Page 46 of No Saint

I head down towards the marina, idling in the traffic that clogs the roads, the heavy echo of horns and sirens filling the silent void within the cab of the car. I glance down towards the dock, watching two vessels pull into port. Redhill didn’t have a huge port, but it was big enough for suppliers to use from the Far east, Europe and across America. It was built many years ago to help with the congestion at other ports along the West Coast but the moment it was in commission, us Saint’s owned it.

Taking a cut for every vessel and container coming in and out of the city and using them to haul our goods across the country, bringing them in from Mexico, Russia and the Far East. No vessel, no matter who owns the shipping line gets away without paying the fee. When I have the government officials sitting inside my pocket it was easy to hold cargo for indefinite amounts of time, forcing the shippers and the consignees to sweat long enough for them to bend and break beneath my will. The fees were paid, the pockets were loaded, and the cargo was released.

Right now, I could see my men patrolling the docks, a few speaking with officials as envelopes, far too thick to simply be shipping documents are passed between them.

We had our legitimate businesses, of course, the casino that dominated the Festa District of the city, close to South beach, it was a haven for tourists and city folk alike. The biggest gambling hall in the city with a flavor to suit everyone’s taste. Live music and poker tables, dark corners where things aren’t noticed, and a hotel set above it. It was the Saint’s biggest and oldest business that made us the most money, second to the darker side of this lifestyle.

Continuing past the marina I head to that particular part of the city, turning a corner and finding the large glass building sitting right in front of me, blocking the view of South Beach and its sandy shore, the cliffs swooping round and climbing. My house was atop those very cliffs but from here you’d never see it.

Amelia was on those cliffs.

My wife.

I don’t stop at the casino, but I smile a little when I see the long, thriving queue spilling from the doors.

This city, it was home. I knew these streets better than the back of my own palm, could tell you how each district smelt from the briny sea air down at Fishermen Quay, and the fresh scent of coffee and pastries on the Plaza at the city centre or how Valley Park smelt like cherry blossoms and lilac in summer and earth and rain during the winter. This city was imprinted in my blood, in my soul. The summers were hot, the winters brutal but it was mine.

Before I take the cliff road home, I pull down a side road, letting my wheels travel slowly down the street. Here the houses became a little more run down with every hundred yards I travel. It didn’t matter how much money I pumped through the streets, many of these fuckers pocketed the money and left their buildings – and their tenants – to rot.

It was in a similar street where Amelia used to live, though maybe not as decrepit as this particular area of the city.

While I disliked the image, and hated how these residents were treated, there were very important people here.

My car stops in front of a ramshackle house, the façade crumbling in age and weather worn, the yard overgrown and browned from the sun and lack of water.

An old bike, rusted and falling apart lays half buried in the wild grass, old broken bottles, the glass shards glinting in the light, litter the gravel path that leads to the porch.

I don’t have to knock.

The door creaks open the moment the toe of my shoes hits the rotten first step.

“Mr Saint,” Talon steps into the sun.

“Walk with me.”

Talon was young, just finishing up his last year in Redhill University, the scholarship paid for by myself. I’d found him when he was sixteen, stealing from a local supermarket to feed his family and selling drugs down the back alleys near the casino.

After I took him in, I found out a little more, it had come to my attention that the boy was much smarter than he’d let himself on to be. He was terrified of me at the time, probably is still now, but fear in my employ was good but I tried not to let it rule.

I wanted loyalty more than anything else and loyalty is not born from fear.

Talon had a gift, much like Amelia did with her drawings but Talon was excellent with a computer, and everything that came with it. Systems and programs, the internet and all those dark, seedy places that live within. I had men on my crew that were good but Talon, he was extraordinary.

So I offered him a job and a full ride to college.

He didn’t second guess his decision to accept the offer.

I’d offered to pay for new accommodation, a place in the city for his younger by three years sister and elderly mother but he had declined, knowing the women wouldn’t go willingly if they found out where the money was coming from.

It is what it is, the Saints had a reputation and most knew who we were. And what we did.

He stayed here, in his broken little house but he had food on the table and paid the bills with plenty left over. It made me wonder why he hadn’t gotten the house fixed up, but I didn’t question shit.

“As I am sure you have seen, we’ve been hit several times in the last few months.”

“It was on the news.”

I grunt in response, “The last two have been the biggest.”

---