Page 13 of Illinois Innkeeper
Although I want to prompt him to go on, I sense that it’s best to wait and let him share what he has to say at his own pace.
He sits down on the bed and indicates the spot beside him. I shake my head to indicate I’ll remain standing where I am––by the door and ready to make a break for it if the need arises.
My nerves are already shot, so the wait for him to spill whatever he has to say seems interminable. I rub the car key in my hand.One-two-three… four-five-six… seven-eight-nine.
The ritual does nothing to help calm my frazzled nerves. I nearly jump out of my skin when he finally speaks.
“I grew up in Idaho. Even back then, before Gavin was famous, he had that ‘it’ factor that made everyone want a piece of him. I was the older brother, but he was the magnetic one. Despite how much I love him, I got sick of constantly living in his shadow.”
That makes perfect sense, but I can’t imagine how this relates to Graham’s inn burning down.
Still staring at the ugly shag carpet, Graham continues. “When I graduated, I wanted to get as far as possible away from the dull, disappointing life I’d lived up until that point. It wasn’t Gavin’s fault, but I needed to be far from him and the oppressive pressure of never living up to the expectations people had for me as his brother.”
Despite how much I long to reach out to the visibly downtrodden man, I ball my fists at my side, digging my nails into my palms.
I’m not sure what to believe and nothing he’s said so far has given me any reason to think someone else committed the arson.Surely, he doesn’t expect me to conclude that his famous rock star brother had something to do with the fire?
“Needing a clean break and hoping to become my own man, I moved to New York City. Those dreams of making a name for myself away from my brother were quickly crushed when I realized that I wasn’t qualified for any jobs that would allow me to make enough money to survive in the city. I refused to tuck tail and go back to Idaho, so when the opportunity to make some fast cash fell into my lap, I took it.”
I’m starting to get a sense of where this is going, but I’m not sure if his revelations are making me more or less uneasy.
“The first job they gave me was easy and lucrative. That’s how they suck you in. I just delivered a package to an address and was paid handsomely for my discretion. I kept my head down and didn’t ask any questions. Soon, I started moving up in the organization, and that’s when I realized that I had unwittingly joined the mafia.”
I let out a small gasp at this revelation.
Graham pauses for a second, but forges on. “You’ve probably heard of infamous mob boss, Jerry Columbus?”
He looks expectantly up at me, so I bob my head up and down in answer to his question.
“Well, I was in the middle of his crime ring. I was making big money, but the jobs they required me to do were…”
He pauses to search for the right word. Finally, he lands on, “Unsavory. I wasn’t comfortable with my role in any of the illegal activities, but once you’re ingrained in a group like that, it’s next to impossible to get out––unless you’re in a body bag.”
Unsure how long my legs will continue to support me as he shares these jaw-dropping bombshells with me, I move to sit beside him on the bed. Oddly enough, I’m no longer frightened of him, even though he’s admitting to me that he was, or possibly still is, a member of the most notorious mob in New York City.
My mind refuses to equate the mental image of the sweet and hardworking inn owner, who rocked my world last night, with a dangerous criminal, who does whatever his evil boss asks of him.
Not seeming to sense my inner turmoil, Graham continues, “When I found out that one of Jerry’s capos was planning to take him out and make a play for the top spot, I saw that as my chance to escape. I traded the information to Jerry for my freedom.”
“Phew!” The breath I’d been holding releases from my lungs.
Graham turns to give me a half-smile before saying, “But that isn’t the end of the story.”
13
GRAHAM
Ican’t believe I’m sharing all of this with Miranda. I’ve never told anyone anything about my connections to the mob. My silence was mostly due to shame, regret, and fear.
It became obvious this morning that I was going to lose any sliver of a chance I had of building a life with Miranda if I didn’t tell her what I know, so here I am, laying it all on the line.
She is perched on the edge of the bed as if she is ready to run at a moment’s notice. Not that I blame her. The woman just found out the man she spent last night with is a terrible criminal. No one deserves that, especially not a wonderful, upstanding person, like Miranda.
Knowing I need to tell her the rest, I take a deep breath before saying, “Jerry dealt with the threat and promised to do what he could to protect me, since informants are not looked upon favorably by most members of that organization.”
Miranda nods and says quietly, “Snitches get stitches.”
I chuckle, unable to believe how calm she is. “Apparently, some of the capo’s crew figured out that I was the one who talked to the boss because I’ve received several threatening letters at the inn.”
