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Chapter 36: Blood and Apple Blossoms
Craig felt as if he couldn't breathe with Jack pushing him into the wall. He knew his brother was trying to protect him, but he still felt as if he were suffocating. He looked down at the still body of Agent Harris, the blood oozing across the floor under him, and his stomach immediately turned to acid. He turned away but he could still smell the scent of blood tingeing the air around him. He swallowed hard and tried not to breathe too deeply. He was tired of blood, there had been too much of it. He'd spent a lifetime having nightmares about it.
His brain tingled and he turned to stare at Jeremiah, who was still sitting on the floor, backed up to the shambles that had once been a kitchen table, staring at the bloodied Harris. The boy could tell by the look on Jerry's face that he wasn't the only one who had an issue with the blood staining the floor, and that made him feel a little less alone for some reason. He also knew what it felt like to have someone staring at you while you were dealing with that kind of sight so he turned his attention back to Jack, who was following in the direction Angel had just gone, back towards the living room.
Craig felt lost, and wasn't sure of what to do, so he looked back at Jerry, the only other person in the room with him now. "Are you okay?" He asked weakly, his head spinning from the events of the whole day. He could see that Jeremiah wasn't okay, but he still had to ask. Hearing his own voice validated the fact that he was still alive and hearing Jerry's answer would mean that his brothers were going to make everything okay.
Jerry scrambled to his feet quickly, almost as if he'd been just come out of a deep sleep. "Damn, Bobby killed him, I knew he was gonna do something stupid, I just knew it!" He ignored the teen as he stepped past him to join their brothers in the next room.
Craig looked down at Harris' body again. He turned to follow Jerry, but stopped. Bobby had probably shot Jesse. He didn't want to see another dead body, especially if it was Jesse. His brother had been angry enough to shoot the man; he'd been ready to when Jack had led Craig out of the room. Craig couldn't stand the thought of Jesse dying, the only person alive who knew and remembered his birth mother, the mother who had tried but failed so miserably; the mother who came back to him in those memories of blood that he'd been fighting off for so long. Jesse was the only connection Craig would ever have to a parent he could barely remember. Had Bobby killed him? Who else would he have shot? They'd left Bobby alone with Jesse in that room, and Angel had yelled at Bobby for fucking up. Bobby had shot Jesse, that's what had to have happened.
Craig turned back to look at Harris lying on the floor, all of that blood staining the remnants of worn linoleum under him. He didn't want to be stuck in the kitchen by himself with all of that blood, but at that moment the last thing he wanted was to go into the living room to see Jesse lying dead on the floor there in even more blood, with Bobby standing over him holding the gun.
His brain produced a picture of the whole scene playing out in the next room, though it was much more bright and vivid than the reality of it would have been, considering the sun had not fully risen into the sky; the imagined scene was mostly red, and the gun in Bobby's hand was huge and had a smoking at the barrel. Yes, smoke literally rolled out of the barrel of the gun and disappeared into a grey haze that seemed to frame the image in his mind. No, that was a memory he could never live with so it made more sense to avoid creating it. How could he live knowing that the most important person in his life had taken away someone who had mattered not only to him when he was young, but had mattered to his mother, a person he had no direct connection to anymore. His brain was getting it all confused. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He was alone in the ruins of a room that he could remember eating meals in when he was small. It had been a pleasant room, bright and warm and always seemed to smell like cinnamon. It was exactly the opposite at that moment. It was dark and cold and smelled like mold and rot and fresh blood. It felt as if his memories were decaying right there in front of him and that made it hard for him to sort out real memories of the house and his mother and even Jesse, from what could be things his brain had made up to taunt him, a side effect of being Adam Macks' son that he should have been used to by now.
The more he tried to think the less sense he could make out of anything. There was too much going on around him, and he was tired. He needed to get out of that house, out into the air, where he could breathe and think. He didn't know if he could work up the nerve to step past Harris, but that option seemed far better than the other, which was to stand there staring at the man or go into the living room and see another part of his past bleeding out on the living room floor where he had sat playing with his toy trucks when he was small. Though he didn't have any distinct memory of playing on that floor; he couldn't be sure if his brain was playing another trick on him. He inched his way over to the wall on the other side of the room and started working his way towards the back porch, keeping as much space between himself and Harris as possible. Once he had worked his way past the sink he turned fully towards the door and pushed his way through it, onto the covered porch.
