Page 22 of Insurgent

“Yeah, you said that,” I say to him. “You know, though, you do need to watch out for that. A man’s mouth often breaks his nose.”

“I know. I need to keep mine shut,” Yaps says. “They don’t call me Yapper for nothing.” He laughs, and in one split second I pull out my gun and shoot Yaps in the back of the head. Sweep jumps to the side.

I chuckle. “Yeah, your big mouth is what got you killed, you disrespectful motherfucker.” I spit on top of his dead body.

“Could have warned me,” Sweep says with his hand over his heart.

“What? Did you think I would miss?”

Trig laughs. “You should see your face,” he says to Sweep.

“Fuck you,” Sweep says.

I pat him on the back. “I’d never shoot you. I gotta take a drive. Take care of this for me. I’ll buy you a beer later.”

“Where you headed?” Trig asks.

I wink. “Knowledge is power, my friend. Wouldn’t you like to have it?” He rolls his eyes as Sweep tosses me the keys. I grab a smoke from my pocket, lighting it as I walk to the car.

The night stretches farther than the light in this town as I ride through the south side. I look at the time on my watch. She should be closing up about now. I lean back, relaxing into the seat, thinking back on the day.

Per routine, my morning started with a run. I ran down into the neighborhood, passing by Ma’s before turning the corner and going by the place where Sweep used to live.

Sometimes I can still smell the fumes. Moonshine, burning in the night, killing the bastard who used to beat Sweep. An aging Deputy Radcliff sits on the corner of the neighborhood, and like always, I give him a little wave as the sun starts to rise. He doesn’t return it.

I think back on when he caught Bexley and me in the backseat of my car. I’d wanted her so bad that I could hardly stand it. I wanted to beat his face in for interrupting. He eats his donut and drinks his coffee like the good little crooked police officer he’s always been. Like most of the cops around here.

I round the block a few more times, before I stop and head up to Ma’s house. She’s just turned eighty, still attends Mass loyally, and still plays bridge with her friends. She’ll be up preparing breakfast, and if I had a million dollars, I’d bet Paul and Samuel are sitting at her table like they always do on Wednesday mornings.

I stop by just about every day, but we three make sure to meet up on Wednesdays and Sundays.

“There he is,” Paul says as I walk into the dining room. He’s in a tailored suit, reading the morning paper. He’s old school that way.

“Morning,” I say as Ma hands me a towel to wipe off with.

Samuel walks out of the kitchen with a plate of bacon.

“Brother.” I nod at him as I slide a chair out.

“Danny,” he replies.

I grab a cup from the middle of the table and pour myself some coffee.

“How’s the family?” I ask Paul.

“Everybody’s good,” he says. “Little Abby lost a tooth last night. The Tooth Fairy left ten dollars under her pillow.”

“Ten dollars?” Ma says. “That’s too much, Paul.”

“Well, kids these days,” Paul says like that’s the reason for it.

“Shit, I remember when we got a dollar.”

“And that was too much,” Ma says to Samuel. “Don’t put your elbows on the table,” she scolds him.

He removes them with a smile, and I take a sip of my coffee.

“Come help me cook these eggs,” she says to Samuel.

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