Young Writers Society

Chapter One: Polo Pantaloons

It was a really nice day out. I spent the majority of it attempting to figure out how to work the new laptop that Gloria and Doreen had bought me this past Christmas. I liked the idea of using a laptop, but actually using it was another story.

It has been pretty quiet in Seattle ever since I quit the business. Because of that, I have had a lot of spare time on my hands. Sometimes, when I have the time – which seems to be always – I get outside and play a little bit of polo with some of the fellow from around our neighborhood. I never pictured that Seattle would be the type of place where polo was a popular sport, but apparently it is like baseball in Cuba. I also never pictured myself as being the type of chum who would wear tight polo pantaloons and a goofy looking helmet as I banged around on a horse with a stick in my hand chasing after a little toy.

Then again, as a child I also never expected that at eighteen I would be doing – well – let’s call it financial adjustments for the Irish Mob in Vegas.

I remember the days I was a child like they were yesterday. The day I remember most, though I don’t know why, was one summer afternoon when I was bounding around the backyard with my mom’s broom between my legs, smacking the back of it with my hand whilst whooping loudly, “Yeehaw! Gidd’yup cowboy!”

My brother Richie was sitting across the yard, staring at me. He used to take stabs at me about my crooked eye, my drooping lower lip and slurred speech due to the paralysis on the left side of my face.

I ignored him a lot, as I was used to getting teased all of the time while we were in and out of foster homes while my parents worked out their issues. I was used to being tormented; it was nothing new to me.

“Shut up your stupid, ugly face, Jack. Why don’t you go and droop your lip some more?” Richie teased me from across the yard as he played with his monster trucks in the sand.

I ignored him, continuing to gallop around the yard with my imagination.

This was a time we were at home with our mother. After about three or so years in and out of foster homes we were allowed to moved back in with both of our parents. But their issues just started back up as soon as we returned home and then Mom and Dad got divorced, and Mom married some pizza manufacturer guy. A real weirdo, if you know what I mean.

My teenage years were predominantly spent in delinquency at private schools that I didn’t fit into. I guess Mom thought public schools would lead me to a life of crime. Guess she was wrong.

Mom moved me around from school to school after each phone call from the principals. A few weeks into each school term, it was as if Mom waited by the phone for the principal.

I remember how she used to frown upon me after the call. She would click her tongue on the roof of her mouth and fold her arms across her chest as she pondered out loud what to do with me. She tried very hard to figure out the best course of action to help me escape ridicule from my peers after I had been kicked out of more than ten schools due to alleged behavioral issues, but she never made the right choice somehow.

The first time I heard the words behavioral issues I laughed out loud. I denied it. I denied having any issues with my behaviour, until graduation day when we received our year books.

I was named ‘Most Likely to End up in the Electric Chair’.

That was a major turning point in my life.

After I had given up on the laptop, the evening remained calm and quiet.

Doreen was out with a few of her friends. Gloria and I were so glad that she was going out again, being social, making friends.

Gloria was in the sewing room, sewing my polo pants that I had ripped. Seemed like I ripped them every time I used them, yet she refused to buy me a bigger pair.

“That’s how they are supposed to look,” she said matter-of-factly.

I was sitting alone in the living room with a book about Columbus in my hand. I didn’t want to read it, but Gloria expressed concern about me not doing anything all day. Instead of actually reading I just stared into the backyard through the living room window.

I started to think about Richie. I thought about how I came to Seattle a few years back, after Richie’s death.

I chuckled to myself a little bit as I reminisced about the good times I had as I busted down people involved in my brother’s murder. I remembered tossing Eddie off of his balcony. Little shit. That was a good day. I accomplished a lot.

Gloria surprised me as she came up behind me with my pants hanging over her arm. She stood behind my chair, “There you go,” she handed them to me.

I took them from her, turning with a smile, “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” she mumbled, leaning in and sitting on the arm of the chair with her arm wrapped around me, “What are your plans for today?”

“I don’t know,” I stretched my arms, “I might call up a few of the boys and see if they want to have a few beers before dinner. What about you?”

