I finished up my cone in silence as Chelsea went on a tirade about some older partner that was constantly borderline sexual harassing her. I felt bad that she had to deal with that stuff, although I was constantly ignoring iffy comments from married dads all the time. We stood up and began walking back toward our neighborhood as the sun slowly began to dip below the horizon.
I felt better after talking to Chelsea. Although we had grown apart lately, despite her moving into my neighborhood, she was still my best and closest friend. The sting of Liam standing me up didn't seem that bad after spending some time with her. Plus, she was all about calling him a dickhead, which I couldn't disagree with. She was a no bullshit kind of person, and I loved that about her.
As we turned into the few blocks that made up our tiny little section of the city, a car caught my eye. A block back, a van was crawling along the street, tailing us. I could have sworn it was the same van I had been seeing all over the place lately, though all creeper vans looked exactly the same.
"What's the matter?" Chelsea said, looking concerned.
I caught myself and realized I had been staring behind us.
"Oh, it's nothing."
She looked down the street. "Are you staring at that van?"
"It just looks familiar is all."
"It just looks creepy, you mean," she said, turning away from it.
I laughed and mentally kicked myself. I probably looked like an absolute crazy person. As we turned the corner, I watched the van glide past my block, heading south. I let out a huge breath. I was definitely overreacting to it. Something about the way the car was driving so slowly behind us made me feel paranoid, although I had no real reason to worry about it. I hadn't thought much about vans and crazy guys dumping weird packages into the river lately, and I shouldn't let myself get caught back up in that.
"Okay, this is where I say goodbye," Chelsea said, standing at the intersection of our streets.
"We need to hang out more, Chels."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry I've been so lame."
"It's not your fault. We've both been lazy."
"I know. And we live so close together now, too."
"Okay, promise right here that we'll hang out soon?"
"Sounds good."
We hugged and I smiled at her.
"See you later," she said, turning and heading toward her apartment.
"Later," I called after her.
I stood at the corner for half a second, and then I turned and walked toward my apartment. Although it was dark already, I decided I'd give Petey another walk. I didn't really feel like staying alone all night in my tiny apartment. For some reason, that van had me on edge, and I knew I needed to get out and get myself together before facing the quiet boredom of living alone.
As I walked down my block, the sound of tires turning onto my street startled me. I half turned and saw it: that same black van coming slowly toward me. My heart started to race and sweat climbed onto my body. I knew it was the same one. I was absolutely positive. I definitely wasn't making it up: the van was following me. I stopped and bent over, pretending to tie my shoe, and watched as the van slowly crawled down my street, going right by me. I watched as it made a left at the next street, disappearing around the corner.
My heart was pounding as I quickly walked to the end of the block, crossed the street, and jogged over to my stoop. I climbed up the stairs and turned around, my back to the door, and watched down the street. I didn't have to wait long. About two minutes later, the black van turned the corner and started slowly driving down my street.
I was freaking out. That van was definitely driving around my neighborhood, and I was beyond sure that I had seen it sitting around, parked near my apartment, at least a few times over the last few days. It appeared right around when I saw those guys dumping those weird packages in the river. Could they be the ones driving the van? I was suddenly terrified as I remembered the guy running after me.
I ran upstairs, unlocked my front door as fast as I could, and slammed it shut behind me, banging the deadbolt shut. Petey looked up quizzically and barked twice. I shushed him as I ran into my kitchen and looked out the window. I nervously glanced up and down the street, waiting for it. Two minutes passed, three minutes passed, and nothing. I stood there for five minutes but didn't see anything.
Maybe it was a coincidence. All those black vans did look alike. Maybe it was just some guy who was lost. Or maybe it was just a neighbor I had never met. I really needed to get myself together.
As I was about to give up, my hands releasing the windowsill and my mind already beginning to think about the rest of my night, I saw it.
The van, the same fucking van, slowly drove down my street. It stopped a few houses away from my apartment and stayed there, idling in the middle of the one-way street. Nobody got in or out. It just sat there as I watched it for what felt like an hour.
