talking to the regulars, offering tips to the new fighters on how to improve. He locked up the receipts every night for his second wife Cathy, who did the books, and he opened the place every morning. He was more of a coach than a manager.
"We need you, Hunter," he said, leaning in and putting his arm on my shoulder. "I need you. I can't do this on my own."
I sighed. "I should be able to get an honorable discharge on compassionate grounds," I replied, recognizing his inability to cope. "
My father reached out and squeezed my arm. "Thank you. You don't know what a relief it is.
"I'll call this afternoon."
Of course, my CO was upset that I'd be leaving. I was scheduled to start a new course soon and they'd have to scramble to find someone to replace me, but they could. I was good but I wasn't irreplaceable. There were a dozen or so other hopefuls they could consider for the job of selecting new officer candidates. I was just the best.
With reluctance, my CO called me back and said he'd set the process in motion. I should have my honorable discharge on compassionate grounds in a week—before my leave was over. I'd have to return to Quantico to pick up my belongings and sign papers, but other than that, I could stay in Boston and start running the businesses.
Not only did we have Saint Brothers Gym and Boxing Emporium, we also had several franchise locations of Saint Brothers Fitness across the eastern seaboard. I had to keep in touch with each franchisee and make sure they were reporting their business data and keeping up with expectations.
The next few days were busy and, at the same time, somber, as we planned for Sean's funeral and memorial at the graveside. In the meantime, we learned more details surrounding my uncle's arrest and charges. I spoke with John about him, and we had a family dinner with my father, Conor, and John, plus Donny's two other sons, where we discussed Donny's case and what his lawyer had said about his chances of getting released.
"He's not getting out," John said. "I spoke with his lawyer. They got him cold and no judge is going to let him out pending trial. The new hotshot DA has been salivating for the chance to get my dad on a RICO charge since he couldn't get him on anything local."
The new hotshot DA…
I had to smile grimly about that.
Spencer Grant, Graham Parker's bastard of a stepfather, had finally brought my uncle down. He couldn't get Donny himself but he had been able to pull together enough of a case to tempt the Feds. There was nothing any of us could do except fill in where Donny used to be—running the business and keeping the mafia at bay. That meant doing exactly what I had always wanted to avoid. Getting my hands dirty with family business.
Still, I had no other choice now that Donny was in federal custody and Sean was dead.
The first thing on my agenda was getting revenge.
Chapter 2: Celia
