Pull it together, Cindel! Dead body. Nearly assaulted by a lunatic.
He steps toward me and takes my hand, and I yield to this gorgeous man without so much as an explanation. Dax leads me out of the back door, locks it from the outside, then pulls me toward a black 69’ Camaro parked in the alley. Going to theback of the car, he stops at the trunk. Using a key from the ring, he unlocks and lifts the hood to reveal a mound of blue limbs, nappy hair, and the unpleasant aroma of cheap liquor.
I can’t help the gasp that escapes me.
My reaction triggers a crack in his usual steely facade. His hand combs through his unruly hair. Pulling the trunk shut, he rounds the car with me in hand, opens the passenger door, and signshome.I lower myself into the seat, ready for this fucktastic day to end.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
CINDEL
Eamon texted me this morning to ask how I am doing. I was a nervous wreck when I first arrived home. With my overactive imagination playing out scenarios where Dax didn’t rescue me, I wind up making myself sick. I brushed my teeth multiple times to get the taste of my stomach acid off my tongue.
I barely slept, tossing and turning most of the night. Fortunately, Andrea never left her room. If she saw me… if she knew what happened, she would have packed my bags and had me on my way to my parents that very night.
Eamon told me to take the next day off. I didn’t object. I’m certain Dax told Eamon every uncomfortable detail of what transpired. I’ve seen some pretty crazy shit as a bartender, but I've never been attacked before. Obviously, I was upset… I mean, who wouldn’t be?!
Yet, I couldn't discern if I was angrier with the guy who was supposed to keep watch, the abhorrent man in blue, or myself. Reflecting on what happened, I feel like it’s my fault I didn’t fight harder. Even if Connor was there, I still would feel the same. I made a promise to myself that very day… when I’m facing theimpossible, I will fight. No matter how bleak the situation may seem. I can’t allow my fears to paralyze me because next time, there might not be someone to come to my rescue.
It’s ironic how I can make this badass vow while I still couldn’t get the image of contorted limbs tucked inside a trunk out of my head. The way Dax handled the circumstance was unnerving. Previously, Eamon informed me how Garron and Dax were sent to handle collecting a debt. Was this just a regular thing for these guys? Killing people?! Who the fuck are these men? Andrea did try to warn me.
Opening up the tab on my phone with the recently conducted job search. I made a point to apply to at least five vacant positions this morning. Although, nothing I choose is in line with what I went to school for. Keeping my options ‘open’ seems like a wise choice. I needsafeoptions right now. I mean… what if the FBI came in one day and shut the whole bar down over these men’s crimes?
Jiminy Cricket, I witnessed a murder. It was merited, though…wasn't it?
Holy shit balls… am I justifying that some people deserve to be killed? It was self-defense. Although it wasn’t me doing the defending. An unsettling chill skates through my body as I consider all of these moral dilemmas. If I actually reach out to my therapist to work through all this, I’m confident they would book me an extended stay at thewhite-walled, no sharp things inn… or jail.
Aside from the breathing techniques, they couldn’t help me right now. Despite last night, I have been sleeping better lately. Which is wild considering all the fuckery that’s been going on over the last month. Having the day off, I am ready to tackle theLombarditopic as well as finish going through the remaining boxes from my family. I wonder if my parents had anything else squirreled away at their place? They quite literally liquidatedeverything and moved to the Catskills shortly after my brother’s funeral. They’re not known for their nostalgic nature.
Dusting off my dinosaur of a laptop from college, I found the charger and went through a series of overdue updates. Being in the service industry didn’t exactly entail computer work, so this relic was struggling, after I summoned it awake for the first time in ages. It takes well over an hour of me shouting vulgarities at the screen, that I did not in fact want to purchase any kind of anti-virus and I could care less that my PDF reader was out of date. Once the computer boots up and the background screen is displayed, it is like a punch to the gut.
A picture of me in a maroon cap and gown, on the front steps of my high school, with my brother beside me. He’s yucking it up for the photo, by pinching my cheeks and making an exasperatedawwwface. He took every opportunity to point out that I was the younger one, but he never made me feel incomplete or unwanted. I remember my parents being too busy with work on this day. As soon as I walked across the stage, they took this photo and were back to theiroh so importantobligations.
My brother’s the one that took me out to celebrate that evening. I had my first martini. I said, “it tasted like pickled dog water,” in turn earning me the name “Sparky,”the rest of the night.
Clicking on the internet icon, I type in the wordLombardiand hit search.
The first hit was for a news article, well over fifty years old.
“The Mafia wars made for difficult times in the 1960s. While smuggling was a lucrative business, crime families spread to the states where they could control distributing networks. Historical records are not kept on such secretive organizations; however, it’s believed that such crime families are present today.”
The next website I scroll through covers Mafia origins, dating back to the mid-19th in Sicily. I need to narrow down the information to just the Lombardi family.
Unreliable resources had news from twenty years ago about the Lombardi family, referring to themasmobsters still at largein the Boston area. The journalist goes on to say,they were likely not the only crime family in the area.Right…? So, some guy like Tony Soprano, was running around Boston knocking off people when I was little?
I loveThe Sopranos, but this shit is far-fetched! I fall headfirst into the rabbit hole, clicking on site after site, skimming through dubious reports about real-estate inflation thanks to illicit activity from the Mafia. Current articles highlight how the average Joe is unable to afford property in the Boston area, due to fraudulent schemes still taking place. I guess it’s possible the Mafia is still present today.
It feels as though I blinked and it’s lunchtime. Now Iknow way too much about the Mafia, however, the last name ‘Lombardi’ just seemed to vanish about twenty years ago. Eamon has been extremely kind and helpful, but I still hadn’t the foggiest idea what all this had to do with my brother.
When I finally stand from my bed, my legs have pins and needles from sitting in one position for too long. I manage to shuffle into the living room as the blood flow slowly returns to my feet.
Spinning the whiteboard toward me, I consider all the evidence that Andrea and I have on display so far. I uncap a dry-erase marker and write the nameLombardi, along the top. Not sure how it ties in, but there it was in loopy cursive.
I stand back looking over everything we’ve theorized, feeling like today’s hyper fixation was a huge waste of time. Still, we’re no closer to figuring out what happened to my brother. We don’t even have a person of interest.
The front door swings open to reveal my silver-haired roommate carrying in so much stuff; she can barely see in front of her. I rush to help, relieving her of multiple bags.
