Page 4 of Another Round
“So she’s let herself become a damn punching bag because she thinks she can be me. That she can run this family someday when all I want is for her to get the hell out of this life.”
When he says ‘this family’ he meansthefamily. As the most powerful mob boss on the west coast and half of Mexico, neither DeMarco nor his daughter should be trifled with. Anyone who does is a damn lunatic with a desire to die. “The punk who hit her is what twenty or twenty-one?”
I don’t kill kids, but if this one’s of age I don’t mind taking the job at all.
“Twenty-two. But I’ve already taken care of him. Now it’s Evie I need to worry about.”
Beat me to the punch, literally. But I still don’t understand how I can help him since I’m retired, and he doesn’t need the only skills I really have.
“I’ve sheltered her. Probably more than I should have. She doesn’t realize there’s a different world out there that she doesn’t know about.”
Still uncertain about my part in resolving his problem, I let him talk. Since I realize this is the first conversation I’ve had with another human being besides myself in weeks.
“All she knows is wealth and bodyguards and us. Hell, she’s never even been outside of California except for our beach house.”
I let myself smirk again from his modest description of the huge mansion he built on the private island he bought for his wife as a wedding present. That they fly to on one of his private jets, only to be taken care of by dutiful servants and protected by a high-tech security system that I helped install. If what he says is true, then his daughter really has no idea how almost everyone else lives.
“I realize I need to let her get some life experience. Maybe get a job. Do things for herself. Struggle a little. She’s got a good heart, but she’s just too naive and doesn’t understand why I want more for her.”
Which, I imagine, is what most normal, loving parents wish for their kids. Hopeful their children find viable jobs, good spouses, and enjoy an easier life than they had. Unable to be described as normal in any sense of the word, he just wants to keep her alive. A mafia princess doesn’t easily ascend the throne to be queen or survive long with the crown if deemed weak or vulnerable. “I don’t envy you mate.”
“I need your help to keep her safe since she won’t stop trying to prove to me she can handle succeeding me.”
Immune to guilt in most circumstances and for most people, I’m surprised I actually feel a little bit contrite for denying Nick. I like him and love his gracious wife, but not enough to go back to work for them. I’ve had more than enough of la la land. “I’m out of the game. I haven’t worked in years and really don’t want to spend any more time in Los Angeles.”
“What if she comes there?”
There.
Here.
The last thing I was expecting him to suggest. I glance down through the heavy black wrought iron rails of my small balcony at the intricate pattern of brown and gold stones filling the curved lane. Quiet this late in the morning except for the gurgling fountain with most of the commuters who fill the coffee houses and huddle around the food trucks for breakfast burritos at work already. Leaving only an older couple power walking in their bright white sneakers toward the riverfront and a mother pushing a humongous pram with a babbling toddler toward the entrance of the children’s museum. Likely unaware the attraction doesn’t open for another hour.
I guess my lack of protest encourages him to keep going.
“I’ve found her an internship…”
Bribed and coerced rather than found, would be my guess.
“…and rented her the loft next to yours.”
Not really a loft. Just old storage space renovated into a couple of studio apartments above newly opened storefronts as they revitalize the downtown that almost died away.
“She’ll think she’s safe in a small city like yours, and she will be—with you watching over her.”
Sixty-thousand people isn’t small, but I guess compared to L.A. it’s practically rural.
“She arrives on Saturday.”
Three fucking days from now. He must be kidding me because I know he’s kidding himself. This is never going to work, and I’m sure as hell not going to say yes.
“I’ve already deposited five hundred grand into your account to get started. Let me know what it’s going to take to keep it going and I’ll—”
“Damn it Nick! It’s not about the money.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He sounds almost as frustrated as I feel. Which is typical irony for him, when he’s the one asking me for the favor, to be shitty. “But I have to give her a chance to live.”
Fuck. I should be pissed. Furious as hell for all of his assumptions. For all of his manipulation. For all of his arrogance. But for some damn reason, that I don’t fully understand myself, I’m not.
