American Savages

  If I was going to spend the next twenty days in this hellhole, I was going to make sure that they all knew who I was and what that meant if they ever crossed me. I was still a bloody Callahan, locked away or not.

  DAY 2

  “You weren’t exaggerating when you said you had trouble making friends. That riot was because of you,” the warden said from the other side of my door.

  Stopping mid-crunch, I glowered at her. “Did anyone say it was me?”

  “This is my facility, Callahan.”

  “Those who need to claim something as their own don’t really own it. If you did own it, then it goes without saying, Warden.”

  Her hawk-like eyes narrowed in on me. “Your mother was here to see you. Sadly, your stunt yesterday has us on lockdown. She even brought photos, cute boy you got, but those are not allowed for criminals. Child pornography is contraband.”

  I leaped to my feet and rushed to the door. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

  “There’s that anger. We know you’re a murderer, but what other type of monster are you? I see men like you all the time, and the amount of darkness in your eyes is the same. Like I said, this place belongs to me.”

  Calm Liam. Stay Calm. No Emotion. No Fear.

  I leaned forward against the door. “You’ve never met a man like me before, Warden, and I’ll gladly prove it to you.”

  “Enjoy your day, Mr. Callahan, we’ll let you out tomorrow,” she hissed, as she turned away from me.

  The guard pushed my tray of food through the slot as hard as he could when I stepped back, dropping it on to the floor…there wasn’t even any Jell-O.

  Clenching my fist, I stared out the window as I tried not to think of her. I wanted her out of my fucking head!

  “Damn you, Mel.”

  DAY 3

  Looking over the yard, I watched them walk past me. No one met my gaze, they just kicked the rocks on the ground as they moved past. They all stayed away, and a small group of Irish, those not sent to solitary, stood not that far off from me, leaning against the wall. I was going to get out of here, and when I did, the last thing I needed was the police trying to make connections. They knew that. Or at least I thought they did until one of them approached.

  “Mr. Callahan.”

  “Yes, O’Connor?” I asked the bigger man with orange hair and a mustache.

  “We took out four. But lost one yesterday.”

  “Send the name to my brother. His family will be taken care of as always.”

  “We know, sir. Thank you. But there’s something else you gotta know.”

  Sighing, I nodded as I glanced at the man. “Then out with it.”

  “There are few Italians here. Not much, but enough to cause problems.”

  I didn’t speak for a moment. My jaw set. “They believe I killed her.”

  “Yes, sir, and they want retribution.”

  Of course they did.

  It had taken my family years to work the penitentiary system. It was much more complicated than it seemed. You had to have a leader that was loyal to you enough to hold all the Irish in line behind bars, smart enough to know how to keep a low profile, and strong enough to strike fear into the hearts of every other motherfucker out there. On top of that, they had to be committed to life in prison with no hopes of getting out. If they weren’t, they would gladly sell us out in a plea bargain…O’Connor was that man. He’d killed two policemen after they took his wife and son. He would’ve been in the county prison now had it not been for the overflow.

  “Who’s the leader on the inside?” I finally asked.

  “The Spoon.”

  Gazing back up at him, he just grinned.

  “The Spoon?”

  He shrugged. “The man bends spoons, what else can I say?”

  Laughing, I shook my head before I ran my hand through my hair. Then I bent my head back to bask in the sun.

  “Fine. Get me a meeting with The Spoon. I swear Italians and their names.”

  “You got into bed with them, I don’t know how this is all going to work out,” he muttered.

  Frowning, I stood straighter. “It isn’t your place to know. Just get me the meeting. Is there anything else?”

  “There are a lot of people in here searching for product—”

  “Goodbye, O’Connor,” I cut him off.

  With a nod, he turned and headed back towards the corner with the rest of the Irish.

  I needed to focus on anything but her. But how could I do that when every time I felt my heart beat, I thought of her and Ethan.

  A call came over the intercom. “Callahan, you have a visitor. Callahan, you have a visitor.”

  Pushing off of the fence, I felt their eyes on me as I headed towards the building.

  Those left in the group of skinheads kept their eyes on me, but didn’t dare to come closer. The Mexicans just parted as I came through, while the blacks pretended as though I didn’t exist. As long as they didn’t get in my way, they would be fine.

  The guards at the door escorted me, in chains, inside. My mother without fail came to visit me every other day no matter what jail I was in, and no matter how far it was. She always came with her hair curled, her dress pressed and even through the glass, I could smell the delicate scent of her rose perfume, and no matter what was going on, she always had the largest smile for me. I hated that I had to see her like this.

  “Mornin’, Mom,” I whispered into the phone.

  “Morning, baby. How are you?” She frowned looking me over.

  “I’m fine—”

  “The warden told me there was a riot yesterday.”

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  “Stop saying that!” she snapped. “You are not fine. Being in here is not fine. I hate you in here, with these dogs. You did not kill Melody.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, mother?” I snapped back, rising from my seat just slightly. The guards took a step forward and I sat back down. Running my hands through my hair, my hands ended back up on my chin and mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but she shouldn’t have been.

