“You’re the one who called my mother a whore. What do you think whores do? Really. They don’t just fuck men, they seduce them. Manipulate them.” Emma held out her fist up, index finger extended in a curve. “They hook’em, like a fish on a line. Why do you think they call them hookers?”
“Is that true?” Bashir asked in the following silence.
“No idea,” I admitted.
The tormenting cousins learned their lesson to stop touching the red hot stove that was my target. They kept quiet the rest of the traditional walk to the church. Emma held her head high the entire way. The only thing that stole her attention for even a moment was when the march passed a pub. I couldn’t help but smile at her reaction to the idiots.
“I don’t know why you’re smiling, mate. She might look harmless, but that cat’s got claws.” Bashir lowered the binoculars and shook his head. “If she hurts any of my men, you owe us at least a round or two.”
“Claws, sure,” I said as I stood and snatched the binoculars back, “but she just told me exactly how to win her over.”
“And?”
I waited a tick before snatching the last piece of fish from the box. Bashir sighed when I took a bite to keep his question hanging in the air.
“That would be telling,” I said. “Time for me to get into place. Be ready for my call.”
“Fine, be all cryptic, won’t you,” Bashir yelled after me, before hurrying to follow. “Don’t share your secrets with the only man who has your back. You sure it’s a good idea to go out there? What if they recognize you?”
“Why do you think I grew this beard?” I stroked the hair covering my cheek as we reached the stairs. “Masks my chin.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t cover that lumpy nose of yours.” Bashir dodged my half-hearted swat. “And the less I say about your eyes the better.”
“If you want to make it down the stairs in one piece, yeah,” I laughed and offered one more mock strike before we reached the stairwell.
Bashir left out the back. I waited a few feet away from the front door. Once the doors to the church closed, I stepped onto the sidewalk. The bartender at the pub barely looked up from polishing his glass when I entered. He trudged at a snail’s pace to pour my whisky. It didn’t matter. I had time enough to spare before anyone came out of that church. When I finally got my drink, I found a table at the edge of the windows and stared out at the church doors.
Preying at the Pub
Emma
Ihated weddings. Always had. As the priest prattled on about love, I wondered if the spark of that loathing had actually occurred before I was born. I’d been present when Mom had married Sal. She’d told me I’d kicked and kicked inside her as they waited for the judge to call their names. Even then, I’d seen through the crumbling façade to the stark and joyless truth under it all: it was just a contract.
With me bulging her belly, my mom couldn’t exactly keep dancing at the club. My father had offered support but he wasn’t the boss then, not yet and didn’t have the resources. Mom turned to Sal and finally accepted his advances. There was a certain honesty to that, same with their wedding in the courthouse. No lovey-dovey façade there, only a temple dedicated to the law, to fulfilling and enforcing contractual obligations.
The bride appeared besotted by my older half-brother. On the walk to the church, she glanced back at him, a shy smile behind her veil more than once. He played his part well too, a goofy look or two her way showed me he could do more than sneer. Maybe they really loved each other, thought they did at least, but my father had spoken the truth about their nuptials back at the hall.
The marriage would unite two families. It was all about business and power, in the end. My brother wanted more and had grasped for it. Knowing the truth made it impossible to pretend the ceremony was anything but a farce distracting the guests from the contract.
In front of my vacant stare, the sideshow continued. The priest poured a little whisky in a silver gravy boat and held it to the bride. That caught my eye. Now there was a communion I could really get behind. She sipped daintily before passing it to my brother. He dropped his head back and emptied it.
Soon after, the music started and everyone stood for the happy couple’s retreat to the hall for the reception. They smiled and waved to people in every pew they passed. By the time they reached the back where I sat with Mom and the Sals Sr. and Jr., their enthusiasm had waned significantly. Ewan offered a curt nod, flat lipped to me and ignored my mother completely.
The wedding party came next. My father smiled wide and I actually returned it. A few seconds later in the queue, the trio of cousins passed. I plastered on a smile to greet them, their threats be damned. The nervous glances they shared tickled me. Nothing better than leaving your enemies confused and annoyed.
The only other person who even looked our way was the older guy who’d caught my eye earlier. His sour face turned on me before he shook his head and muttered under his breath.
“I’m going to go stretch my legs,” I said to my mom as I slipped past her toward the aisle. “I’ll see you at the reception.”
The people shuffling by in an orderly fashion frowned at me suddenly smashing into the line, like they needed another reason to dislike me. Not that it bothered me any, either. I had my eyes on the ass who had just stepped out of the church.
Once I’d spilled out of the church with the rest of the crowd, I kept my eyes on the disagreeable man. I didn’t have a plan. Hell, before he’d muttered my way after the ceremony, my thoughts had already turned to the pub we passed. Better to get a drink there than at the reception with all of the already disapproving eyes on me.
Fate, it seemed, favored me at that moment. The ass crossed the street and slipped through the door to the pub. I followed but stopped outside the door. Didn’t want him to think I was following him. More wedding guests appeared out the doors. A flash of red through the crowd told me my mom would be coming out soon. I held on a few more seconds before entering the pub.
Through the small window in the door, I watched my mom. She squinted up and down the road with a frown. Sal tugged at her arm. My little brother played on his phone next to him. Mom gave in and started toward the reception but kept her eyes out for me.
When I turned from the door to face the bar, at least three sets of eyes darted away. The bartender offered a nod before he returned to pouring my staring contest competitor a drink. The old ass himself pursed his lips at my entrance then shook his head as he watched the pour.
