Makarov is a member of a low-level Russian mob called the Brother’s Circle who’ve aligned themselves with us. We let them because they’re good at the rough stuff.
“Why the fuck didn’t you just shank him?”
Some of the guys smirk, knowing full well why Zero didn’t shank him. He’s a talker not a fighter.
Zero has a ready answer though. “Had three other dudes with him. One of them had Russian prison tattoos. The other two were less intimidating, but they both had brass knuckles on them. They dragged me into an alley?—”
“Would you shut the fuck up and sit down!” Hangman roars.
The other thing about Zero is that he can talk our brother, Jawbone, into the ground.
Chapter Eleven
Selkie
The silence in the car is unnerving. Oscar is staring straight ahead, his expression bland, his eyes shuttered. Again, I marvel how different he is from Henri. I can tell exactly how she’s feeling even before she opens her mouth, which actually is rarely closed.
But Oscar. So much like his dad, I feel sad. Eight is the hottest man in the world?—
Really? Brain interrupts.
Shut it, Brain. I reply.
Where was I? Yeah, Eight, sexy, world, but… he’s so inside himself that he can’t even figure out how to interact with his son.
“How’s your small talk, Oscar?” I ask.
“Small talk?”
“Yeah, like, how was your day? Did you do anything interesting at school? Do you have homework? Is it done? Burgers or hotdogs for supper? If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”
He thinks for minute, then says. “School was horrible. There’s this kid named Henri who won’t leave me alone. Always picking on me and I can’t hit her because she’s a girl.” He turns slightly towards me. “No school, no homework because I got expelled because of Henri. Burgers or hotdogs. I don’t care.” He shrugs like he really doesn’t.
I grin at my little win. “And your three wishes?”
He masks his expression and turns in his seat so he’s looking out the window again. “I’ll have to think about that.”
“Fair,” I reply.
He glances at me again. “What are your three wishes?”
Only three? I have so many wishes, and I can’t seem to make even one come true.
I decide to share my biggest wish. “I wish I had a home of my own instead of living at my mother’s.”
“You live with your mom?”
“Yeah. Weird isn’t it?”
“At your age, yeah.”
“I’m not ancient, kid.”
The silence stretches for a moment, then Oscar breaks it. “Would you take Henri with you or leave her at your mom’s?”
I screw up my face as I think it over. It’s such a good question. “Take her with me of course.”
“Why don’t you have your own house?”