She shrugged, “I am going to see a movie.”

I nodded. I reached up and brushed her cheek with my once-rough hands, “I love you, Gloria. I love you and Doreen very much.”

Gloria stood from the chair and smiled down at me. She kissed me on the cheek and looked hard into my eyes, “I know, Jack. I know.”

The cell phone on the table beside me began to vibrate and move around on the table until I picked it up.

Gloria smiled back at me as she left the room to allow me my privacy.

The number on my phone was one that I had not seen in a long time, since Richie’s death. No name showed up, as I didn’t have it programmed in, but I didn’t need a name to recognize that number. It was one that I used to see every day, sometimes several times a day.

“Hello, McCarty,” I mumbled into the phone as I stroked my hairy chin. It has been a long time since I had taken a razor to my face. I liked it, Gloria didn’t.

“Carter!” McCarty’s goofy, over-enthusiastic voice came from the other line.

I felt like reaching through the phone and punching him already, just from the sound of his irritating voice.

“McCarty, what do you want?” I asked as I recalled the last conversation that we had. By conversation, I mean the last time that I kicked his ass and made him flip his car into a diner.

“Look, Jack, serious, no fucking around here,” he paused and I wondered what he was doing, “we need you to do one more job for Les. He has let you have your little vacation for the past little while and now he’s had enough. He’s not happy with you, Jack. You’re still his puppet and he thinks you’ve forgotten that.”

“No,” I said without hesitation. I went to hang up the phone but something inside of me made me pause briefly and then hold the phone back up to my ear as I held my breath.

“Carter? Buddy? You still there, pal?”

I waited a few moments, “I’m here.”

“Good. Carter. Listen. We have moved locations. You’ll have to meet me-”

“Look, McCarty, I can’t. I don’t have time.”

He was silent on the other end for a moment. “You can’t? What do you mean you can’t Jacky Boy? You better make the damn time. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You would have to be a simple bitch to pass this up.”

I was silent.

“You haven’t even heard the price,”

The word struck me with a feeling that I had not felt since I shot Brumby. I never liked that bastard, even though I didn’t want him to be guilty. He was the last person I ever wanted to be guilty. “Price?” I asked.

“You bet, pal. Half a mil, Jacky. Now, I know you’ve always been a pretty smart chump, but I don’t know if you’re smart enough to do that kinda math. It’s more than double anything Fletch has ever offered you. Come on, Jack. We’re in this together,” his brown beady eyes stared, “like old times.”

Like old times? Like the time he backstabbed me and told Fletcher about me and Audrey? Fuck that. He was a bigger bastard than Brumby was. I would have fucking wrung his neck if could have reached him.

For a moment I lost my breath. I was torn. Was I supposed to keep my word to Gloria and Doreen, or was I supposed to do my victory lap in the only business that I had ever known?

The conversation did not last much longer. I hung up the phone and placed it in my pocket. I went upstairs to the bedroom that Gloria and I now shared. In the closet, I walked to the very back where my three favorite black suits were. I fingered the expensive Italian material that I longed to feel against my arms and legs.

Gloria had sworn me to keep those silly suits at the very back of the closet since the day that I came back. She told me never to wear them again, as she knew was it symbolized.

I slipped one of the suits off of the hanger and walked back into the room to change.

Chapter Two: Rule Britannia

After I got changed, I made my way downstairs and to the front door. I picked my sunglasses up off of the shelf to my right and slid them over my eyes. As I was reaching for the door handle, Doreen came in.

She stepped in from the chilly weather and looked at me suspiciously, “Where are you going?”

I buttoned my black coat up and held my chin high to adjust the buttons around my neck, “For some fresh air.”

Doreen looked at me with her big, brown eyes in that mocking way that she always did. She was much too smart for me to fool her. “Fresh air,” she mumbled as she scratched at her cheek for a moment.

I nodded, “Yep.”

“Where? I’ll come with you. We can stop for a bite to eat at our restaurant, my treat.”

When I first came back to Seattle I brought Doreen to a little restaurant where we had coffee and we talked about personal stuff. Ever since then, Doreen called it our restaurant.

