My heart raced, pure fear nailing down to the core of me as I picked up my pace. I had no clue why he would chase me, but obviously they had been doing something illegal that they hadn’t wanted me to see. What was he planning to do if he caught me? I kept running, Petey keeping pace, as we made our way south, running toward my apartment. There were more people out on the sidewalks, and I felt a little bit safer, but not nearly enough to stop running. The fact that the guy would run after me meant he was serious, and crowds probably wouldn’t be enough to deter him. I kept moving, hoping people would mistake me for a jogger, and not sure why I cared what anyone thought.
As I made a left, I glanced back but didn’t see the man behind me anymore. I had crossed over from the relatively open space around the museum back into the crowded city blocks. I couldn’t tell if I had lost him or if I just couldn’t see him through the other pedestrians. I slowed down my pace to an easy jog, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I realized how exhausted I was from my short sprint, my whole body on fire, my leg muscles tight and painful, my chest heaving. Petey kept moving beside me, glancing up at me with confusion.
I made another right, heading back to my block. I weaved my way through the other evening walkers, past closed bodegas and barbershops and beer stores, past local bars and delis and more, and finally crossed onto my block. I climbed the stoop quickly, unlocked the front door, got Petey inside, and slammed it shut behind me.
Breathing deep, terror still pulsing through me, I moved up the stairs, unlocked my apartment door, and went inside. I took off Petey’s leash and slammed my deadbolt shut. I ran to my front window and peeked out: nothing unusual. I watched for what felt like ten minutes, but I didn’t see the man that had been chasing me.
What was in those packages? They were pretty large, and they looked really heavy. They were crudely done, so they must not have been professionally wrapped or something. And they didn’t sink immediately, which I thought was weird. It must have been something bad if that guy was willing to chase me for catching them, though. I was in a relatively secluded spot, and I guessed those guys had dumped whatever into the river before without any issues.
I moved away from the window, my heart rate and breathing coming under control.
“That was crazy, wasn’t it, Petey?” I said to him, and he whined at me. “What’s the matter?”
Then I remembered that I hadn’t fed him yet.
Sighing to myself, I pulled his food out of the cupboard and gave him his nightly scoop. As he devoured it, I put the teakettle on to boil, hoping something warm would calm my nerves.
I had never run from someone like that before. For a second there, I had genuinely feared for my life. I had no clue what that guy would have done if he had caught me, and I was glad he hadn’t.
I shook my head. I would have to alter my dog-walking route for a while, at the very least. That, or risk those guys seeing me again. Briefly, I wondered if I should call the cops, but what would I have told them? I couldn’t really describe the men I had seen very well, and it wasn’t like they’d still be there. As the kettle boiled, I decided it was best if I just forgot about the whole thing.
Maybe that guy didn’t mean me any harm at all, and I overreacted. Maybe he just wanted to explain what they were doing, and it was a totally innocent misunderstanding. As I poured the hot water into a mug, I decided that was what happened. I dropped a bag of mint tea into the hot water and let it steep, remembering the slap the packages had made on the muddy-brown river water.
Petey looked at me quizzically, and I smiled at him.
It was over. Things would go back to normal. I could forget that guy and move on. At least it was a good story I could tell people in the future.
I sipped my tea and smiled, laughing at how stupid I was to run like that.
Chapter Three: Liam
Every morning was more or less the same: I picked the kid up at his mom’s house, hoping that nothing had happened overnight, I drove him to school, dropped him off, and then I headed out to my territory. Day in and day out, like punching the clock at some regular-ass job.
Except there was nothing regular or normal about what I did.
I pulled around back behind my place and stopped my truck at the end of the alley. I cut the engine and climbed out, stretching.
My place was one of the best pub spots in all of south Philly, at least in my humble opinion. It may have been a front for laundering my less-than-legal business transactions, but I made sure to take at least a little pride in it. Some guys had Laundromats that stank of urine, and some guys ran delis with disgusting meat, but not me. I made sure to keep my beer list fresh, my menu delicious, and my décor modern. The hipsters loved my shit, and they had no clue that they were buying their overpriced beer from a violent mobster. I loved looking out over my place on busy nights at the rich kids in their trendy glasses, wondering how many of them would run screaming if they knew who I was and what I did.