Callous

Kate had two opportunities to steal the gold cell phone from Dio.

The coveted cell that the combined forces of DEA, CAB, and Mason wanted.

And she didn’t.

Why?

Truth to tell, she was relishing the rush of being with him. He treated her like royalty, forever flattering her, giving her a platinum credit card to

“do with as you wish.”

Phew-oh.

Who in their right mind wouldn’t want just a teeny bit of time with that?

And,

Whisper it,

She was developing a kind of crush.

No one, especially not Kate, saw that mooning down the drug-addled pike.

He made her laugh, and that was a rare to rarest commodity in Kate’s life.

Mason.

Mason was mightily pissed, went,

“The fuck you playing at?”

They were in her cottage, decorated with brand-new clean, white furniture, megascreen TV, and flowers — flowers everywhere, delivered daily from Dio.

Kate said,

“You wanted me to go deep, get his trust?”

Mason was bitingly bitter, said,

“Did I include fucking him? Was that in your memo?”

Kate, never one to spin from a fight, lashed out, stung his left cheek hard.

Mason caught her wrist, said,

“One flick, your goddamn wrist is broken.”

Truth was,

Yes,

She had slept with him.

Twice.

The first time, she put it down to drink.

OK.

The second, hmm.

Dio had a yacht, the most beautiful thing Kate had ever seen. It was sleek, painted blue and white, could sleep ten people and a crew of six.

Six!

They’d spent an afternoon on the bay. She got some rays, which would tan lightly, and in the evening, a candle-lit dinner on the deck, Galway bright and lovely on the horizon.

So, sleep with him, hell yeah.

Thing is, was she falling a bit in love?

Well, lust, for now.

Weird as it was, she felt validated. When you’ve been a junkie, validation is not coming down the pike very often.

And.

And this is the big and: he made her laugh.

Been a long time since that had happened.

Mason jolted her back to reality, said,

“You screw this up, don’t get that golden phone, you’re going to do at least ten in federal prison.”

And time to wake her the fuck up, Mason said,

“We’re fairly sure he had your aunt killed, had your brother shot, and we’re hearing an attack was launched on your other brother, the ex-priest dude.”

Kate just did not believe it, said to Mason,

“Why? I get why you want him, but why would he harm my family?”

Mason longed to shake her, rock the dumb out of her, said,

“Two reasons. One: he wants all obstacles removed, and two: he likes it.”

He prepared to leave, said,

“Get your act together, nail him, and I don’t mean in the bed.”

He was gone.

Later in the day, Colin arrived. He was using a crutch, apologized.

“Sorry, sis, my leg went soft during my time in the hospital.”

She lied, said,

“Hey, it suits you, gives you an air of mystery.”

She managed to give him an awkward hug and felt like weeping.

She asked,

“Are you on painkillers?”

He nodded with a huge smile. She asked,

“The kind they urge you not to drink with?”

He said,

“Indeed, the best kind.”

So, she broke the seal on a fresh bottle of Jameson.

   With more than a sense of anxiety, Kate told Colin about her relationship with Dio. Colin’s opinion on just about anything mattered to her. They had always been close, and when, as teenagers, their younger brother with Down syndrome died, they were the comfort of each other.

Neither of them was ever close to Mitch, he of a scholastic bend, whereas they lived for mischief and, basically, mayhem.

A tiny nudge of respect for him when he became a cop.

Tiny.

Colin, already a marine, did mock,

“You want to be a man, come deploy with me.

And then

   Mitch left the cops and

Became

A priest.

The shame of it.

Colin’s only words to Mitch were,

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

And Kate said,

“Don’t become a kiddie-fiddler.”

Then quit that profession!

Colin said,

“Nobody likes a quitter, but you, you, are setting a new world record for dropping out.”

Mitch tried to explain, said,

“I lost my vocation.”

Kate, disgusted, said,

“You lost your balls.”

They were on their second drink when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other and, almost simultaneously, shrugged. The other side of two drinks, how worried can you be?

Kate opened the door to Mitch, stared at him for a moment, then,

“What do you want?”

Colin coming up behind her, said,

“Let the sad fucker in.”

She did.

Mitch glanced at the bottle on the table, the glasses, asked,

“Celebrating?”

Colin sat, grabbed another glass, poured, said,

“Join in.”

He did.

Knowing that to refuse would only fire up the air of resentment already simmering. Kate raised her glass, said,

“Here’s to the fucked-up family.”

Colin asked,

“Why are you here, Mitch?”

He had a whole slew of answers, but none bordering on civil, so he went with,

“I heard about our aunt’s death, then a boyfriend of Kate’s being murdered, so I thought...”

He trailed off, not sure how to finish.

Kate said,

“And you’re going to do what? Pray? Oh no, you got fired from that gig.”

Colin poured another round, said,

“The family that drinks together.”

Mitch said,

“I got attacked a few days ago.”

Colin asked,

“What happened?”

He told them and the guy mentioning the name Keegan. Kate sat up, echoed,

“Keegan?”

Mitch nodded. She described Keegan, and Colin exclaimed,

“That’s the guy who shot me!”

They both looked to Kate, who knew Keegan. She was quiet, then,

“Dio, the guy I...”

Pause.

“Am going out with...”

Pause.

“Sometimes,

“He has a second in command named Keegan.”

Colin poured them another drink, said,

“Well, nothing complicated there. Kate’s date is trying to kill her family. Why? Fuck knows?

A knock at the door. Kate muttered,

“Who the fuck now?”

Opened it to a skinhead with a hurley. Kate said,

“We gave at the office unless the Mormons have had a whole overhaul.”

Mitch said,

“That’s Leeds. He saved me when I was attacked.”

Colin asked,

“You’re hanging with the Aryan Brotherhood?”

Leeds looked to Mitch, said,

“I’ve been tracking you, keeping an eye, but I got worried when you were in here so long.”

Kate loved it, said,

“The priest and the skinhead. How very Claire DeWitt.”

Colin said,

“Come in, son. You must be thirsty with all the protection gig.”

Colin poured him a shot of the ever-dwindling bottle, said,

“To weird times.”

All four eyed each other until Colin said,

“Let me describe the guy who shot me.”

He did and saw Kate do a sharp intake of breath. She said,

“Oh my God, that’s Keegan.”

“Seems Kate’s beau wants not to meet the family but to kill them.”

Mitch was seated in a hard kitchen chair, next to Colin. Leeds was bouncing on his feet near the front door, fight or flight written on his face. Kate was in the middle of the room, between rage and confusion.

A voice behind them intoned,

“Well, this is one hell of a clusterfuck.”

Mason, the marshal.

All heads turned to him. He said,

“I let myself in, and no need for introductions. I think I got that down.”

Colin was on his feet, asked Kate,

“You know this joker?”

Kate explained, her voice sounding broken. There was a moment of stillness as each tried to digest the info and decide what next.

Leeds broke the spell, asked,

“No shit? You’re, like, the real deal, packing heat?”

His attempt at an American accent amused Mason, who said,

“You’re, what? A mini white supremacist? Don’t you guys have a height requirement?”

Kate poured herself a drink, turned to face Mason, asked,

“So, what happens to Keegan? He’s tried to kill my brothers.”

Mason said,

“He’s useful now, but you guys can have at him when we’re done.”