The Untouchables(18)

“Really, Father? I didn’t know.” Of course I fucking knew. I told him, “There are too many pieces to the puzzle. Like, why the hell would she have a child with a man she hated and planned to kill?”

“Or why did she choose that method in killing them? She poisoned Orlando for six bloody years, that takes dedication and patience,” Neal said.

Patience wasn’t one of our strong suits. Well, maybe with the exception of Declan.

“Maybe she likes it? Maybe that’s how she gets off,” Declan wondered, but my father shook his head.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “It doesn’t match the profile of a hired killer. Their job is to kill and leave no trails and move on. Aviela’s way does that, but it means investing more time than she would want.”

“Like I said, too many missing pieces. Monte will be looking into it. Mel and I have too much to do to get wrapped up in the mysteries of her family’s past right now,” I said. “We’re still trying to fix all the damage that Valero did last year. Most of our heroin stock in Mexico was destroyed. However, we’re now smuggling it in from Afghanistan…their shit is better anyway.” I sighed, rubbing my shoulder.

“It’s better, but its costs us more,” Declan added. “If we raise the prices, we lose our lower end druggies. Sadly, there aren’t enough rock stars to live off of.”

He had a point.

“Things were much easier in your day, right, Pop? The whole free love and shit? You could just hide the smack in your bellbottoms? Or were you all still wearing the Larry King suspenders?” Neal snorted and my father glared at him.

“Yes, Neal, when the dinosaurs ran the across the earth, shit was easier,” he snapped, causing Declan and I to laugh.

“It won’t cost us so much anymore,” I replied, pouring more water over the stones.

“Care to share?” my father asked. The nosy prick.

They all waited and I rolled my eyes. “We just donated to a few cemeteries.”

“This helps how?” Declan pushed.

“Soldiers die. What better way to bring our product into the country but with the help of Uncle Sam?” They all just stared, as the possibilities sank in.

“That’s fucking brilliant,” Neal said. “It will become even easier when Colemen becomes President.” He grinned.

“Mel’s idea?” My father looked at me.

I glared. My inner brat wanted to say it was teamwork, but it really was Mel’s idea.

“We’ll also be smuggling in marijuana seeds as well. All of which will be growing in Colorado,” I added, changing the subject.

Neal looked confused. “Why Colorado?”

I sighed, feeling the urge to throw a hot rock at his face.

“Don’t you ever watch the news?” Declan snapped.

“No, it’s too depressing,” he said. “They start the night off with a ‘good evening’, and then they go on to tell you all the reasons why it’s a shitty night all across the country.”

My father sighed like he did when we were kids, when we did, or said, something he couldn’t understand.

“They legalized weed, dipshit,” he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just a regular Saturday morning with the family.

“I wonder if the girls’ conversations are like this.” Declan laughed.

“It’s not and it’s probably killing my poor wife.” I could see her now, thinking of clawing her eyes out with a fork. “One wrong move, you may want to watch the news tonight, Neal.”





MELODY

“Kill me…” I uttered out loud as they brought another painting for us to bid on. The money they raised would go towards the building of some stupid elementary school.

“Now come on, ladies, get out those checkbooks, call your husbands if you must. This school is just too important not to!” the peppy woman up front yelled.

In my fingers was a small fork. I knew I could throw it with just enough force to shut her up. However, Evelyn placed her hand on my wrist—again—and took the fork from me.

I sighed and sat back in my seat, watching the women pay anywhere from five to nine hundred dollars for any given artwork.

“Thank you all so much, we’re doing so well, we only have nineteen paintings left! Come on, ladies, I know you want them,” the stupid woman called out again.

Nineteen more? Nineteen motherfucking paintings more? I can’t do it. I can’t. I will claw my own damn eyes out with a spoon if I have to sit through one more painting.

Standing up caused them all to turn and look at me, and I put my Stepford wife smile on. “Will $250,000 cover them all?”