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I wonder if it makes me subhuman to be able to feel socalm.
It’s a blissful sort of nothingness, the sort of Zen I imagine other people might feel when folding laundry or washing dishes—a routine task that isn’t enjoyable nor horrible per se, but one that is done so often that the mind can wander or think about nothing at all. That’s the only way I can describe my state of being as I pull on a pair of black leather gloves and stand in the factory hallway. The sort of machinery that used to be in use here was deafening, so the builder made the walls as close to soundproof as they could. Whatever is going on in the room I’m about to enter comes through as nothing more than muffled mumbling.
Drinking in the quiet darkness, I take a deep breath and do my best not to smirk as I turn to the door. Getting my hands dirty is the routine Zen that comes with the job— however, this is my American debut. My first brush with business stateside.In their city.So, I suppose that if I’m feeling anything at all, it’s a tingle of excitement.
Swinging the door open, the harsh, crooning voice hit me first, followed by the sight of Colin Doyle strapped to a chair under the only flickering light in the room. A bit stereotypical, but it’s just as I pictured it. Colin seems to be barely clinging to life; his angry, hoarse cries are perhaps acting as the only tether to this life and the next. Anger is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? It can destroy a life, or motivate a person to live. And in this case—it's both.
“He insists he knows nothing,” Michael, my underboss, calls from the shadows as I start pacing toward Colin. No doubt the other couple of men I’ve enlisted to assist are lingering in the room with him. I’m a sucker for theatrics, I suppose. It gives me a rush to imagine myself as him. He must be terrified, not knowing where the men who had just beaten him to a pulp were. They could emergefrom anywhere to finish the job. Only,the unsettling darkness gives you an uneasy feeling that you can't shake; thatthe men there do not possess the mercy to let you go with any dignity or peace.
He would be right if he did think that.
“No matter,” I call to Michael. “I’m sure I can convince him to talk.” I am standing just feet from him now. Colin lifts his bloody head and peers up to me with the one eye that isn’t completely swollen shut. “Seen better days, haven’t you?” I ask him with a trace of mockery in my voice.
“Who the fuck are you?” Colin tries to hiss, blood splattering from his mouth as the wordfuckis spoken. He is one of the men originally from Ireland, so his pleadings in this accent sound almost comical.
He’s lucky I am just out of range of his spewing. I’m pretty sure it would have sent me over the edge; and what I would have unleashed would have left him looking to his previous tormentors, my men, as potential saviors. Unbuttoning my collar, I answer softly, “Dear friend, I am your reckoning.” The bound man dared to let out a single howl of laughter. “I also happen to be Sean Mullen’s fucking nephew.”
His brows try to knit together from confusion, but he winces and stops; his face too swollen, bruised, and cut to be too emotive. “The fuck are you saying? Sean didn’t have any nephews.”
“Because you knew my uncle so well, right? That’s where this confidence is coming from?” I ask him with a hint of a smile. He was my uncle’s underboss—his friend and most trusted, loyal follower. “You know what they say, Colin. Most crimes of passion are done by those closest to you.”
His face fought through the pain to gape at me. “Are you accusingmeof bumping off Sean? Are you taking the piss, boyo?”
“That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of,” I respond by lowering my head and looking him in the eyes. “Only, it wasn’t a crime of passion. What do you think the pigs would call it, Dan?” I call into the darkness. My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I want to remind Colin that there are people surrounding him. I want to see the panic flare in his eyes, again and again, as he becomes more and more aware that this is the end of the road for him. I’ll savor every little twitch of his split lips and tear that pours out of his blackened eyes. That anxiety in a man’s eyes as you deliver the karma that is meant for them— it’s better than cigarettes after sex, or a stiff drink after a long day.
“Premeditated murder, Boss,” Michael responds from a different spot than he was before.
“Right, right. Premeditatedmurder,” I smile. “That’s what you’re being accused of,” I tell Colin before poking him playfully in his very obviously broken nose.
Colin swears from the pain and does his best to throw himself away from my touch. Once he recovers, he meekly shakes his head. “Clearly, you aren’t from around here. No one would dare accuse me of such a thing. Sean was like a brother to me!”
“Like a brother he says!” I call to the others. There’s an eruption of mild laughter as I close the distance between Colin and I again. “Now, Colin, I am normally not the most gracious of men, but I am reasonable. And I will give you an opportunity to correct yourself, alright? If you’re honest with me now, you’ll be spared from a world of trouble and pain. There will still be prices to pay, but you will find such fees to be much, much more lenient than the alternative. Got it?”
“You’re being too nice, Boss,” Michael says in humor.
“I know, I know. And there’s plenty to go around. So, what do you say, Colin? Do you want to be honest with me and make all our lives simpler?”
Colin’s chest is heaving. He’s nervous, but he’s trying to pass it off as anger. I can tell because his nostrils are flared but not matching his breathing. The excitement of it all seems to be weakening him, his eyes beginning to struggle to focus on me. “I don’t know where you get off accusing me of such a thing—”
“I’ll tell you, don’t worry,” I state, patting his shoulder. “I think you killed my uncle to take over the Mullen family. You thought it was the perfect plan, didn’t you? There’s so much fighting with the other gangs and you and Sean were always likebrothers,right? And seeing as how there weren’t any direct descendants left… that you knew of,” I can’t hide my smirk, and couldn’t even if I tried. “It would have never been brought back to you.”
His head is starting to wobble, but the adrenaline keeps him with me. “I… worked with Sean… my entire life. Since we were boys, even…”
I tut and stand straight. “That’s what makes it all the more heinous, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t kill Sean Mullen!” Colin cries as sternly as he can. “On my honor, I swear it.”
“Too bad that honor means nothing,” I sigh. From my pocket, I retrieve a digital recorder. It feels like a relic from the past, but the mobs still use them because they are disposable, cheap, and not kept on any sort of database or cloud software.
Tapping play, there’s a metallic clicking before voices appear. “It’s simple,” a voice says on the tape. “So many people want the man dead. Think of all the motives. Money, power, revenge… You name it and it’s a reason for someone to want him dead. All we have to do is find someone with enough tangible evidence to pin it on.”
“If there is anyone they’re going to look at first, it’s gonna be you,” Colin’s distinctly accented voice replies.
“That’s why we need a fall guy,” the man urges. “Someone in the Mullen gang. That way there is infighting, and a takeover is simple. We use the evidence to frame the person. Taking him down will glorify you. They will easily look to you as a leader.”
“Fair enough,” Colin sighs. “How should we do it? That’ll play into who we should set up. Sean’s a big guy—”
I click the tape off, needing to play only until Sean’s name was said. There isn’t anything I needed to say, I simply watch for his reaction. Colin has surrendered his one chance at mercy, and I have hard evidence that he was plotting with an unknown party to murder my uncle. He knows what is coming.