He stood there for a moment to try to regain some composure, to realign his senses. He let his mind drift as he looked out at the snow, at the morning sun as it peeked out over the landscape. The clouds were thinning, and the rays from the sun were starting to cast an eerie orange, red color across the sky as well as the tree tops of the orchard just on the other side of a steep, but short hill, to the north side of the yard. His gaze fixed on the tree branches poking up from the other side of the hill, giving the illusion that they were growing out of the snow. He knew it was a trick of light and the angle of the hill with the snow drifted along the top of it, but it still seemed odd to look at. He knew the trees were growing in neat rows on the other side of that steep rise, though his memories of his time there held no snow or cold or bare branches. His mind seemed to snap to attention as he thought about his time in the orchard.
He stepped off of the porch and looked around. The freezing wind bit at him, but he'd lost the blanket at some point in the house. He pushed the cold away with his mind and started crunching his way across the vast stretch of winter between him and the trees. His mind flashed back to a hot summer day, playing in the orchard with Jesse, his mother sitting on a blanket nearby while Jesse dug in the dirt, allowing Craig to help him, making the task a game that had thrilled the boy. He had forgotten the feeling of digging in the cool dirt. The remembered smell of it whispered at his senses and he could almost feel it caked up under his finger nails. The tree had been small, the smallest the boy had ever seen. Jesse had told him it was his tree and that any apples that came up on it would be just for him. There was something special about it; he just had to remember what it was. It was different from the other trees surrounding it, special in some way, but his brain couldn't seem to bring back enough of the details for him to grasp onto that one detail that would identify his tree.
He pushed aside his memories once he realized he was at the top of the hill. He studied the trees in front of him, studied them hard, trying to find that one characteristic that would identify his tree. As he moved closer the snow seemed less deep. The trees themselves had served as a windbreak during the storm, creating less drifting around them which meant the ground around them hadn't been layered in so much ice during the ice storm either. In fact, the air seemed to have less of a bite to it. That didn't mean it was warm, his body still shivered against the winter and he wished that he had that damn blanket, or better yet, a coat.
How was he supposed to find his tree? There were a hundred of them, probably more, and he had no idea which one was the tree Jesse had given him. He hugged his arms around him as he trudged down the row directly in front of him, moving slowly, eyeing every tree in his range of site. His brain strained to remember, he needed to remember.
He stopped walking half way down the row and turned towards the trees on his left; scanning each tree carefully before allowing his gaze to slide to the next one. He knew it as soon as he seen it, despite the fact that he hadn't been sure before. He remembered the first time Jesse had shown him the tree. He'd told him the trunk had been split when it was a sapling, probably hit by a tractor or a mower, or some kind of equipment; and grew almost as two separate, living things that were entwined together, and it was only half the size of the rest of the trees surrounding it. It looked lonely that first time Craig had seen it, in the warm sun, surrounded by apple blossoms with green grass carpeting the ground. It looked as if it were in mourning now, in the cold bareness of winter, absent of color, with the only sound being the wind twisting around the branches of the taller trees surrounding it. Craig felt his heart twist as he mentally sent the tree his sympathy. He knew what it was like, to be alone and to feel empty inside. In that same moment he wanted to kick himself. It was a stupid thought. Trees couldn't feel; they couldn't be sad or lonely. It was his own feelings that were reflecting in the site before him and he was sick of them. He had to step back a bit and make his mind focus the reason he'd been looking for this tree.
This was his tree. This was where Jesse had buried his secret and Craig had been allowed to help him. This was the last good memory he had of his first mother. He took a few moments to relish in the memory of her laughter, and the joy that he'd felt that day, but he knew he needed to tell his brothers that this was where they needed to look. He needed to go back to the house so that he could bring Bobby out here to show him. What they needed was right here, under the snow and ice, sheltered by that one lonely tree.
He nearly let his thoughts carry him away into past memories again, to lose his self in the emotions that he connected to the tree; but the cold was starting to sting at his senses. His body was shivering hard, and his toes were numb. It was enough physical discomfort to help him think about what he needed to do.
He had to get warm, which meant going back to the house. He was surprised none of his brothers had come looking for him already. Bobby would probably yell at him for wandering away. He was going to have to explain to his brothers his reason for walking out of the house, and that thought brought back a picture of Harris lying on the floor, in that dark pool barely visible in the dim light inside of the house. He was sure he could smell the coppery scent of blood floating on the air around him. His mind felt fuzzy and a low buzzing noise started to nag at his ears. He closed his eyes and forced his thoughts back, forced his mind to clear away the thoughts that would only cloud it.