“No,” I held out my hand, “that’s alright. I would like to go for a walk and collect my thoughts. Lots going on in here,” I joked.

Doreen glared, “You haven’t gone for a walk by yourself in a long time. Not since-”

“Tell your mother that I will be home, later,” I cut her off hastily. I leaned in and kissed her forehead, the way a father would do.

Gloria and I had never really discussed the growing controversy that Doreen was actually my daughter, and not my brother’s. It was a very touchy subject in the Carter family and we stayed away from it at all costs. Gloria gets flustered when I bring it up and we certainly do not want to make Doreen think any less of her late father.

As a matter of fact, Doreen being my daughter may have escaped my lips, if only once. But that guy is dead now, so ha-ha. I got the last laugh there.

Doreen attempted to give me that dagger look once more to try and get me to reconsider.

I tried my best not to fall for her ways. I looked away and hastily walked out of the house and sat in my new Mercedes that I had bought myself for my last birthday.

It was a comfortable car. A good vehicle for chasing down idiots like that doufus who tried to run me out of town. To Alaska, of all places. Why in the hell would anyone want to go there? They could have picked the Bahamas, and I may have gone. Alaska? No dice.

I started the car and sang Rule Britannia on my way to meet McCarty.

The building that I pulled up to on my left was tall and business-looking. I wondered what Fletcher was up to, now. Usually he met me in dimly-lit places in back alleys and casinos and strip joints.

A man met me at the door. He had a wire in his ear like some big, hot shot bodyguard. His sunglasses were on, like mine, and he wore a suit, like mine.

“Name?” He stood in front of me tauntingly with his arms like two tree trunks at his sides.

I looked at him and stifled my smile. I pulled my sunglasses down to my nose, “My name is Jac Carter,” pushed them back up my nose, “and you don’t wanna know me.”

He smiled smugly, “Jack Carter, huh?”

I nodded and tipped my invisible hate his way. I walked past him and walked to the elevator, like McCarty told me to do when we spoke.

I suspected that McCarty would be waiting for me upstairs. I checked my watch to make sure I was on time. I made sure to note my surroundings in case of emergency; McCarty and Fletcher were notoriously tricky little bastards, and I trusted them as far as I could throw Fletcher’s fat ass.

The elevator door opened for me.

McCarty stood with his back to me, checking is watch. At the sound of the doors opening he turned around and smiled when he saw me.

Although McCarty was certainly no George Clooney before the accident, he was all kinds of ugly now.

“Ja-a-a-a-a-a-ck,” he sang as he came over to me with his arms open as if he wanted a hug, “how is it going? I see you still dress like Frank Sinatra,” he teased.

I did not smile. I hated that joke, having heard it twice a day for the majority of my adult life. I stood my ground professionally with my trademark sunglasses covering the tired eyes that I did not want them to see. That was something else people teased me about.

“Sunny inside the mall?” A vendor asked me once.

Gloria looked at me, embarrassed.

I didn’t mind. My eyes were covered for the safety of my identity, and I wasn’t going to compromise that.

“Come on, buddy,” McCarty said, snapping me back to reality. His eyes didn’t look friendly, though he tried to make his face look so, “I am over everything that happened between us. Fletcher and I came all the way to Seattle to see your lazy ass,” he slapped me on the shoulder and then pointed a finger, “so don’t disappoint.”

I looked at his finger, pointed right in my face. For the second time that day I felt an urge to smack Con McCarty in the face.

He led me into another room, a much bigger room, where Les Fletcher sat his fat ass behind a desk as big as his ego.

Les gestured for me to sit down, his face and body half hidden by the shadows. It was as if they had turned the lamps and lights in just the right direction to conceal him.

“No, thanks,” I mumbled and shook my head as I watched McCarty retreat behind me in a corner to watch, “I’ll stand.”

“It’s been a long time, Carter,” Fletcher said in a low voice, “too long.”

I shrugged and smiled half-heartedly to myself, “Not long enough, if you ask me.

