Chapter Twenty-Six:
Deadly Risky Business
Cameron was sitting on the edge of the bed. The day had come, the one that we had both been dreading. Today was Rocco’s funeral. Cameron had tried to avoid it as long as possible, waiting until they found the rat—or at least until things got a little better. But it couldn’t be pushed off any longer. Rocco needed to be put to rest, and we needed to move forward. The way that Cameron was hunched over, his shoulders carrying the guilt of his little brother’s death, this day was going to be difficult, agonizing for him.
In a movement that had become ours, I scrambled behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. There we sat, mentally preparing for what lay ahead, becoming one skin once again.
Dressed in black, we ascended the car. Cameron had shaved off the growing beard. I had missed his face, but now I also missed the stubble. He was wearing a black suit and a tie, more handsome than ever. I managed to find a wrinkled skirt that I had never worn and black flip-flops to match. My duffle bag options were limited.
As we drove away, Cameron’s hand was squeezing mine so tight that my fingertips were going numb.
“Tell me what you and the old man talked about back at the distribution plant,” he asked. His voice was unsteady and his eyes never left the road in front of him.
I was content to provide his distraction. “His name is Jerry, but he likes to be called Pops,” I started. While I gabbed, Cameron listened—or looked like he was listening. Perhaps he just needed the noise. Although his hand never left mine, his grip slightly loosened after a while—and I was able to feel my fingertips again. I told him everything, even shared Pops’s perception of Cameron—but I did leave out his view on Cameron’s previous appearance of inhumanity. This, I knew, would hurt him too much. Cameron found my reiteration of our debate over the pros and cons of drugs to be particularly interesting.
“Does it bother you what I do?” he wondered.
I couldn’t lie to him, but I definitely did not want to tell him the truth. “It’s not … ideal,” I said, treading very carefully.
“It’s okay for you to be bothered by what I do,” he said quickly. “In fact, you should be bothered. It would be abnormal for you to think it was okay.”
Cameron paused in hopes of an answer, but I just shrugged my shoulders and remained silent. I wasn’t about to fall for that one: the “it’s okay for you to tell me the truth as long as it’s what I want to hear” trap.
“The old man whispered something to you as we left,” he continued with curiosity. “What did he say?”
“Pops,” I corrected, “said that he hoped to see me again.”
“Absolutely not!”
“I know,” I sulked, “But you asked, so I told you.”
Cameron glanced at me and quietly chuckled at my lapse in maturity. After getting a small taste of Cameron’s work, I was still convinced that I would be able to do some of what Cameron did. But I could not fathom what it would be like to make those other decisions. My mind turned to Griff.
“How did Griff end up working for Pops?” I kept my eyes on the road, tried to keep my voice as unconcerned as possible.
“I needed to get rid of him, and they needed a guard. They owed me a favor anyway,” he explained. Then he eyed me. “You thought I had him taken care of, didn’t you? Even after I told you I didn’t.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. I looked at him, trying to decipher his mood. He didn’t look upset.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he reminded me.
“But you were also really upset the night he was caught climbing down from my room. Maybe even a bit jealous?” I raised an eyebrow, testing.
“Maybe a lot jealous.” He chuckled embarrassedly. “But I knew it would have hurt you too much if I had done anything to him.”
“Would you have had him killed if it wasn’t for me?”
Cameron glanced at me meaningfully in response. A chill went up my spine. I didn’t want to think about the alternate ending and needed to change the atmosphere.
“You’re rich, right?” I indiscreetly blurted out, trying to shock Cameron on purpose. From the look of astonishment on his face, it had worked. I continued, “Where does all the money go?”
“Lots of places,” he answered vaguely.
“Like?”
Cameron looked uncomfortable with my forthrightness, but, with an elongated sigh, went along with it. “Like stocks, bonds, property. I have a bunch of bank accounts in different places around the world.”
“So … you don’t just bury the money under the mattress like they do in movies?”
He laughed. “Actually, I do have some money buried in different spots, but none under the mattress.”
His answers only made me more curious. “Don’t people get suspicious when you walk into a bank with a stack of cash?”
Cameron looked at me like I was from another planet. “I never actually walk into a bank, Emmy. Everything is done electronically. I carry very little cash on me.” From the tone of voice that Cameron had chosen, I could tell that his explanation had been meant to explain everything. But I didn’t understand. Somehow I couldn’t see drug users using their bank cards to buy whatever it was they bought. As Cameron searched my face, he must have found complete confusion. He pulled over to the side of the road and turned to me. He was procrastinating, mostly for his own purpose, I guessed.
“Aren’t we going to be late?” I asked him.
“They won’t start without us,” he said. “You want to know how it works, don’t you?”
I nodded, and I could feel my cheeks getting warm.