He opened his eyes, turned back towards the house, and a force hit him square in the chest, forcing him back. He yelled out as he fell backwards onto the ground with the icy crust cutting into him from every direction. He looked up at the figure hovering above him. The sunlight seeping over the horizon behind the man gave the appearance of a pinkish orange halo around him, the effect blacking out most of the features of the face. But it was enough to that his mind flashed back to the memory of the night he'd been and walked to the bridge, the night he had pissed Bobby off. He remembered the form of a man who had been watching him there, on the bridge, as he had been trying to find comfort in memories of Evelyn Mercer. It had sent shivers down him then, just as it did now. An instant later he was recalling the same man standing on the street outside of Robert's law office, watching the Mercers as they walked through the doors. He'd thought it was his imagination making up Adam Macks stalking him, but now he knew. It hadn't been his imagination or Adam Macks following him or his brothers then.
The form leaned towards him and the grey overcoat made a loud snapping noise in the wind as it was slapped about the man's legs. "Bobby!" Craig screamed with all the force he had inside of him before Harris' fist plowed into the side of his face. For a quick instant, just as his mind reeled dizzily, he was sure he could caught the strong smell of apple blossoms on the air.
"I did not do this!" Bobby yelled at Angel. "I did not shoot him!"
"Then who did?" Johnny's voice came back strained from his position on the floor, his right thigh bleeding under him.
"Johnny G. I did not shoot you in the fucking ass!" Bobby yelled.
"I did." Jessup Winston spoke weakly from his own position on the floor in the center of the room, one hand pressing hard against his leg to stem the bleeding there, his other hand holding a small caliber handgun he'd pulled out of his coat. "But you shot me first," Was his defense.
Bobby looked at Angel, a smirk forming on his lips. "You see, I didn't shoot anyone. Don't you think you owe me an apology?"
"Fuck you." Angel snapped. "You wanna drop that gun Winston?" He aimed his own gun at the injured man.
Winston let the gun drop to the floor and then gave it a push towards Angel. "It's all yours. Now someone call for an ambulance?"
Bobby gave the man an irritated glare. "Where the hell did you get a fucking gun? You already gave up one piece, where did you have a second one hiding?"
"Does it really matter? Call a fucking ambulance before both of us bleed out of our asses here?" Winston motioned towards Johnny, apparently feeling that if he reminded the Mercers one of their own was hurt that he'd have a better chance of getting medical attention.
"Sure, we'll get right on that one." Jack stepped over to where Angel was standing and leaned over, snatching up Winston's gun. "Just as soon as you tell us what we need to know." He cocked the gun and aimed it carelessly at Winston.
"Jack, what the fuck are you doing?" Angel's voice held an edge to it.
"Yeah, little sister, what the fuck are you doing?" Bobby started to reach for the gun in Jack's hands.
Jack pulled back from Bobby's reach. "I'm sick and tired of the runaround. We need to just waist the fucker now and get it over with." He looked at Bobby. "He ain't doin' us any good alive, hell, he's been more a pain in the ass than anything, hasn't he? All of our problems start and end with Winston."
Winston looked worried, despite the words he spit in Jack's direction. "You ain't gonna shoot me. You need me to back up your story to the cops. With all the trouble Harris has been causing you, you need…"
"We don't need shit from you Winston." Jack cut the man's words off; tension in his throat caused his voice to sound tight and an octave too high. "We've got all we need to cover our asses. You shot Johnny G., which means if we shoot you now it is self-defense," He frowned; his forehead seemed to close in around his eyes as if he were thinking hard. "But, I guess it wouldn't work if I was using your gun, would it." His voice came out as barely more than mumbling as stepped over to Johnny and held his hand down towards him. "Give me your gun Johnny."
"Are you fucking nuts? You're already facing a hearing in just a few hours and here you are talking about shooting him?" Bobby cried out.
"That's right; I'm already facing a hearing, what the hell do I have to lose?" Jack shook his hand in Johnny's face. "The gun," He didn't bother to look at Bobby.
Johnny handed the younger man the gun, a look of surprise plastered across his face.
Jack turned fully to Winston. "Now tell us what exactly we are looking for and where the hell it is?" He sounded almost bored with the question, "Because I'm really tired of all this shit. None of us have had any sleep, you know, that can make a person's finger awfully twitchy."
"The papers for the diamonds and the key to the safe deposit box are in a safe, buried in the orchard. The diamonds are in the safe deposit box. The papers name the bank and the address." Winston breathed the words slowly. "Now call for a fucking ambulance!"