Fletcher scoffed. It was like he wanted to laugh but was too angry. I could sense the bitterness in his voice; he was clearly still holding a grudge over what had happened between Audrey and I. I wondered what made him come crawling back to me if he hated me so goddamn much.

I nodded, finally, hating the silence, “Yes, Fletcher, it has been a long time. Like I said, though, I could have waited longer.” I looked around the room, books on his shelves that I was sure he had never read, “Why am I here? I told you that I am out of the business. I’m comfortable. I don’t want back in, Fletch.”

Fletcher leaned forward, his fat face becoming visible, “Don’t beat the dog before he bites you, Jack.”

I remained silent. I hated a smart ass. I was a smart ass, but I hated people who were like that. Though Fletcher’s metaphors were magical, I was in no mood.

“Would you like something to eat? Drink?” He offered me.

I scanned the room. I really felt like making my mark on his life, pissing him off just in case it would be my last chance to do so, “How’s Audrey?”

Les tensed in his chair, “Audrey is a dirty whore and she is lucky that I didn’t fucking strangle her when I had the chance,” Fletcher snapped, “Don’t worry about Audrey.”

Though disappointed at his answer, I didn’t let my head hang in distress though it was exactly what I wanted to do.

I missed Audrey. I wondered all the time, despite my love for Gloria, why she had chosen Fletcher over me. She was scared for her life, but I would have protected her from Fletcher. I never would have let anything bad happen to her. I wished she would have run off with me when I offered. Instead, she chose to stay with Fletcher.

“You see,” Les slouched back into the darkness, “I have a little problem, Carter.”

Again, my smart remarks got the best of me, “Don’t worry, Les. It’ll probably clear up in a few days. Did you try putting some cream on it?”

Les slammed his closed fist down on his desk.

I could see a vein protruding from his red forehead.

“Don’t fuck with me, Carter! I’m the boss!” He snapped.

I stood still, “You have a problem, Fletch? Well, we all have problems. We get over them. That is what humans do.”

“I’m not fucking human, Jack, and don’t ever imply that I am. You don’t know jack shit about me.”

I was silent once more. Les had always been a real asshole, but it seemed as though he was especially bad now after all this time.

Fletcher now stood up and walked over to his private bar. He poured himself a drink of what looked like scotch, “Look, Carter, I have had more people than you could count in a lifetime working for me. I couldn’t trust any of ‘em. Some were sayin’ the job was done and takin’ my money, and others were just plain stealin’ my money when my back was turned. Out of all the jack-offs I have had work for me, unfortunately you’re the best.”

I scoffed. Was that a compliment?

“You’re one of the only people I can trust, Carter, even though you hurt me bad and our friendship will never be the same,”

“I didn’t know we were ever friends, Fletch,” I mumbled.

Fletcher gave me a look, much like Doreen’s, except much uglier, “Don’t act cute.”

I couldn’t resist myself. I hated my inner urges, “Who is the person, then?”

“A man named Jerry. Jerry Finn.”

I noted the name in my head, “And what did this Jerry Finn do to get on your bad side, Les?”

Les looked my way hastily, “Carter, you must be losing your fucking mind. You should know better than to ask me about my business. What Finn did is just that, Carter, my business. What happens to Finn is your business. Got it? Don’t worry about what he did,” he shook his head, taking his seat again, “all I want you to do is tell him that I know about his plan and if he doesn’t have my money on the spot, then,” his eyes met mine, “well, you know the rest.”

I hesitated, “I’d feel better knowing what he did,” I said simply, determined to stand my ground.

“That’s not your job, Jack,” he was very still, “now is it?”

I studied the tips of my shoes for a moment, “Well, Fletch, you just might have to find yourself another chum, then.”

“I am offering you half a million dollars for this, Jack, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Half a mil won’t do,” I told him, as I had rehearsed in the car, “I’ll be putting my ass on the line for you yet again, and I am already laying low from the mess you made last time,”

“The mess I made?” Fletcher demanded, “The mess you made, Carter!” He pointed.

I ignored him, “The price needs to be higher.”

“That is your own issue, Jack. Not mine. Half a million, that is all I am going to offer you.”

