Page 77 of A Game of Secrets

"So what is it? Guns, drugs, security?" he asks, squirming like an excited school boy as he takes the glass Cole has offered out to him.

"It's more like filtering," I say, sipping my drink casually. I watch as he frowns, not understanding my answer.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"We have been made aware that there is a mole of sorts in the club and it has led to the disappearance of a young boy." As I finish the sentence, I watch his face closely for any hint of recognition, but his face does not change. He's experienced it portraying whatever he wants his enemies to see, his son would be no different.

"We need you to filter them out." Cole interjects, circling around the back of his chair.

I catch the quick bob of my fathers adam’s apple as he swallows before answering.

"This mole, so you say, who told you about them? How do you know we can trust them? Maybe it is they who are the mole." He takes another sip of his drink, and then another emptying the glass.

"We can't you see. We don't know who to trust," I say, "that's why we need you."

He smiles at me. "So who was it then that told you?" he asks again.

Cole paces behind him, fingering the rim of his own whiskey glass with one hand and caressing his knife with the other. "One of the club girls said she overheard a few things and came to us with it," he mumbles nonchalantly, like he isn't really thinking of plunging that blade straight through his neck and draining the life right out of him.

"It was Roxi, wasn't it?" my father half states, half questions, causing Cole to stop dead in his tracks.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. "Do you know something we don't?"

"Um what? No, no, but you know how she is. Running her mouth all the time, it's hard to get her to shut up isn't it," he laughs nervously.

I watch as Cole stalks slowly towards the raging fire and quietly removes the poker from the stand holding the pointed end into the flames heating it until the end glows red. "We want you to tell us who the mole is." I state, staring back at my father who seems to be breathing just a little bit faster than before, with tiny beads of sweat forming track marks down his neck.

He nods and tightens his lips. "I won't let you down," he assures standing from his chair, but as he turns to face the door, Cole is already there, the red hot poker plunged forward deep into his flesh.

The loud wail that escapes him sends a chill through my body but I relish in the feeling. I stand and drag him by the scruff of his jacket back to face me and snarl, "I think it's a little fucking late for that, don't you?" His face pales at my words and creases as he gasps for breath, grabbing feebly at the gushing wound at his side. "Get him downstairs," I grunt, shoving him forward into Cole who hauls him, kicking and screaming, from the room leaving me to my own intrusive thoughts. He's my father, can I really do this? Can I take the life of the man who gave me life? I grab the whiskey bottle from the bar and drink until the burn is too unbearable to take then throw the bottle into the fire causing the flames to erupt out across the wall.

When I walk down into the cellar and see my father strapped to a chair, bleeding and helpless, I feel nothing. No sorrow, no anger, just nothing. My body is numb but it knows how this must end and what it must do to make this right.

“How much do you want to bet he pisses himself before we’re through?” Cole jeers from behind him as he circles the chair like a vulture circling its prey. I step forward and throw the duffel bag I carried with me onto the floor.

“He’ll do more than fucking piss himself when I’m finished with him.” I say, crouching in front of the man I once had every respect for. “Why?” I demand, holding his chin between my thumb and forefinger.

Theo straightens his back, pulling himself from my grip, “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to!” He shouts, wincing at the wound Cole had already inflicted.

I shake my head. “I’m talking to a traitor,” I say so matter of factly, “and we all know what happens to traitors, don’t we Dad?”

“Traitors get their just reward,” Cole answers for me, circling back round to stand beside me.

My father looks as if he might explode with anger, his cheeks reddening before my eyes matching the blood stains on his shirt.

“We just want to know why?” I ask again.

“BECAUSE I DESERVE TO BE THE BOSS!” He screams, saliva spitting across his lap. I throw my head back and laugh at his outburst.

“You had your fucking chance years ago old man.”

He looks me dead in the eye. “I never had my chance, it was stolen right under my nose when your fucking father got sick and Silas stepped up in his place.” His eyes are now on Cole who is clenching the blade of his knife so hard I can see a trickle of blood seeping between his fingers. “IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!” he roars, thrashing against his restraints.

“So what? You just cook up some petty revenge with one of the whores at the club?” I ask with the feeling that I’m missing something. This can’t just be over the fact that he’s been snubbed over a role he thinks he deserved.

His laugh rumbles deep from his chest. “You always were stupid boy, just like your mother,” he spits.

I see Cole’s flicker of movement out the corner of my eye but I’m faster with my response. I hold the knife I’ve reached from my thigh and press it hard against the finger still banded by his wedding ring.

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