"Why are these diamonds so fucking important Winston?" Jack kept his voice steady. "You could take your legitimate businesses and cut away from the crime, right? Why do you need the fucking diamonds?"
"The diamonds are clean; those diamonds along with some documents and other items in the safe deposit box are the ticket to no one coming after me." Winston growled. "It's the only thing that will keep anyone from coming after you Mercers and the kid too. You really need to think this through before you turn any of it over to the cops." He slid a sideways gaze to Bobby, without turning completely away from Jack. "I've got recordings, I've evidence that I can hold over the heads of a lot of fucking people who would just as soon shoot us all than take a chance on us keeping quiet. If the cops get their hands on any of it, none of our lives are worth a plug nickel. Can you grasp that at all Bobby Mercer?"
Jack grinned and flashed Bobby a smug grin, "That's how you do it Bobby, fuck asking the same question over and over again." He held both guns out towards his brother.
Bobby growled and took the guns. He rolled his shoulders and looked at his brothers, one at a time. Jack looked pleased with himself, actually he was full on himself and it irritated the hell out of Bobby. Okay, so he'd been trying to get Winston to give him the information that the man had just spilled to Jack, so what? All any of this meant was that Jack was getting too cocky, he'd have to put a stop to it soon or he'd never be able to live with him. At the same time he couldn't help but feel that he'd done something right as far as Jack was concerned, maybe the kid was starting to learn a thing or two from his older brother. Yeah, that had to be it; it was Bobby's influence, that's what had spurred Jack on. Okay, so maybe that was a load of shit, but it made Bobby Mercer feel better to think he'd been the one responsible in a roundabout way for Winston spilling his guts while he sat there on the floor bleeding out of his ass, even if he wasn't responsible for the blood its self.
Angel seemed to be thinking hard about something, the look on his face gave that fact away, and Bobby was afraid to ask him what the hell was wrong. There was no telling what was going to come at them next, and leave it to Angel to find it when it did.
Jeremiah was leaning against the wall behind Angel, looking as if he was about to drop on his face. Not that he would feel his face impact with the floor, the man looked like shit. He was exhausted, hell he wasn't even supposed to be there; he was supposed to be at home, taking care of himself and his family. Bobby opened his mouth to ask Jerry just what the hell he thought he was doing there, when his eyes flicked around the rest of the room. "Wait, did one of you shoot in there?" He remembered the sound of a gunshot echoing from the kitchen just about the same time Johnny had come busting through the front door with his own gun blazing.
"Yeah, Harris got here, apparently just minutes before we did." Angel nodded his head. "I don't think he's gonna be messing around with the Mercers anytime soon." He sounded just as cocky as Jack did and Bobby was ready to call him on it. No one was supposed to do the attitude better than him; a fact his brothers seemed to have forgotten.
In the distance the shrill sound of sirens were starting to cut through the morning freeze. "That would be Green." Jeremiah muttered the words, his voice cracking a bit.
"Yeah, and he'll be more than happy to haul your ass off Winston. He's gonna do that, you know." Now it was Bobby's turn to remind his brothers what being the oldest meant. "How many people know about the diamonds and the other shit you got locked away?"
Winston's eyes narrowed. "Harris. That's it."
Bobby studied the man's face for along moment. Okay, he had to believe him. The man wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack, but hell, he was trying to survive, and surviving meant he would keep any evidence he was able to get his hands on as much of a secret as he could. "What about your mother? Does she know about any of this shit?"
"You leave my mother out of this. Don't you dare…" Winston actually looked as if he could really hurt someone right then. It almost could have given Bobby a reason to worry, if the man wasn't holding onto his ass and whimpering every few breaths.
"Hey, no disrespect, I'm just trying to figure out how many people know about the shit you were up to, and if any of them can be trusted. I mean, if your mother knew, I'm sure she wouldn't give that kind of information to people who would want you dead because of it, right?"
"If I go to prison, I'm a dead man, no matter what, you ass hole, don't you get that?" Winston cried out.
"You can cut a deal with Green. He'll work with you, but you gotta be honest with him." Bobby glanced around at his brothers before looking back to Winston. "We leave the shit where it is. No one goes after it, me and mine will forget about it. You forget about any connections you got to my kid." He hadn't realized exactly what was coming out of his mouth until after the words were said. "You don't tell the cops you're his blood. You don't connect him to your family, do you understand me?" He was surprised at how calm he felt as he spoke. "You tell the cops about Harris and the shit that man has been doing, get Jack out his trouble. You clear any doubt about Jeremiah's business, and you make sure no one else fucks around with us. You do that, and we'll give you that fucking key. We'll keep quiet when you make your move and do whatever the hell you're gonna do."