“Fine,” I turned and made for the door. I smiled at McCarty in the corner who glared at me. I had my hand on the knob, moving slowly to give him all the time that he needed to reconsider.

“Jack,” Fletcher said loudly, “turn around and get your ass back over here.”

I smiled to the door, keeping it brief and discreet. I turned slowly, “I won’t do it for half a million.”

Fletcher turned in his chair from left to right, “You know Jack, you fucked me hard last time. I don’t even know why you’re not dead right now, let alone why I called you. But,” he paused, picking at his tooth, “you had a lot of guts to come here without knowing whether or not I was going to blow your fucking brains out the moment you came through that door.”

I didn’t move, nor did I say anything.

“I admire you for your balls, Jack, you’re a giv’er-shit kinda guy, and I like that,” his finger circled the brim of his glass. His eyes never left me, “What’s your price?”

I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to undersell myself, nor did I want to give him too-ridiculous a sum for which he would shoot me on the spot. I thought a moment longer, “Two million.”

Fletcher choked on his drink, sitting his glass down and looking at me, “Two million? I can hire Cuba to kill everyone in the Dominican for two million dollars. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I stood my ground once more, straightening the tie around my neck, “A little.”

Chapter Three: Screw the Grapes!

Now I was standing outside the door of Fletcher’s building with his guard watching my every move like he was a security guard at the mall and I was some young punk stuffing DVDs into my jacket.

I looked down to the address in my hand, the address of Jerry Finn’s office.

I thought a lot as I walked back to my car. I thought mostly about Richie and what he would want me to do. Richie and I were always on two completely opposite pages; Richie, though not necessarily the best family man, was a much more simple man than I was. I was always doing big-time things to make big-time money while all Richie could ever manage to do with make his wife hate him and get himself into a whole heap of shit with all the wrong people.

Then, I thought about all of the people I’d ever taken out. I had been in the business so long that I almost forgot how old I was when Les Fletcher hired me. He had been quite the interesting role model for a misguided teenager who refused to go to college.

First, Fletcher had started me doing small-time errands for him. Then, as time went on and I got a bit older and more experienced in mob life, I became his official financial adjuster. For the most part, Fletcher took care of me; he paid me well and covered my ass. That was until Fletcher got bored of his one mistress and brought back Audrey.

I fell in love with Audrey and we had many affairs over the course of their relationship. Fletcher had never suspected anything until McCarty opened his mouth.

I wasn’t proud of my past, nor were Gloria or Doreen. However, it was my past and I couldn’t picture myself having done anything other than what I did. This was mostly due to the fact that I wasn’t really good at anything else; sometimes I couldn’t talk well, and I was never that good at writing, so any career with writing and talking was out of the question. I also couldn’t see myself as the type of guy who wore dirty shirts and pants and smelly steel-toed work boots to a job where I got covered in crap like oil. I was good at looking tough, acting tough, and being heartless enough to kill people who I had no idea if they were innocent or guilty. That’s just who I was. Maybe, who I would always be.

And finally, I thought about Doreen. Sweet, beautiful Doreen. Her eyes were mind, her hair – mine, her attitude – most definitely mine. Doreen was my daughter, Gloria and I knew this very well. Thankfully, for his sake, Richie died thinking that his wife had always been faithful and that his daughter was still his own.

I had always loved Doreen, but had distanced myself after her birth as I did not want to cause problems between Richie and Gloria. I couldn’t break up my brother’s family. Now that I was always in Doreen’s life, she had come to love me as the father that she didn’t know I was. She wanted me to be a normal guy who woke up late on weekends and spent his evenings working on a car in the garage. Unfortunately, I didn’t think that I could ever be that one-paced man that she dreamt I would be.

After much thinking and contemplation I came to the conclusion that it was inevitable. This was my job, my career, my mission in life – to undo all of the wrongs that people had done to others. Though I didn’t condone Fletcher’s business, lending people money when he rightly knew they couldn’t afford to pay him back, and then killing him for his own benefit – what I did was a fact of life. I couldn’t see it any other way.