I get more than one opportunity to use my new security bar over the next couple of days, as the twins and Rocco are constantly out, getting supplies and making plans and other things they don't entirely spell out for me. My desire to know every single detail has unsurprisingly dried up since...well, since learning every detail of their first set of misadventures, so I'm content enough to let them go about their planning without telling me every gritty step of their plans. They come back Thursday afternoon with a bulging black sports bag, and I watch, partly horrified and partly fascinated by the piles of ammunition and guns they lay out on the kitchen table.
"Where were you guys keeping all of this?" I ask as Murphy passes two handguns to Rocco.
"Stashed it down at Doc's place, but we had t'stop off with th'dealer fella to restock on some t'ings," Connor answers. He's doing something to a switch on one side of the gun that makes the top of the barrel slide up and off. He continues disassembling his gun as Murphy speaks up.
"Had t'go seem 'im a few times over th'last week. Spent part o'Saturday gettin' Roc some new guns. 'Couldn't have 'im goin' in wit' dat fuckin' six-shooter again," Murphy grins, glancing up from his work. Rocco grumbles something unintelligible but doesn't otherwise respond as he starts going over his weapons. I stare at the piles of ammunition boxes and things I can't even begin to recognize stacked all over my table, and I frown, a little confused.
"Let me start by saying I don't know what some of this stuff is, and I fully recognize my ignorance, but isn't this a lot of supplies for one hit? I mean, you said there would be, what, like six or seven guys at the game? Are you thinking more will drop by before you're finished, or are you just stocking up so you won't have to visit your dealer so much?"
Murphy continues to busy himself with whatever he's doing to his gun, taking it apart to clean it, I assume based on the few movies I've seen in this genre. Rocco clears his throat, glancing at Connor, who looks up at me slowly as if he's about to deliver some bad news.
"Tis more than we need fer th'Saturday job. We've got somethin' planned fer Sunday, as well."
"And you were going to tell me when?" I ask, perplexed. I've handled not being in on all the details pretty well so far, now that I know what having all the details actually entails. However, that doesn't mean they should keep something as huge as a whole other job from me. I mean, they did the same routine this past weekend, a hit on Friday night and another on Saturday, so it's not exactly a new thing. I swim up from my internal monologue to realize they aren't answering my question.
"So...are you going to tell me about Sunday?"
"Tis going t'be a bigger job than what we've done so far," Connor finally says, his eyes steadily focused on mine. I start to reply and find that I don't have any words. Something tells me to just listen, so I close my mouth as Connor returns to work oiling the weapon in his hands. At least, I think that's what he's doing, based on the label on the little bottle he's been using.
"Do you want me to keep guessing, or can you just give me the gist of it?" I ask, feeling the edges of my patience start to fray. They're holding something back, and I'm not having any of that bullshit again. It's one thing to hold back details of plans and locations and whatnot, but they're deliberately keeping the focus of this job from me.
"We're gonna take down my boss," Rocco finally says, his face uncharacteristically grave. "Figured with all those heavy hitters we're takin' down Saturday, he won't have time to call in any major reinforcements. A lot of his guys are pretty far outta town right now, so we should take advantage of that before he calls 'em all back in. Gonna hit 'im at home, he won't expect that."
"So...okay, yeah, that's big. I...should I be…" I trail off, my eyebrows drawing together. Any question I can think of right now, I pretty much know the answer to. Do they have to do this? Well, yeah, it's what they do. Will it be dangerous? Duh. Should I be worried?
I'd be dead or insane not to be.
"I guess...um...let me know if I can...help with anything, then." Realizing I have literally nothing to add to the conversation or their current occupation, I wander back to my bedroom, wishing I was one of those people who has a nifty hobby to take my mind off the current situation.
Thursday passes in an agonizingly slow blur. The boys spend a couple of hours getting their gear together, then several more grilling Rocco for details on both of their targets' houses and habits. By this point, I've grown more than sick of the daytime television offerings and have started listening to their discussion, despite my lack of desire for actual details.
