The Untouchables(85)

I made sure that she could read my eyes, and it made the tears roll down her cheeks. Wiping her nose, she nodded.

Sitting up straighter, she admitted, “I lied. I don’t know anything. I just wanted my boy.”

“You’ve got nothing on the Callahans?” I stated again, glaring into her eyes.

Again, she nodded.

“I have nothing on the Callahans. I just wanted to get back at them. They fired me for no reason, I have nothing, and they took it all away. They just have so much, you know? I just wanted something for my boy.”

Shaking my head at her, I grabbed the water. “Hold tight, Ms. Morales. Hold tight.”

“Please, don’t deport me. Por favor! I’m the only one sending anything back. My son is still young. Just like your mama, I just wanted to give him the best, get myself a good job. I need your help, please! I need the visa.”

There was nothing more I could say to her, so I simply walked out. Scooter stood glaring at the woman, who had returned to praying, through the two-way mirror.

“Damn it. She’s got to know something. I can feel it. We need to get her to talk. We should charge her; obstruction of justice, filing a false report…”

“Yes, Scooter let’s charge the only eye witness we have to the First Lady’s deception, because she didn’t tell us what we were hoping to hear,” I snapped. “If you keep jumping head first into everything, your brain will be splattered all over the sidewalk soon enough.”

It was only after I had gotten out of the precinct that I dared to rip the paper off the water bottle. In English it translated to three simple sentences:

Your son made it home from school safely today. Your words right now will determine if he makes it through the night. Do not make us do this.

Pulling out my other phone, I dialed, waiting to be directed.

“Welcome to Melody’s Flowers…”

“Two dozen of Autumn crocus for the Boss.”

“Please hold.”

It took only a second before I heard his voice.

“Callahan.”

“It’s done. She recanted.”

“Good work. Sit on her, make sure she doesn’t try again.”

“Done.”





MELODY

“It’s been handled,” Liam stated, finally bringing his sorry ass into the room. He’d left hours ago with my damn cell phone.

“Well, aren’t you feeling yourself,” I sneered, not bothering to look at him as I stepped into my shoes. Adriana waited with my jacket.

“Are you still hungry?”

I was prepared to beat the shit out of him, but it looked like someone had already started. “What the fuck happened to your face and hand?”

“Olivia.” He sighed, stepping over to me.

“Does she look worse?”

“She feels worse.”

“I don’t care how she feels, Liam.”

“I’ll get the car,” Adriana stated as she took her exit.

He pulled me closer to him and kissed my lips so hard I could feel the cut on the inside of his cheek and I could taste his blood.

Knock.

“Come back later,” Liam yelled.

But they didn’t listen. The door snapped open and a person I used to know as Declan stumbled in with the same white clothes, now covered in dirt, messy hair and bags under his red eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Declan.” Liam released me, walking to him just as Declan fell to his knees sobbing.

“Declan…”

“Coraline has ovarian cancer. She won’t speak to me. She won’t even move. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fight this. I don’t want to lose her…I…”

“Breathe, brother. Just breathe,” Liam whispered, as he knelt down to hold onto him.

Walking behind them both, I closed the door. This was personal. This was family, and no one else needed to see this.

Liam looked up at me as his brother, not cousin here, they were much closer then that. Declan just sobbed in his arms. His eyes asked me a question with an answer I hated: How do we fight cancer?

I knew all too well that sometimes you couldn’t. Cancer was a bitch that didn’t know when to die. Placing my hand on Declan’s head, I stood there. I wasn’t sure what else to do. Why was this all happening now? Why couldn’t we just deal with one fucking problem at a time?

Because this was real life.





TWENTY-FIVE

“My mother protected me from the world and my father threatened me with it.”

—Quentin Crisp





NEAL

There were very few things I hated more than meeting my father in his old study. It brought back all my moments of failure, stupidity, and unworthiness. My father’s study meant something different to the each of us. For Declan, every time he was brought here, it was because my father needed help wiring something on his computer. For Liam, it was the place they bonded; the place they sipped on brandy, talked business. For me, it was the place my father reminded me of what a giant fuck up I was.