  “No, Ma, I’m sorry. How’s Ethan?” The knot in my chest pulled tighter at the thought of him.

  The grin on her face returned. “He’s so…he’s amazing. Yesterday, he almost pulled the hair out of your father’s head, and the moment Sedric began to yelp, he started to coo at him. It’s like he was trying to bribe him with his cuteness.”

  I snickered at the thought.

  “Liam, it’s been four months, you need to see him—”

  “No, Mother. I will not have my son coming to see me in jail. That is not his life. I refuse for him to ever see the inside of this place.” He was a Callahan. I’d never subject him to this unnecessarily.

  She sighed. “Fine. I show him pictures and videos of you everyday. He knows you, and I won’t let him forget.”

  “Make sure he sees her too.” He needed to know her.

  “Then she needs to get her ass back home and get you out of here,” she hissed through her teeth.

  “Mother.”

  “Fine. I know. But when she does come back, she and I will be having words.”

  “Of course—”

  “Wrap it up. Visiting hours are over!” the guard yelled.

  Reaching up, she placed her hand on the glass. “I’ll see you during your next visiting session.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to come—”

  “I’ll see you during your next visiting session, Liam,” she said again.

  “Okay then.” My hand matched hers on the glass before I had to hang up. Placing the phone back on the hook, I took a step back.

  Once again, the cuffs came on as they led me away from the scent of fresh roses. I was hoping for a moment alone in my cell, but instead, I was led back to the cafeteria. The entire place was sterile, bleached from top to bottom as if the riot had never even happened. The cuffs were off just as quickly as they came on, and O’Connor nodded me over to
the man sitting alone in the middle table. He was big, of course, and olive skinned, with a full head of gray hair.

  Waking forward in the same path I had taken in the days prior, not one of the Skinheads dared to look up at me or even move. They were aware of my presence, but didn’t react.

  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

  I took a seat across from the man that smelled like lunchmeat.

  “The Spoon?” I asked, and to answer my question he just bent the plastic spoon in the center. Did he want a medal?

  “You rang, Callahan?” he asked in disgust, as he picked through his food with his fingers.

  “You work for my wife.”

  “Worked,” he corrected, his dark eyes glaring into me. “Past tense.”

  “No, present. My wife is still alive.”

  He snickered. “What, you just want me to take your word for it?”

  “Yes. Because I am a man of my word and you should think about the consequences of forgetting that. After everything my wife and I have done, do you truly believe I would be stupid enough to get caught for murder? You really think the Chicago PD, not the FBI or CIA, but the fucking Chicago PD was able to finally put a finger on me? Really, you don’t look like an idiot to me, and yet here I am, as my wife would say, ‘wasting words.’” Taking the pudding off his tray, I opened it and ate a mouthful using the same spoon he’d bent.

  His jaw clenched and he looked me over and sized me up for a moment. The wheels of his very small brain looked like they were working overtime, trying to comprehend everything I had said. Finally, he simply froze.

  “You’re in here because you want to be?” he whispered, so very confused.

  “More like I need to be, but you’re on the right track,” I corrected before taking another bite.

  “You’re planning something big.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes at how excited and stupid he sounded. “I am. We are. So get your motherfucking men in line, because you work for my wife and by that definition, you work for me. If I have to remind you of that, you will curse the day you were born, Nicoli. Yes, I do know your name and you should stop calling yourself “The Spoon.” They are made of plastic, my four-month-old son could bend them too,” I said as I rose from the bench and left behind the empty cup for him.

  Seventeen more days. Seventeen fucking more days.

  TWO

  “I am, indeed, a king, because I know how to rule myself.”

  —Pietro Aretino

  LIAM

  DAY 11

  My gaze swept over them, their bodies hunched, trying to block my view of their hands. I hated being in situations such as this.

  Throwing another packet of ketchup into the center, the three inmates glanced at me.

  “You’re bluffing,” Chris, a small black man with a scar marring his face, said with a frown.

  “I don’t bluff, even for five million,” I replied before returning my gaze to the cards in my hand.

  “Fuck, bro, I’m out,” Justin, Chris’ lover said, as he threw the cards onto the center. They weren’t open about their love affair, but I could tell.

  “I was out a while ago,” the eldest, Matty, muttered before folding his hand.

  One by one, they all folded until it was only the blabbermouth and me.

  He stared into my eyes, looking for any signs of weakness, with a frown on his lips before he finally folded as well. A Grinch-like grin spread across my face as I showed them my hand.

  “You bastard! You fucking played us!” Chris snapped, rising from his seat.

  “I think the correct term is bluffing,” I said, as I took all the packets of ketchup.

  Matty glared, crossing his arms. “What happened to not bluffing, even for five million?”

  “Rule eight: Money is money. If you can’t make it, then take it,” I replied, already shuffling up the deck. “Now, I better have my money by tomorrow.”

  Chris spat to the side of him. Then he walked to the other side of the cafeteria and spoke with a few of their people, hopefully about getting me my money. Chris was part of a street crew who most likely sold my drugs at a higher price to people in his neighborhood. It was one of the drawbacks of using middlemen. Once they bought the product from us, it was no longer our concern, they could sell it at any price they wanted. I didn’t mind that. What pissed me off was when they tried to mix their own shit into it, as if they were bloody scientists. The idiots didn’t realize that if a person overdosed, we would lose customers and profit. Anything that took money out of my pockets needed to be dealt with.