Finally, terror pulsing through my body in waves, I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter Nine: Liam
I groaned, rolling over on the stinking cold couch I had pressed up against the wall of my office. The whisky hangover pulsed through my skull as I sat up, looking around the room. It spun briefly, and I pressed my hand against my forehead, annoyed that I had let myself get so drunk and had slept so terribly. My whole body was aching from squeezing myself onto the tiny cushions.
I needed to keep myself together; I couldn't try to drown my problems. It never helped, and never would help. I had seen too many men destroy themselves with drink because they couldn't face their demons.
Although, in my defense, most of them didn't have demons like Colm Brennan.
Snippets of memory from the night before came back to me. Sitting on my computer, drinking way too many glasses of whisky, and the plan. The stupid fucking plan, the plan that will never, ever work. I had filled almost an entire notebook with ideas and thoughts before finally coming up with it. Plus the stack of papers I sifted through to find the data I needed. Last night, the plan definitely seemed a lot more possible, and I remember lying down on my couch with a smile on my face. In the morning, though, that plan didn't look so great anymore, not without my whisky-tinted glasses.
The stupid plan, the insane plan, that's also my only option.
I got up, a little shaky, and walked out my door. I pushed the door to the kitchen open and walk inside.
"Hey, boss," Luis said, looking at me.
"Eggs and bacon and avocado. Please. I feel like shit."
"You look like shit," Luis said, moving away from his prep work and starting on my breakfast. "Did you sleep here last night?"
"I wouldn't say I slept, but I did pass out at some point."
He laughed, but I could tell he was worried. Luis was pretty intuitive about these things. I was willing to bet he could tell something was up, and that meant any trouble was potentially dangerous for him. He had worked for me from the start, about a few years ago, and we knew each other pretty well. I went to his wedding, and if I ever got married, he would come to mine. Although I couldn't imagine getting married, let alone being alive for more than a few weeks.
"Anything you need help with, boss?"
"No, it's all good, Luis. I'll be at the bar."
I pushed back out and moved down the corridor and into the main room. It was empty, which I was thankful for, and I went behind the bar to make some coffee. I really didn't feel like dealing with Colin, especially hungover, and especially when he'd pester me about what was happening with Colm. I cracked my neck, letting the drip machine slowly brew, and looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair was a mess, there were heavy bags under my eyes, and my clothes were rumpled and messy from sleeping in them. Overall, I looked exactly like I expected. I needed to stop back home before trying to do anything, maybe check up on Richie. In my line of work, the way you looked mattered. You needed to look intimidating, but not like a thug. We had certain standards. Or at least, we used to have standards, before the animal Colm took over the gang. As much as I hated our old boss Michael, Colm was far worse.
Years ago, when I was still a little kid, the Mob was fractured but functional. There were many different bosses, and each boss controlled his own territory without any oversight. My father was one of those bosses, and he controlled one of the largest and most profitable territories. That gave him some measure of power and respect in the city. Then Michael came along and began to unite the disparate factions under his centralized command. I don't really remember the time before Michael, because I was pretty young, but I do remember my father's anger and his slow decline in power over the years.
With Michael came more money but more problems. We began to deal in drugs and guns, which put us at odds with the police. Before, we were mainly into smuggling and protection rackets, with the occasional thievery and counterfeiting schemes. But Michael saw that the new world needed drugs, wanted drugs, and that there was a good profit to be turned. Because of all the money flowing into the Right People's pockets, they began to flock to Michael. He was the most powerful man in the Mob for years, running things with an iron fist. But even Michael had rules and some measure of honor, even if he was just another jumped-up thief with a gun.
Colm was ready to rid himself of everything. Colm was Michael without the honor. In fact, I was pretty sure he loved violence, reveled in it, where Michael merely tolerated it. I thought we had it bad under Michael, thought that the foreigners getting involved in our business and all the drugs were slowly ruining our business, but I was wrong.