I hadn’t agreed to do Colm’s dirty work, not right away. I agonized about it all that day after meeting with him. But no matter how many rational arguments I came up with about the Right People’s code of honor, about protecting innocent people, about protecting our very way of life, none of it mattered. Colm had ordered me to do something, and Colm was the boss. I had to either kill the girl or be killed myself.
And where would Richie be if I got a bullet in the brain? He’d be stuck with his drunk mom. He’d end up walking the very same path I did, if not something much worse, much darker. I had the protection of our father back then, and was spared the worst of it early on; Richie would have to dive in head first and get his hands dirty if he wanted to survive without me.
It wasn’t just Richie, though. It was everyone who worked for me, probably even Colin. They’d all be guilty by extension, and if I knew one thing about Colm from the past few weeks, it was that his purges were very, very thorough. Nobody would be left standing.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I adjusted myself, trying to find a comfortable position against the cold metal wall. The plan was absurdly straightforward. Jimmy and Max would drop me off a few blocks away from a dark underpass. They said the girl walked her dog along that path, or at least had for the past two nights; they figured she’d go there again. If she didn’t, we’d reassess. But my job was to stand in the shadows of the underpass and, as she walked by, put two bullets into the back of her head. Then I’d walk away, toss the gun down a storm drain, and go home.
That was it. That was all there could be, although there were a thousand potential issues. I voiced them all, and they were all shot down. If there are witnesses, don’t do it. If she doesn’t walk by, just go home. If the dog attacks me, kill the fucking dog.
I gripped the gun tighter, my finger carefully off the trigger. I could kill someone. I’d already killed someone. I didn’t like it, but I knew it was necessary. But I was finding it very, very hard to justify murdering some innocent bystander just because she saw something she shouldn’t have.
But dead bitches don’t talk. At least that’s what Max said to me as he handed me the pistol twenty minutes ago, his grin making me want to punch his teeth into the back of his skull.
Suddenly, I felt the van slow and then stop.
Jimmy turned around and looked back at me.
“Showtime, Liam,” he said.
I looked at Max, and he nodded at me. There was a brief moment, a very brief but satisfying moment, where I imagined myself killing the two of them and driving off with Richie.
Instead, I double checked the safety, slipped the gun into my waist band, slid open the van’s door, and climbed out into the twilit evening.
“Underpass is a few blocks ahead. You know what to do,” Max said.
I looked at him and didn’t respond.
“Do the right fucking thing, Liam.”
He slammed the door and they were off.
I watched them go for half a second, and then I began to walk down toward the underpass, my mind reeling. The gun felt like a weight attached to my lower back, and I was barely treading water, in the middle of the ocean. One deep breath and there would be darkness and nothing.
But I wasn’t a quitter. I would let myself become a monster before I’d give up on those that depended on me.
I walked down a steep hill, my boots making noise on the rough concrete, and entered the tunnel.
Above me, I-76 stretched through the heart of the city, though the cross street where I pressed myself up against the cold concrete wall was hidden. I thought I knew where she would be coming from, and I knew more or less when, but there was so much I couldn’t control. I fiddled with the gun in my waistband as my pulse began to race.
The next few minutes were going to be some of the most important moments of my life. I knew that. I also knew that what Colm wanted me to do was wrong, but not doing it would be even worse. I was stuck in a position I never thought I’d be in. The air underneath the overpass was damp, and there were puddles in the street from a recent rain. The stone was worn down from the years, with small glittering bits of reflective rock and mildew stains rolling up its length. It was cold, and the humidity made it feel even colder. I felt like I was miles below the city, alone and freezing.
I sighed and clenched my jaw, trying to get myself under control. I looked to my right and saw that the empty expanse was fenced in. There was small, stubby crab grass and dirt, plus a whole bunch of trash, covering the tiny field. I realized I could probably jump the fence afterward and cut across the block, which would immediately put me away from the body. But if someone happened to walk by at the instant I pulled the trigger, or really anytime in the few seconds after, I’d be fucked. But there was a chance I could get away.