11. Memory.
He remembered this place. He remembered it very well. Even if it had been three years since he came here. And people remembered him too. He was greeted by smiles and happy words.
He smiled at Laney O'Hanagan, the elderly shopkeeper who used to give him sweets and things. Mr. Harris grinned at the redhead, tossing him a small roll like he used to. Freemont Avenue had another name that Reno knew all too well. Irish Square.
Little red haired street brats tumbled around, chasing things only they could see. He loved this place, which was why he had a sour taste on his tongue for the job he had to do. He wanted to do. There was one man he hated above all others, the one who had abandoned him and his mother.
Jakeiel O'Leary wasn't a hard man to find. He was seeped in drugs and women, a hated figure in the Irish Square. He was in his apartment, cutting a shipment of Spice. He looked up when Reno came in, smirking.
"Told you someday that you'd come." the man said, thinking the boy wanted to work for him. Reno snarled. He felt his cheeks throb where this man had marked him.
"I'm only here 'cause you pissed someone off, Old Man." he said, drawing his firearm. Three silenced shots later and he had three cooling bodies on his hands. He smirked, reaching down and grasping the locket that the man had taken from his mother.
His maternal grandmother smiled up at him and he smiled back, slipping it around his neck. The Sinclairs were warriors, and he intended to keep the tradition alive.
"rest in peace, fucker." he said, walking out while tossing his lit cigarette behind him.
Smoke curled into the sky as he left Irish Square for good. His father and this place nothing but a memory.
--
This one bothered me. I wanted it to be special, but in a good way. And I always imagine fathers like mine…never there and not caring if they were. So yeah….little critical of most fathers.
If I ever make Reno a daddy, e's going to be the dad I always wanted.