"So we can wait outside in the car for the kid to leave," Rocco is explaining. A thought occurs to me, and I feel like I should speak up, but I don't want to interrupt and mess up their line of thought. Inexplicably, this results in me hesitantly raising my hand like I'm in a classroom waiting to be called on. All three of the guys glance at me, eyebrows raised, and Connor opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, clearly confused.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to...I just thought...well, Roc, you drove this guy around before, and he works for your boss, so we know that he knows you. I know you'll have a mask on, but won't he recognize your car?"
I can see the confusion on their faces transform to understanding and then something else I can't quite place. Are they...impressed? They share a glance, then Murphy nods at me.
"Aye. We'll stop by somewhere later on t'night an' see about gettin' somethin' different. Good point, lass."
I start to ask how they're just going to get a completely different car somewhere when I remember their case full of cash they told me about. I guess they won't have any issues getting supplies for at least a while. Or maybe they will. There's no telling what guns cost when you're getting them from an illegal arms dealer in a basement in South Boston.
Just as I'm realizing I need a strong dose of normalcy right about now, the phone rings. I answer it quickly, feeling a rush of relief when I hear Jen on the other end.
"Hey, wanna go shopping Saturday?" Straight to the point.
"Wha-. I mean, sure. How did you know I haven't gone yet?" I'm impressed and surprised. I knew Jen and I were getting closer, but I didn't know she knew me that well yet.
"Because you've been gone for two months and you had some hot Irishness waiting for you when you got back. If I were in your place, I wouldn't have even left the apartment for food until I was on the verge of starvation."
"I won't say you don't have a point," I concede grudgingly, glancing over at the hushed conference that continues at my kitchen table. "I think going out Saturday would be great. Want to meet earlyish then have lunch?"
"Sure," she answers quickly, and there's a brief pause where I hear someone speaking to Jen in the background. "I gotta run, another fire to put out. Meet me out front of my place at nine?"
I confirm the time, then let Jen head off to whatever emergency has claimed her attention. I glance around the apartment again, suddenly extremely restless. I need to get out, to move around, to do something that isn't sitting here and fretting.
"Are you guys able to spare anyone from your planning at this stage? I want to borrow someone, and I'm not partial at the moment. I've just gotta get out of here or my head will explode." To my surprise, it's Rocco who speaks up first.
"Well, hun, I've told these guys everything I know at this point, and it is Thursday. If we leave soon we can make it for the first batch."
I can feel my face light up, and I practically leap off the sofa. In all the insanity that's ensued over the last few days, I completely forgot about our standing date at the dessert place.
"I'll be ready in five minutes!"
Connor and Murphy glance between Rocco and me, torn between amusement and bewilderment.
"Ye been datin' our girl on t'sly, dere, Roc?" Murphy says, his posture vaguely intimidating. I roll my eyes and dash to my bedroom, changing out of my lounging sweats for jeans and a button up and shoving my feet into the nearest pair of flats. I'm out of the bedroom in less time than it takes Connor and Murphy to get in a couple of good jabs at Rocco. I toss on a light khaki jacket, sling my purse over my shoulder, and drag Rocco out the door.
"See you boys later," I smile at the twins, who both open their mouths to say something. I shut and lock the door before they can even get up from the table. "I swear, I sigh to Rocco exasperatedly, "We've been doing this every Thursday since, what…December? November? I mean, except for when I was gone, it was a weekly thing. How the hell do they always manage to forget this?"
Twenty minutes later sees Rocco and me at the little Italian place, and my favorite waiter places a huge, fresh, steaming platter of pignolata in front of us with a flourish. My eyes widen in shock at the size of the monstrous dessert, and I turn an incredulous stare on Mario.
"Either I've been gone way too long, or you've been holding out on me, sir."
He grins, handing me a fork as Rocco digs in, inevitably burning his fingers as he's done every other time we've come here since he first brought me.
"We missed you while you were gone. Had to put up with this idiot moping and lonely every friggin' week. Plus, we didn't want you to go thinking any of those fancy New York places were better than what you get here. Welcome home, sweetheart."
Blushing faintly, I return his smile and eagerly dig in. "You're a saint, Mario."