“When we get the product,” he started, “it’s divided among all the leaders. They distribute it within their gangs, and it’s subdivided several times like that until it actually hits the streets. When it’s sold, the money is passed by the dealers through small businesses that deposit the money into their bank accounts. Sometimes dealers will also open bank accounts in their friends’ and family’s names and deposit small amounts there too. Where the money goes from there gets really complicated—property, shares, and other stuff gets bought and sold. The money changes hands so many times that, by the time it gets to us, it’s virtually impossible to trace back to the product.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
He looked away. “I’ll be killed before I ever get caught.”
I instantly regretted asking the question.
We pulled back onto the road. Cameron didn’t volunteer anymore information and I definitely didn’t ask any more questions. Blissful ignorance would have been better on that last point.
When we drove into the church parking lot, there were only a handful of cars parked. I asked Cameron whether we were too early or too late. He explained that these events had to be kept intimate so as to not attract too much attention.
The church was small and simple, with a white exterior and broken bricked pathway. It was located off of a country road in the middle of nowhere. Mature trees surrounded the lot and a perfectly manicured cemetery flanked it. It was a beautiful summer day. Somehow, this church, this day was, to me, just right for our last good-byes to Rocco. Before the tears could rise, numbness protectively swelled inside me.
I was surprised to find Cameron grab my hand as we walked up to the handful of people who had gathered outside the door, some of whom, like Tiny, I recognized as the high-ranking guards from the farm. Most of their names escaped me in that moment.
Everyone respectfully acknowledged Cameron right away and side-glanced me with curiosity as we passed them, hand in hand, and entered the church. Once we stepped through the threshold, the guards followed us and my fingers were going numb again from Cameron’s squeeze. I clenched my teeth, trying to keep cool for the both of us.
Inside, blue and white flowers overflowed in the middle aisle and at the front of the church. Among the petals, Rocco’s framed picture was smiling at us from the front. I had to look away. Cameron avoided looking ahead too. There was music playing somewhere in the church.
Between the rows of wooden benches, Carly and Spider slowly walked up to us. Spider somberly shook Cameron’s hand. Carly’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
“Everything looks great, Carly. Thank you for making all the arrangements,” Cameron said softly, affectionately putting his hand on her shoulder, as my brother had often done with me.
Carly smiled weakly back at us, but seemed at a loss for words. She scooped her arm into mine, while Cameron and Spider led us to our seats in the back of the church. We slid onto the bench—Carly and I sat next to each other, and Cameron and Spider protectively sat on our sides. The rest of the back benches were filled with the remaining guards. Silence fell among us, each lost in thought, trying to make sense of something that was senseless.
The church was practically empty, except for the front pew. I recognized the bleached-blond back of one of the women’s heads as Cameron’s mother. She was sobbing loudly while simultaneously yelling at three children who were running back and forth between the benches. It all seemed surreal.
And then Spider suddenly shot up and glared to the lane.
“What’s she doing here?” he muttered bitterly. Carly, Cameron, and I turned our heads and followed his gaze. Frances had made her way down the aisle and awkwardly stood by the bench in front of us. Carly tugged at Spider’s sleeve and forced him to sit back down.
“I invited her,” she half-whispered. And then, in answer to our surprised faces, added, “Rocco really liked Frances. He would have wanted her to be here, with us.”
Frances continued to uneasily glance at us, until Cameron finally motioned her to sit down. She quietly slid into the bench in front of us and stared ahead while Spider huffed and Carly threw him a disapproving eye. I felt horrible for Frances. I remembered what it was like to be the outsider who wanted nothing else but to be accepted by them.
A big man in front walked out on stage at the front of the church. His hair was crew-cut in a bowl, and he looked lost in his robes. He was young, really young—like puberty had forgotten about him. He seemed too young to be a deacon, or a pastor, or a priest, or whatever he was.
The man in the big robes commenced his sermon. Though he spoke English, I had no idea what he was talking about. Chapters, verses, commandments—these were as cryptic to me as Cameron’s business documents. I was sure that the holy water was boiling in a basin somewhere in the church as these thoughts ran through my head.
I was trying to be strong for Cameron and managed to gulp most of my tears back down. But this was becoming more and more difficult as I was forced to sit there with no distraction from my thoughts. There was something haunting about the large man-child’s spoken voice … and I was being forced back to the wicker chest. I could hear the angel voice whispering in my ear. I watched Rocco fall to the ground. These relentlessly replayed in my mind.
It came to me in a rush—not only was Rocco gone, but he wasn’t coming back. His picture at the front of the church had become just another image of a boy who would never grow up. Brewing inside of me was an intense hatred for the ones who had taken his life. I wanted them dead, but first I wanted them to pay, suffer for what they had done. I was not a vengeful person, yet I felt strongly about how they should be tortured. The tears were now gushing down—I couldn’t stop them anymore. They were tears of pain and anger, the kind that burned my skin as they slid down my cheeks and plunged to my lap. Without looking at me, Cameron clasped his fingers into mine and brought my hand onto his lap, squeezing. My attempt at being his strong counterpart had failed, miserably. Once again, Cameron had to take care of me.