  “Your money will be wired to you, Callahan,” Chris sneered when he came back. He sat back down, but he didn’t touch the cards.

  Glancing up, I noticed O’Connor waiting at the last table on the left; across from him sat The Spoon.

  “Good to know men in jail keep their word.”

  “What, you think you’re better than us?” Matty hissed through his blackened teeth.

  “You don’t want to know what I think,” I said before standing up. “I’ve pressed my luck enough for the day, thanks for the game.”

  “How the fuck am I going to win my money back?” Chris yelled.

  “You don’t,” I replied.

  As I was about to take my leave, he grabbed onto my arm. Looking down at his fingers, my jaw clenched

  “Chris,” Justin muttered under his breath.

  The entire cafeteria froze. No one dared to breathe. O’Connor, along with The Spoon rose, all of them ready for another violent day.

  “If you want to keep your arm, you should let go,” I told him simply.

  His eyes widened as he did what I asked. “Mr. Callahan, I’m—”

  “Callahan, you have a visitor. Callahan, you have a visitor,” the familiar voice broke over the intercom.

  Leaving the fool, I headed to the doors. I noticed O’Connor nod over to two men who simply walked over to the table to take my place. I could spare him, just brush it off, however this was the shark tank. If you couldn’t swim, you drowned. If you messed with the alpha, you got eaten.

  When I stepped out, Thing One and Thing Two were waiting, cuffs in hand. They chained me up like I was Hannibal fucking Lecter. I was used to the walk to visitor’s room. Each time I went, it felt like I was being led to my death. For my mother's sake, I tried to think of one good moment, one bright spot in hell to make her feel better. I could handle confinement, but it was the look in her eyes each time she came to see me that was wearing me down. I almost didn’t want to see her.

  When I reached the separation glass, it wasn’t her sitting on the other side, and I felt myself sigh in relief.

  “You look like shit.”

  “Nice to see you too, Dad,” I said into the phone. His eyes roamed over me, his face cool, expressionless, before he shook his head.

  “From the moment you were born, I knew, I just knew you would drive me to an early grave. You were always the one who just had to cross the line—”

  “Pops, I’m in jail, do I really need a lecture?” I smirked, causing the corner of his mouth to perk up.

  His eyes dropped to the cuffs around my wrists. “Even though you look like shit, you still look good according to jail standards.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Is that your way of asking if I’m alright?”

  He didn’t answer, but I knew it was. He was just as worried as mom was, but at least he tried not to show it.

  “You do have a plan, correct.” It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded. “I do.”

  He waited. “Liam—”

  “Rule nine: a secret is only a secret if one person knows it. Trust me, Dad, I’m fine.”

  “You maybe, but the rest of the family isn’t.”

  “I will fix it.”

  “And I would trust you if you trusted yourself. It looks like you're just playing it by ear with no plan whatsoever. We’re losing business. We look weak. You’re in lock up, Liam—”

>   “Will you stop telling me where the fuck I am?!” I snapped, as I pulled on the cuffs. “I fucking know where the fuck I am damn it. I know we’re losing business; I’m working on it. Who gives a rat’s ass if we look weak? We aren’t. And if anyone thinks that now, in a few days they will be kissing my feet again.”

  “What if she doesn’t come back, Liam?” he asked.

  Rising, I prepared to hang up, I didn’t want to go there.

  “Liam, please, sit back down,” he said.

  But I was done. I turned away from him and looked over towards the guards.

  “Ethan has an ear infection.”

  It was like someone had dropped me in a pool of ice. Facing him, I tried to think of what to say.

  “Ethan has an ear infection, which is why your mother isn’t here. She was with him all last night in the hopes of getting him to bed,” he added.

  “Have you called his doctor? Is he okay? What medications is he taking? Did this just happen? Mother was here yesterday and she didn’t say—”

  “He’s fine, Liam, breathe. Babies get ear infections. It’s painful to watch, but he will be fine. Between everyone in the family, the poor boy is now probably crying because he can’t get a moment of peace.”

  Breathe, he’d said, as if it were that easy.

  Resting my head in my hands, I tried to calm my damn heart. But it was beyond my control. I wanted to see him. There was an urgent, painful need to see his face. There was no bullshit to spew or attempt to save face, it hurt. It hurt knowing that I wasn’t there for him. It hurt knowing that he may not know me. And worse of all, it hurt knowing that I’d failed him; by not protecting his mother, I had failed him.

  “Liam—”

  “I’m fine,” I coughed out as I sat up a bit straighter. “As long as he’s fine, I’m fine. And he is fine, right?”

  He smiled sadly and nodded. “Son, if he wasn’t okay, I wouldn’t be wasting time with you. He’s happy, he’s healthy, and he has your eyes. The same exact green.”

  I was silent for a moment before I nodded.

  “Callahan, time’s up,” the officer behind me said.