I knew the moment I saw the extra portions on the plate that I'd need to take some of this home, and sure enough both Rocco and I reach our saturation point about halfway through the mountainous confection.
"Some pretty heavy stuff we've got planned this weekend," Rocco says abruptly as I put my fork down on the table. I'm not sure how he knows I'm a quivering, anxious mess inside, but this is Rocco, and I suppose he's just having one of those rare intuitive moments he's prone to. Or he's just seen me pacing anxiously around my apartment all day.
"I'm freaking out," I say quietly, not meeting his eyes. "After that dream I had, and Connor's wrists being messed up, and him jumping off a freaking building, and Murphy almost being shot in an alley, and you being sent to...and all this killing, and...Rocco, I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, I swear."
"They know you are. We all are, hun. You think I didn't go a little batshit when I saw what they'd done in that hotel room? Maybe not for all the same reasons as you," he adds, holding his hands up defensively against my incredulous look, "but it was still a lot of shit to take in."
"How bad will this weekend be?" And since this is Rocco, he knows what I'm really asking is "How worried should I be?"
"This is a bad dude," Rocco understates, shredding his napkin strip by strip. "One of the worst I've ever seen. But they won't be expecting us, so there won't be much to go up against at his house." He stops talking for a moment, visibly debating whether to continue.
"And at your boss's house?"
"By the time we get there Sunday night, Papa Joe will know what we did the day before, but he'll lose a lot of his heavy hitters on Saturday, and he won't think we got the balls to come after him so soon; element of surprise sorta shit, is what Connor says. It won't be a piece of cake or anything, but...Look, Grace, I know you're gonna worry no matter what I tell ya. The boys know what they're doin'; you said it was luck they got all them guys at the Copley, but sweetie, it took a shit ton of skill, too, and don't you fuckin' dare tell those assholes I said so. Plus, I know these guys we're goin' after. We're about as ready as we can be."
"I know, Roc, and I appreciate you're trying to make me feel better, I really do. I guess one of the things that's really bothering me is that we're all just accepting the boys' dream as the way things are. They have a calling, this is what they're meant to be doing. And I get it. You can't ignore a message like that." I stop for a moment, fitting my scattered thoughts together as best I can. I haven't been able to put proper words to this thought before now. I frown, determined to finally get it out before it eludes me again.
"But I had a message, too, a blood-soaked, horror movie of a warning, and we're basically ignoring everything I saw, pretending like I didn't see you all...hurt. I don't understand how we can accept one message if we're going to blatantly push the other to the side. I just...I don't know what I'm trying to say."
After a couple of minutes of heavy silence at the table, Mario comes back to box up our leftovers and waves off my attempt to pay.
"On the house, sweetheart. Come back to see me again soon."
It's a nice night out; the pleasant weather streak has continued with clear days and tolerably cool nights. Rocco has his hands shoved in the pockets of his overcoat, for once abstaining from lighting up the second we get outside. We're about a block away from the restaurant when he speaks. His eyes are glued to the sidewalk in front of him, so I can't really make out his expression.
"I can't talk for Connor and Murphy. I'm not ignoring what you told us; I don't think I could ignore that kind of warning if I tried. It's more like...for the first time in my life, I'm actually useful, actually doing something good. Maybe even helping or saving some people down the road, y'know? I'm gonna have to pay for that eventually, I know, but I can't stop just because there's a chance I'll get hurt. Ever since high school I've been walkin' around with at least one grim reaper hangin' over my shoulder. Comes with the job. But now-"
"I get it," I interrupt quietly. Rocco has been growing more and more uncomfortable the longer he talks, and the relief on his face when I cut him off is almost palpable. And I do understand what he's trying to tell me. They all know the risks, they completely understood what I told them, and they're choosing to do this anyway. Because they believe it's the right thing to do, and as much as I want to, I can't argue with them.
Just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something, anything at all to clear the air, Rocco adds one last thing to the conversation.
"It's just easier for me to keep goin' an kinda forget what's most likely comin'. I can't really put it better than that."
I...can't, either.
"So did you guys ever hear what's going to happen with McGinty's after all that mess with the Russians? I forgot to ask Doc when we were in there Sunday night."
