Wolf kneels before his son, touching a hand to his chest. The blood soaks into his palm as he begs our Heavenly Father to spare him. Cain’s son demands answers. A siren blares in the distance as the name inked onto my shoulder burns through my flesh like a brand.
“Jack,” Blackie calls, wearily.
Silently, he wonders if it’s too late. If that bitch of a maker has taken the reins.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Pipe demands.
Determination set in his features, unwilling to believe the end is near.
“Celeste says to apply pressure to the wound,” Cobra shouts, frantically.
One life saved, is one less body to bury.
“Nico, stay with me, boy,” Wolf cries.
Another boy pays for the sins of his father.
“What do you mean Kelly is gone?” Linc questions.
His voice crackles with desperation as the flame on the candle of hope burns out.
Stepping away from them, I follow the light. The soles of my boots touch the asphalt outside the garage and I look up to the clear blue sky, searching for the black crow. I listen for the music, for the broken hallelujah.
As a mentally deranged man, I’ve relied on these signs for most of my life. When my duties as a leader become overwhelming and I question my capabilities. When the truth bestowed on me is too much to bear and the betrayal cuts far too deep, I look for my little birdy. I listen for the hymn.
When those signs fail me, I turn to God. To the man who rejected my broken soul and tossed me into the hands of the Devil. I ask him for his hand. For his wisdom and for his guidance. I ask that he allows me to follow the footprints in the sand. I am not worthy, this I know but, I ask anyway. I ask on the behalf of my brothers and my sisters. On the behalf of the innocent children, we brought into the world. I remind him that they are still his children. That Satan has not touched their souls. They are pure and innocent and deserve the hand of God.
“Parrish,” Pipe calls beside me. “That kid is dying in there,” he says solemnly. “We need to get him to a doctor. Are you listening to me? Wolf’s going to lose his boy if we don’t do something.”
Cupping my hand over my eyes, I shield the blinding sun and purse my lips. Whistling, I call my little birdy.
Come to me.
Show me the way.
“Blackie,” Pipe shouts over my shoulder. “He’s gone.”
Again, I whistle.
“Don’t let me down, birdy,” I rasp. “Fly little birdy, fly. Come to Parrish.”
“Jesus, fuck,” Pipe growls.
Dropping my hand, I tear my eyes away from the sky and resolve my birdy isn’t showing up today. Taking another step, I tune out my brothers and strain to hear the familiar melody.
The fourth, the fifth.
The minor fall…
The major lift…
Nothing.
This time the baffled king doesn’t get to compose the hallelujah.
There she is.
Always faithful, the rancid bitch…my maker.
“Not today,” I sneer, lifting my hands to my head. Foolishly, I try to shake the crazy out of me and when that doesn’t work, I ball my fists and try to beat it out. Pounding my knuckles against my temples doesn’t work either. With nothing left to try, I close my eyes.
Open your eyes, Parrish.
It’s not my maker who makes the demand but, the voice is just as familiar. It’s the voice of a man who never turned his back on me. The man who I never needed to doubt. The one who offers his hand at my darkest hour. To some he was God, to others he was a gangster. To me, he was a friend. The epitome of a brother. So, he didn’t wear leather…Victor Pastore was born to wear silk.
“Vic?”
To your left.
Turning my head, I see him. Dressed in a custom tailored suit, his hair neatly combed and a gold crucifix hanging around his neck. He winks at me before glancing at the young boy beside him wearing a Yankee hat.
“Junior?” I croak.
Hi, dad.
“My son,” I rasp.
I’ve got him, Parrish.
Tearing my eyes away from the vision of my son’s face, I look at his hand and how it’s wrapped tightly around Victor’s.
I’ll keep him safe but, you need to do your part too. Don’t let anyone take away what is ours. We worked too hard at righting their wrongs to give up now. We sacrificed too much to allow them victory. Show them who rules these streets. Teach them that evil will never overshadow faith.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
Removing my son's hat, he tousles his hair and offers me a smile.
Cain killed Able with a rock so, you better show up with a boulder.
The stench of gasoline wafts past my nose, causing me to turn my head. Spotting Linc, I look back to Victor and my son but, their backs are to me. Hand in hand, they walk away from me.
“Junior,” I shriek but, he keeps walking until he disappears into the light.
“Jack, I’m begging you, please we have to do something. I have to save her,” Linc pleads behind me. “I will do whatever you want, whatever you say.”
Red and blue flashing lights come into my peripheral vision as my phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I turn around and watch as Cain’s son struggles to stand on his shaky legs. My eyes dart to the ambulance rolling through the gates and I lift the phone to my ear.
“Parrish,” I answer.
“Just the man I’ve been longing to hear,” a man replies, his Russian accent drifting through the line.
The ambulance comes to a stop, and the doors burst open. Two paramedics climb out, one grabs the medic bag before their black boots pound the pavement. My eyes follow them into the garage but, my legs carry me to the ambulance.
“Yankovich,” I acknowledge, lifting myself into the driver’s seat of the ambulance. “It’s about time you found your balls,” I growl, turning the sirens off on top of the vehicle.
“Touche, Parrish,” he replies. “I have the girl,” he announces.
“Keep her,” I tell him, snatching the keys to the ambulance before climbing out of it and slamming the door. “She’s of no use to me. Add her to your collection,” I add.
“That’s not how this works,” he informs. “I have men positioned all over Brooklyn and Staten Island waiting for my command, ready to take yours. Your wife, your daughter, every woman that belongs to your club,” he says calling my bluff.
Bypassing, Linc, Blackie and Pipe, I make my way toward the garage.
“What do you want?”
“Now, you are understanding my language,” he says gleefully. There’s a pause before he unleashes his demands. “I want Cain’s son.”
“Do you, now?” I question, using my shoulder to hold the phone to my ear, I reach behind me for my gun.
“Deliver me Cain’s son and I will let the girl go. Your wife, daughter and the others will remain unharmed.”
“If all you wanted was Lincoln, why didn’t you take him yourself?”
“I didn’t say that’s all I wanted. A man’s supper is divided into courses. Cain’s son is simply an appetizer.”
Drawing back the safety on my gun, I wrap my finger around the trigger and pull. The gun goes off with a pop and the bullet pierces one of the paramedics in the back of the head.
“Jack!” Riggs shouts, charging for me.
“I will call you in an hour with a location. In the meantime, your wife looks wonderful holding that little boy.”
The line goes dead as I crouch down beside the surviving paramedic. Her body trembles as she lifts her head. Staring up at me with fear, tears roll down her cheeks.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask her, aiming the gun between her eyes.
“Yes,” she hiccups.
“Then, you also know what I’m capable of.”
She nods.
“Please don’t kill me,” she begs.
Touching my free hand to her cheek, I offer her a smile.
“Save his life and you’ll get to keep yours,” I say.
“I’m not a doctor,” she argues.
“You are now,” I tell her.
Show up with a boulder.
Don’t you worry, Vic.
I’m going to tear the motherfucking house down.