Page 5 of Southie
Seth got his wish.
He got out of Southie, and I hadn’t seen him since.
He’d disapprove of what and who his little sister was doing.
Barely legal, Charlie washoodsie, as we in the neighborhood liked to call girls like her. Although younger, she tried to appear older to attract the older guys around Southie. Around the circuit, she was a ring whore. If you pulled in enough cash from a fight or became a headliner, she’d do anything to be by your side. There was no shortage of dicks Charlie had sucked or fighters she’d fucked to be on their arm for however long they wanted her there.
Even though she’d landed in Chaney’s lap, for the past year, she’d had her eyes trained on me. I made sure to stay far away from her and would continue to do so. If I needed someone to suck my dick or needed a body to fuck, it wouldn’t be anyone from the neighborhood, especially not her. Even if Charlie hadn’t been a Southie girl, she’d be the last person on my to-do-list.
The shit Chaney and Charlie pulled happened all the time. No matter how important, Chaney wouldn’t speak to me until he got his nut. So, while the next ten minutes passed by, my eyes remained engrossed in the many brown water stains that littered the dingy white tiles overhead.
The slow torturous minutes passed.
The moans, grunts, and slurps died and the sound of Chaney’s zipper was like music to my ears.
Thank fucking God.
After they finished, my attention fell back to the couple.
Chaney moved from the couch to behind his old green metal desk. He wanted to discuss business now that he’d gotten his rocks off.
He pulled Charlie onto his lap, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at me like she’d won a goddamn prize. Whatever she was thinking would never happen. At least, not with me.
Chaney lit one of his signature cheap ass cigars and blew the thick white smoke into the air, adding to the already suffocating stench circulating in the small office. I hated the smell of that shit.
I held back the vomit that crept up the back of my throat. I ran my hand roughly across my face and tried to wipe away the irritation of this day, including this shit Chaney was pulling.
The stench of those cigars and sex that permeated the air reminded me of all the times I’d pulled my Pops out of some underground gambling joint or some whore house. I’d lost count the number of times my Uncle Ray, Massachusetts State Senator and my dad’s younger brother called me to come get my Pops before someone killed him for cheating or not having the funds to pay the debt he owed.
For a few days after I pulled him out of whatever hell hole he’d been in, a changed man emerged. Pops would swear, up and down, God had exorcised his demons—the demons being his alcohol, gambling, and sex addictions. If you heard him tell it, God changed him so much after confessing all the sins he committed to Father O’Donnell, he walked on water beside Jesus himself. Or the Blessed Mother had visited him and blessed him for confessing all the wrong he had done to his family.
He was full of shit.
God hadn’t saved him from shit because he didn’t want God to save him.
He loved the burn of the alcohol snaking down his throat and coating his stomach, drinking to feel euphoric enough to forget about his problems. He loved the adrenaline rush that came with betting on something he had a fifty-fifty chance of winning whether he had the money or not. And he for sure as hell loved the feel of pussy like any other man, whether it was my mother’s or a whore’s.
His miraculous recovery happened at least once a month or every two months. Then, he’d be back to being the real Donie Daugherty—a no-good drunken bastard. His addictions pulled him right back in, and we’d do the same song and dance all over again.
It became a never-ending cycle in my miserable life, one I had every intention of breaking, which would only be possible the further I was away from Southie.
Whenever my Pops called himself a shit father to whoever listened, I never argued. There was no reason to. Everyone recognized him for who he was, like he said.
A shit father and an even shittier husband.
Gambling debts were the other reason I hadn’t been able to move away from Southie. Even with Chaney’s stealing, I still pulled in a nice sized purse whenever I fought, but most was used to keep my Pops alive.
Chaney leaned back in the old wooden chair that groaned under his weight and hers. The noise pulled me from my thoughts.
“Liam, my girl here wants you, and I’m gracious enough to let you enjoy her for one night,” he said, palming her small breast and winking at her. “Isn’t that right, babe?”
Here we go again.
Charlie ogled me, lust clouding her eyes, her rosy cheeks and her thin bottom lip pulled between her teeth, red and swollen from sucking Chaney’s dick. She bobbed her head eagerly, responding to Chaney’s question.
The desire she held for me caused my body to shiver in disgust. I wasn’t some bottom feeder and had some pride in the women I chose to fuck, and Charlie Murphy for sure didn’t reach my standards. I wouldn’t touch that bitch with a ten-foot pole if we were the last two people on Earth. I’d settle for using spit and my hand until I died if she was my only choice for a piece of ass.
My patience was thinning with these two.
