Page 83 of Demise

I’ve seen him a few times, sitting on the porch when we’d come by on our bikes, never up close, though. Johnny looks like him, but not in an obvious way. Just the same face structure and hair color.

“Do you think he’ll wake up?” I ask, slightly out of breath.

“I hope so,” Johnny says. And then he pours juice onto his dad’s lap. The bastard still doesn’t move. Johnny reaches down and grabs the man’s smokes. Pulling one out, he scoops up the Zippo. He flicks it open, looking over it for a moment.

“He’s always had this,” he says. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to buy lighter fluid for it.” He studies the lighter in his hand, tracing the scratches and running his thumb over the brass.

“He told me his father had it before him. Of all the things you can pass down to someone, my grandpa gave my old man a lighter.” He looks over at me.

“Guess he didn’t have anything else to give,” I say.

He scoffs. “Guess not.”

My boy lights the cigarette, takes one big drag, and thumps it onto the couch.

“We had a good run,” I say.

Sweep agrees. “A hell of a run.”

He hits the smoke and pulls it from his mouth, flicking it onto the drenched desk. Flames roar, mad and twisted. We both exit the clubhouse, walking to my car. I turn to look, as does Sweep.

The place burns, filling the sky with blackness, and we just stand still, gazing at the beauty of it.

Moretti Galo

The judge calls for a thirty-minute recess, and I stand beside my lawyer.

“This is a walk in the park,” he says to me. “No worries.”

I nod, coughing a bit as the cop grabs me by the arm roughly. “Watch it, motherfucker. You don’t wanna lose that, do ya?”

He smirks at me, pushing me forward. I laugh as I’m walked back to my holding cell. The shackles clank against the floor, and my wrists burn from the cuffs. I take my seat as the door locks. Sitting back, I stare ahead, planning my revenge on Bones. He’ll suffer for this. He’ll wish he never met me, the ungrateful punk.

Danny O’Brien

The side of the roof caves, and the glass shatters in the windows. I tap the top of my car. “Let’s ride.”

“Hold up,” Sweep says, holding something in his hands. “Here.”

I narrow my eyes, taking the papers from him, looking down at them with a crease in my brow.

Two first class tickets to Ireland.

“My Pops,” he begins.

I look over at him.

“He was hell. You, your brothers, and Ma, you saved me.” He runs his hand over the scruff on his face. “I’ve always considered you my family, not the bastard we burnt up in that house. If there’s any way I can repay you for what you did for me that day, I figure this is it.” He gestures to the tickets. “I want you to go and have a good life. Marry Bexley and get the hell out of here,” he says to me.

I understand what this means, but I don’t want to. Johnny’s my ride or die. He’s been with me since the start. I never imagined doing life without him close by. I still can’t.

“Johnny, I…” Words don’t come.

“I’m going to be all right,” he says. “It’s time we both move on. Start a family or some shit, I don’t know.”

I look down at the tickets again, my eyes blurring. I get choked up, my emotions taking over. Johnny grabs my shoulder.

Fuck it.

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