Page 2 of Cillian
Tadhg grabbed my face inspecting the residual bruises left from the fight from yesterday. “They fucking with you in there?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, dismissing his concern. I was always the runt of the family, and since I wasn’t anymore, I didn’t need anyone babying me.
“C’mere you fucking eejit!” Paddy—my older brother by three years—clasped me in a neck lock before swallowing me in an embrace. “The little shit got tall!” he said, pointing me out to my other brothers as if they didn’t have eyes.
“No wonder he's wearing hand me downs.” Paddy never missed an opportunity to humble me.
“You look good kid,” Bellamy said, my older brother right below Tadhg. He was subtle, but was never too good to show his younger brother love, as he hugged me and assessed my look.
“Looks like you need new clothes,” he said, tossing through my copper strands. “And a haircut, Jesus.
It only took a second to notice who was absent amongst the group. “Where’s Órfhlaith?” Half thinking the sound of her name would summon her.
“Órfhlaith’s a fucking mother now,” Paddy grimaced, pulling his hat to his chest.
“No fucking way. I'm a fucking uncle?” The weight of my absence was sinking in. “How come no one came to tell me?”
“You told us to stop coming, Cilly. We just assumed you didn't want to know,” Bellamy defended, well within his right to do so.
My sentence had originally been ten years. Seeing them the first two months had been nice at first, but just gave me a sense of hope I didn’t think I was worthy of holding onto anymore. Prison was hard. And I went through a state of depression at the thought of my entire youth being spent behind bars. I hadn’t wanted them to see my optimism chip away with each passing year. After the first six months, I asked them to stop coming all together.
I couldn’t have predicted I would only spend three out of those ten years I was meant to serve. “Where are they?” I nearly stammered, nervous at the thought of having a possible niece or nephew. “I want to see them.”
“You’re out, you'll have plenty of time for that,” Tadhg interrupted. “What would do you good your first day out?”
My stomach grumbled. Having not wanting to ruin my appetite before my discharge, I was greatly regretting not having some bread or milk to calm my hunger pangs. “Maybe a pint. A decent meal for a change,” as I rubbed my stomach. Heaven only knew I hadn’t had one in three years.
“That’s it?” Paddy challenged. “You got a night to do whatever you want, you dumb fuck. Tell us there’s something more than that,” he said, aggressively pulling me in.
“Shit, if it’s up for discussion, I could use some pussy. Three years with no women. I feel like I’m about to lose my fucking mind.” Only thing keeping my sexual discipline at bay was being surrounded by an institution full of cocks. My libido was so high, I could be locked in a room with six hookers and still have more energy to go around when I’m done with them.
“You’ll have plenty of time for that, Cilly boy. We ain't seen you in ages. Why don’t you pick shit we can all do?” Bellamy shot down on the spot, which was rich coming from him.
That was the hardest thing about being the youngest; any opinion my siblings didn’t agree with, was always met with pushback.
“I guess I don’t fit the old shit you sent me. Barely fit what I’ve got on now,” tugging at my t-shirt.
“We’ll get you fitted real nice, I reckon you’re due. These rags don’t do you justice,” Bellamy added, with a flick of the collar to my shirt. It wasn’t fancy, but I knew if I’d done something to piss a CO off, I would’ve been in worse.
Tadhg opened the backseat of his Mercedes-Benz, gesturing for me to get in. It’d been a long three years, but before I went in that backseat, I had to know one thing. “Before I get in, anybody got any snow?”
“Does anybody have any snow?” Paddy condescendingly taunted, wearing a sinister grin stretched along his face. “Is water fucking wet?” As he pulled out an eight ball of cocaine and slammed it into my chest.
“You don’t fucking have to tell me twice!”
***
“This ain't like the old shit we used to move,” I said, inspecting the cocaine with my new heightened awareness.
“We had to outsource to new suppliers. This coke comes from at a cheaper price than the last connect but they take most of the risk, so we take thirty-five instead of the original fifty,” Tadhg explained. Most our revenue came from distributing whiskey all over Boston—as well as racketeering, so thirty-five was still a decent cut. But the Callahans had always been our major connections. It made me wonder what was worth taking a fifteen percent pay cut.
“Here we are, fellas. Store’s closing down—nothing less for our baby brother,” Bellamy boasted, once we reached the tailor. It was one of the legit businesses the family used to clean the money, so it wasn’t that big of a gesture.
After wearing a grey uniform for three years, I couldn’t wait to wear something decent. Being one of the top three Irish organized crime families in Boston sure had its perks. Couldn’t be a gangster without style.
“So?” outstretching one arm, bringing a cigar to my lips with my free hand. “How do I look?”
“Like a motherfucking scoundrel,” Bellamy boasted, before suggesting all the places we could eat. Our area of Boston was dubbed New Dublin on the count that it was nearly ninety percent Irish, so there was a pub at every corner. But being back home, only one place would do it for me.