I knew it when she trapped me in the Caddy and told me she wanted to bring the operation back to NOLA that if she succeeded in obliterating the Reaps, everything would get bigger. It would be like it was in those first days, when Charlie was on top. Before the Feds and the feud. Before it all collapsed.
That's what she doesn't get. The bigger it gets, the brighter it burns when it all explodes. The truth sits like a block of ice in my chest. I don't want it. I don't want to go bigger. I miss the easy flow of our exile.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she's still mourning, still pissed off that Charlie's gone, no matter the reason. Maybe she never even looked past this moment or thought about what moves to make after it's done. I'd believe it. Getting her to sit through a strategy game has always been damn near impossible. That's the itch I can never reach. What thoughts steamroll through that pretty head of hers? That goddamned poker face makes me crazy.
My tension eases the farther away we get from the scene of the crime. Finally she so quietly says, “Where are we going?”
I check my mirrors, push the gas pedal down a little more and say, “Our Sisters of Mercy.”
Her head snaps to the side as she looks to me, her eyes wide. Her voice shakes when she says, “Why?”
Our Sisters of Mercy, a Catholic hospital in Mid-City. It's always been our go-to place in this town because Abuela makes healthy contributions to their operations and because the staff there never asks questions.
“Freddy's hurt pretty bad.”
Her mouth closes and she looks away like I slapped her. A few beats of silence drift by, and I hear the tell-tale sniffles. I knew it would make her cry to hear this part. I don’t want to be the messenger for this one. I've never been exactly sure what she feels for Frederick, but I've always known it was something special. He's unique in a world full of men falling over themselves to please her. There's a sour taste in the back of my throat.
She takes a while to conquer herself enough to ask, “How did he get there?”
The bitterness leaks into my expression, which I turn on her for just a flash, and my tone is sharp when I say, “Josh saved his ass.”
The silence presses back in, and even though the windows are down, the space inside the truck feels too small. She's smart enough that she doesn't need to ask questions. She understands what the fuck just went down. She knows that I'm the only other one who knew the details, the only one who could be responsible for keeping Freddy alive.
The tears are still streaming down her face, but she doesn't say anything else. If I can give her anything, it's that she takes her success, and her defeat, quietly and steadily. Defeat, because by every means their plan only partially worked, and only because I didn’t turn my back on them when I had every reason to. I'm still not sure why the truck was allowed to leave that garage, not if Freddy got caught.
I half expected Maria to be mid-panic-attack when I got to her, but there's none of that. Just a silent flow of emotion and an occasional sniff. I can't help her with this one, can't shield her from the reality she has made. If I could, I don't know that I would. We don't speak another word for the rest of the ride.
Chapter 35 The Blood that was Spilled
Maria
This place is too quiet. I guess it should be expected from a hospital, but the hush makes me nervous. My head hurts. I think I'm tired, but I'm too wired to sleep. In my mind's eye, a blazing inferno rages. I'm staring at Frederick as he sleeps beneath a blanket of pain killers and sedatives.
The left side of his face is a swollen, purple mess, and there are stitches along his right temple and cheekbone. Both his eyes are black. He's shirtless, his pale chest rising and falling slowly, turned the ugly colors of blood beneath his skin's surface. Joshua's words are like a steam-wheeler in my head, how he found Freddy chained to a chair, getting the ever-loving shit beaten out of him with a wrench.
The mystery of it is why Derrik let the truck leave and how he figured out what we were doing. The mystery doesn't matter much to me just now. Sure, we did it. We killed Gram and the Jester, but the image of Frederick lying there so broken and abused – it doesn't seem like a fair trade. If I had just agreed to run away, he would be fine. But didn't he want it as bad as I did? Didn't he? No. Not quite.
I have no tears left. I'm empty. I don't think I'll ever have enough of me to appropriately repay my guys. They've given so much to me. And I took it, all of it. I don't deserve them, probably never did.
I've just been riding my brother's coattails.
The look on Isaiah's face when he picked me up haunts these quiet moments. Betrayal. I did him wrong by leaving him behind. It was the wrong choice and he still showed up to save my ass. It's because of him, and Josh, that Frederick is lying here instead of dead. In a few days, Izzy will be gone, maybe forever. It wasn't a bluff.