"Bobby." Jeremiah spoke quickly.
"Shut up Jerr'." Bobby didn't look away from Winston. "We won't tell no one shit about what you have or don't have. We don't know shit about it."
"We can't do that Bobby!" Jeremiah cried out.
"The hell we can't, we need this Jerry." Bobby finally looked to Jeremiah. "This is it. This is the end of it, and if we have to deal a little to get what we need, then we are going to deal. We ain't done nothin' wrong here; we just ain't gonna offer up any information."
"It's still wrong." Jeremiah pulled himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "We were taught better, and we know better. What the hell have we been fighting for? I thought I was fighting for family, man, and this ain't how I want to win. I want this win, the right way. We gotta be honest with Green, we have to…"
"We don't have a choice." Angel spoke up. "We ain't doin' nothin' Jerr', we're just keeping quiet. We're gonna let shit lay where it is and forget about it. Winston get's what he needs, the charges against Jack will be dropped, you'll be in the clear, no more fucking interference from all sides, and Craig won't be a fucking target. Don't you get that?"
"What the fuck do you mean a target?" Jeremiah looked confused.
"Craig is Winston's nephew." Jack spoke quietly, his words thoughtful. "Fuck, that makes him heir to the throne?" He looked at Bobby. "He's a target for rivals, right; people wanting to move up the food chain, rival gangs wanting to take over?" He shook his head. "That's why Macks wouldn't leave it be. That's why Harris wanted to get his hands on him." He looked at Winston. "You never said shit about bein' Craig's Uncle before, you never got him out of foster care. You let him be legally adopted by our mother. Why was that?"
Winston kept his eyes locked on Bobby. "I figured he was out, why the hell should I drag him back in? He had no idea what he was born into. How could he? He was just a kid."
Now was the moment Bobby was waiting for. Now he got to show his brothers that he wasn't all about hitting and shooting people. He got to show them that he was smarter than they thought, because he had figured something out that obviously they hadn't. "Our Ma knew, didn't she?"
"Not right away." Winston shook his head. "I mean, she might have suspected at first. She couldn't have known until she did some research into Macks, but his connections to the organization were right there, on record. Craig's mother's name, his grandfather, it was all right there for whoever bothered to look; I'm sure your mother was a smart woman, and she was able to make the connections."
"But your name wasn't there, was it?" Bobby asked. "There is no way to connect him to you, is there? There's no way to connect you to your own fucking father, am I right?"
"Like I said before, I was never a part of my father's life until I was old enough to make that mistake on my own. I never carried his name; so no, I'm not listed as family." Winston nodded his head as the sirens drew closer and shriller in the air. "My father knew though, and that's why I ended up where I am now."
"You'll do this my way?" Bobby asked carefully. "Green will work with you. He's a good cop. You've got information that could clean up the local agencies, and the Feds. You can still get out, with a new identity, and you will still have your shit waiting for you. This doesn't have to mean prison, not if you play your cards right."
Winston nodded his head again. "If this get's me killed Mercer, there's gonna be hell for you to face. There are people who will come after you if I'm out of the way, you know that, right?"
"No one is going to die Winston. Enough people have died over this shit. We all want the same thing. We want to live our lives and forget this shit." Bobby looked around the room again, ready to grab hold of Craig and get him out the way before the cops came busting through doors.
Bobby's heart pounded against the inside of his chest as he realized the kid wasn't there. "Where the fuck is Craig?" He fought down the panic that was rising in his gut.
"He was in the kitchen." Jeremiah spoke quietly.
"You left him alone in there with Harris' body?" Jack cried out.
"Christ, Jerr', you're a fucking father, you should know better that that shit!" Bobby had stomped out two steps towards the kitchen door when he was sure he could hear his name singing across the air in tune with the approaching sirens. He turned into the kitchen and took in the sight an empty room. "Fuck!" He looked down at the bloody shoeprints leading from the dark pool that had apparently formed under Harris' wounded body. He wasn't dead. It was a lesson they all should have learned with Macks, but obviously the site of a bloodied, unmoving form seemed to be enough for most people to assume a body was actually dead. "Fuck!" He yelled out and ran for the back door.