While the big man who was lost in his robe broke out into a ritualistic hymn, one of the guards had tiptoed down the aisle and stopped at Spider’s side. He whispered something in Spider’s ear and waited while Spider leaned over Carly and me and addressed Cameron in a murmur.
“Shield’s boys are here. They want to talk about a truce and a merger. They say there’s a lot of money attached to this deal.”
Cameron swore under his breath as he turned to Spider to spit his words. “I’m at my brother’s funeral. Whatever they want can wait till tomorrow.”
Spider looked offended at being spoken to in this way, but with a nod of the head, motioned to the guard to follow the boss’s orders. The guard ran out of the church, but returned a few minutes later. Whatever he had whispered in Spider’s ear had made Spider’s face go hard and his brow furrow.
“They came here without Shield knowing. They want to change their alliance and work for us. They’re willing to take Shield down themselves to make this happen.”
Spider looked at Cameron, waiting for a response, but Cameron remained silent and continued to glance ahead. His cheeks were flushed with anger.
Spider spoke a little louder. “Cameron?”
“I heard you,” Cameron skewered back. He tapped his foot and considered.
He turned to Carly, “How much money would we be talking about?”
Carly turned her eyes to the ceiling as she calculated invisible numbers in the air. “I don’t know,” she absentmindedly responded. “It depends on what kind of merger they’re proposing. I need more details before I can give you a figure on a reasonable settlement.” She pondered a few more seconds and then looked back at Cameron. “If we make this deal, it would give us control over all of the Northeastern factions. Might even bring peace—end the war. That would be worth a lot for the bosses. This could be the break we were looking for to make them forget about everything else that’s happened.” Carly quickly glanced at me as she said this.
Cameron went quiet again and vacantly stared ahead. I could see that his mind was running full speed.
But Spider grew impatient again.
“We don’t have a lot of time. There are over thirty of them out there. They’re armed. We can’t stall them much longer.” Spider leaned further toward Cameron, his worried voice was now audible only to the four of us. “Cameron, if we don’t go talk to them, they’re not going to let us live to tell Shield about their betrayal. We don’t have enough men to cover us.”
Cameron turned and quickly whispered something to Tiny, who was sitting behind him. Hushed shuffling ensued on the bench behind us, and Tiny produced two shortwave radios that he handed to Cameron. Cameron turned back to me. He looked sickly.
“Take this,” he said, handing me one of the radios. He latched the other one onto his belt. “You call me if there’s anything. I’m going to be right outside the door.”
I could hear the guards clicking the latches of their guns as they slowly filtered into the aisle. At Spider’s low command, they hid their readied weapons under their shirts, tucking them into the waistbands of their pants. They waited for Cameron.
He looked at me for a long minute and then turned his eyes to Frances. With an urgent whisper, he called her name. She jumped and turned around. She looked terrified. I figured that I must have looked much the same, except with fire-engine red hair and a lot more freckles.
Cameron ordered Frances to come sit by me, which she immediately obliged. As she glided her way to the bench behind her, Cameron turned back to me, his eyes unyielding. He leaned in. “I’m right outside,” he repeated, though I didn’t know if this had been for my benefit or his own. He forcefully kissed me on the forehead. Frances warmly smiled at me as she spied us, but her eyes were saddened.
Cameron walked to the lineup of guards, and they quickly encircled him into a cocoon of human protection. As I saw Carly leave with the rest of them, I wanted to yell back and demand that he take me with him, but I knew that now wasn’t the time and that his mind had already been made up. Nothing I could say would change it. I definitely had no accounting skills to bring to the table. The only thing I was good at was distracting Cameron and getting him in more trouble. I forlornly watched them leave us.
The deacon, who had barely glanced in our direction during the commotion and departures en masse, pursued his sermon without skipping a beat. I was a tumbleweed of emotions—terrified that Cameron was out there, devastated with my loss of Rocco, angry that I had been left out, again, and perplexed as to why Cameron would ever want to make a deal with those who might have contributed to his brother’s death. As if she sensed my need, Frances slid closer to me and took my hand. She seemed pleased with having been given a purpose. Even she had been assigned a job, I silently griped. I then smiled to myself. Rocco and I had so much in common.
During my reverie, someone had slid in the bench behind us.
“Emily,” a hoarse voice whispered.
I turned around and hardly believed what I was seeing. He was older now—deep wrinkles mapped his forehead and his blond hair had grayed at the sides, like he had grown wings.