Scar
Gregory Callahan sits across from me in a barbecue restaurant he picked out. The place is almost garish, a gaudy mix of cowboy cliches: big hats, boots, spurs, ropes, steer, bison, more than one stuffed head, a bunch of bleached antlers, and a ton of rustic-looking wood completes the hideous decor.
“Never been here before,” I say, glancing around, trying my best not to make a face.
“I hear the food’s good,” Gregory says without smiling. I genuinely can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. “But we’re not here to eat.”
“We could order something,” I say, craning my neck, looking for a waitress, suddenly curious.
“No, thank you.” Gregory sits back in his booth. “This place is neutral ground. Somewhere you or your friends would never visit. It’s also ugly enough that I want to spend as little time here as possible. So why don’t we get to business?”
I sit up straight, holding his gaze. “Whatever you want,” I say, gesturing at him. “You called this meeting, Gregory. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Gregory’s gaze falls on me. He holds it there for a long, tense moment. Nothing flickers behind those eyes-no emotion, not recognition, nothing at all. Cold and dead.
This guy’s fucking unstable.
I’ve deal with dozens of gangsters in my time. From straight-up murderers to psychopaths, drug dealers, addicts, thieves, and more. I’ve met them all, defended a few. I thought I knew the criminal mind.
Until sitting across from Gregory.
He’s got no affect. No tells, no emotion. I can keep a straight face and control myself as well as a professional poker player, except there are always tells. I fidget slightly, adjust my silverware, look away, down at the table, clear my throat. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
Gregory’s got nothing. Blank, empty, nada. The guy’s like a ghost of a person.
“I had business in Las Vegas two days ago,” Gregory says calmly, like he’s talking about how wet water is. “I thought I was over my suspicions, but something was bothering me. Something about the way you and your wife spoke to each other. And the look on her face that first meeting when you announced your marriage. I chalked it up to surprise, but what if it was more than that? I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and so the day before I left, I went to the courthouse to request a few records. I got your marriage license, found the judge that signed it and had a chat with him. A very lovely chat.”
I feel sick. Fuck, I should’ve paid the judge more, should’ve made it clear never to reveal our bargain under any circumstances. Only I put this marriage together in a rush and I never imagined someone would look this deeply.
“And, what did you think?” I ask, hoping he can’t hear the discomfort in my voice.
“I liked him. He was a very calm man. Very cool under pressure.” Gregory pauses for a long moment. I could stab a fork in the fucker’s hand, but I keep it together. I’m used to high-pressure situations, and this is no different than standing in front of a jury, lying out my face. He continues: “I am officially done with my investigation. I admit, sometimes I go overboard, and it seems like this is one of those instances. On behalf of myself, I would like to extend my welcome to the Callahan family, and I hope we do business for a very long time.”
I sit there in total shock. The goddamn judge did it. And now Gregory’s saying he’s not going to keep digging.
The nightmare is over. It’s like a huge weight should lift from my shoulders.
Instead, all I feel is a heavier rock dragging me to the floor.
There’s nothing standing between me and Boston now. Gregory was my last obstacle, and now that he’s giving up, I can pack my shit without worry.
I’m going to the next level. I’m taking the first step on a journey to the top.
So why do I feel sick?
Suddenly, it all clicks into place.
Eros, sitting in that bar, telling me what love really means.
Orin in his office, looking like stress is rotting him from the inside.
Orin at the beach, looking light and happy and free.
Gregory, the other sons, all of them obsessed with their family.
And Rita.
“There’s a problem,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. The wheels grind in my skull, a plan forming. A stupid plan. “I need a few more weeks before I can move out to Boston. There are some loose ends I need to take care of first.” The words gush out of my mouth like a rushing stream. I don’t think, don’t bother trying to figure out how this is going over. I simply tell him, praying that it won’t ruin everything.
His face falls, and yeah, I fucked up.
“What problem?” he says, tone frigid. “What can be more important than taking my father up on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”
“It’s personal,” I say, blinking rapidly. “A family issue. Something I need to work out with my wife.”
Gregory grunts, frustrated. “We won’t wait forever, Scar. I don’t like this indecisiveness. This back and forth. If you want this job, you’d better take it before we move on to someone else. I’ll tell my father that I’m done with my suspicions, but he’s not going to like this new development.”
“Send along my apologies,” I say, grimacing slightly. “And I’ll reach out to explain to him shortly.”
“I hope you will.” Gregory stands abruptly. “You’re a good lawyer. You can keep your mouth shut. I don’t doubt it. But you better not start thinking you’re better off without my family.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” I say, nodding my head in deference.
He turns away. His body hangs tense, taut, but he finally moves off. I watch him go until he disappears into the lobby.
Fucking hell, what am I doing right now?
I deflate like a burst balloon, sitting there alone in the booth, trying to get myself together.
But I can’t stop seeing it all swirl in my head. My father drinking himself to death, Orin stressing himself to an early grave. My own future working myself like a mule for a gangster. And Rita.
There are two paths before me.
One leads to Boston, to a future I always thought I wanted. Power, glory, money. A way to the next level.
The other leads to Rita. A wife, a family. Something I never dreamed could be mine.
How can I turn my back on the goal I’ve been working toward my whole life? For something I didn’t even know I wanted until I met Rita?
And yet there’s only one option for me. One real path, arcing into my future, and I know I’ll regret it forever if I refuse to follow.
I stand, planning, and get the hell out of this creepy cliche restaurant.