The abrupt change of subject is exactly what we need to break the tension, and Rocco is off on a long-winded recounting of the Russians' decision to sign the deed of the bar over to Doc permanently and in full. As we walk up to the front door of my building, Rocco is just finishing up his story.
"So, we figure they decided after they sent those assholes to rough up Doc and not only did two of 'em end up dead, but most of their important dudes in Southie did, too, plus that high-up guy that flew in, that Doc must have some pretty big connections they didn't know about. Figured it wasn't worth messing with someone who may or may not have gotten almost a dozen of their best dudes killed, so they should just leave 'im alone."
As Rocco reaches out to open the door to the building, I have a sudden irresistible impulse, and to both of our surprises, I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze him for all I'm worth. He lets out a startled grunt of discomfort before realizing he should return the gesture. I press my cheek to the center of his chest, my eyes shut tight, listening to the reassuringly alive sound of his beating heart. For just a second, Rocco's arms tighten hard around me, returning the hug just as desperately.
I take a long time to let go, forcing myself to not think why we're both acting this way, and finally pull away from my friend, turning and walking into the building without a word about the strange little interlude.
Halfway up the stairs, I waggle the box of leftover dessert in Rocco's direction.
"Think you can hide this in your coat well enough that we can get it into the back of the fridge without Connor or Murphy seeing it?"
So we talk and joke and laugh the rest of the climb up to my apartment, neither of us commenting on the tears that just won't seem to stop leaking from the corners of my eyes or Rocco's need to clear his throat several times.
Author's Note: I don't even know where to start with this note. Let me just recap my last couple of weeks:
- I was rear-ended (I'm physically fine) on 9/24 (outside an Arby's; dude, I just wanted a turkey, bacon, ranch minus the bacon with some mozzies, y'know?), and I'm still dealing with rental car and repairs more than two weeks later (and still not getting car back until potentially end of upcoming week or beginning of next). I'm super lucky, thought. There were three cars involved, with me in front. The car behind me stopped in plenty of time, but the car behind them did not, and shoved them into and under my vehicle. Result: scratches and rough dents with a semi-broken tail-pipe on my Escape, scratches and light dents on the Tacoma in the back, and a new life as an autmobilic accordion for the Corolla in the middle.
- Wake up to minor leak last Friday (9/30) that within an hour escalates to my 1st floor apartment raining. Long story VERY short, my apartment flooded, and we were shunted into a vacant apartment way too small for our little family (and very reluctantly done so by our apartment complex, who assured us the problem could be fixed by that night). Eventually managed to convince them to come down to flooded apartment to prove it wasn't going to be livable (we're talking carpets ruined, floors ruined, ceiling LITERALLY falling in, ceiling light globes full of water, full inch of standing water around most of the apartment) in just a week or so, so they again reluctantly agreed to get us into a new apartment but then showed their assholes again by giving us a day to get out of the vacant apartment we'd spent the weekend moving things into and less than a week to get everything out of our old apartment and absolutely refusing to do anything in the way of expenses or labor help to get us out despite it being THEIR faulty plumbing that ruined the damn apartment and made us have to move out in the first fucking place. So we spent yesterday and today, with the help of some wonderful friends, tossing out all sorts of ruined things and moving up to our new apartment. Everything is mostly settled. Mostly.
- In the midst of all this hilarity, my stomach decides to put in a transfer out of my body, then proceeds to engage in hostile work environment tactics when said transfer was turned down. I've already been waking up at least five times a night for the last month, so to wake up every morning this week with either raging stomach pain, raging nausea, or both, was SUPER fun.
So, in short, it's been a fucked up two weeks, and it's mostly almost dealt with, and I'm so fucking tired, but at least it's not raining in my apartment anymore. Hence why I haven't posted in so long. Also, in about a week, my mother-in-law is coming to get the Grumpasaurus Rex and take him home with her for about three weeks. Translation: no toddler at home for a bit means more time to work on the story. Thank you so much for sticking with me, guys, it's been so rough the last couple of weeks. Your comments are going a long ways towards making me feel better. Seriously, thank you for reading.