I wanted to give her the chance nobody else would.
“No,” she whispered, and I felt a flood of disappointed relief hit me. “I can’t just walk away right now. I have to see it through.”
“This is it for you,” I said. “You can run away, be rich. Live a normal, comfortable life. Meet some nice young man.”
“I don’t want any of that,” she said.
“What do you want then?” I asked softly and touched her cheek with my fingers.
She leaned into my hand. “I want revenge,” she said, and stared into my eyes. “I want to see my uncle pay for what he did to me. And you won’t leave me behind when you do it.”
I leaned forward and kissed her plump lips lightly then pulled back to stare into her eyes.
“Okay then,” I said. “Let’s go kill him.” I pulled my legs out of the water and got to my feet. I held out a hand and Mags hesitated, but she took it. I picked up my socks and shoes, and together we walked back to the house, holding hands loosely, as the water dripped from my shins and the grass tickled the bottoms of my bare feet, and the cool air conditioning was freezing on my soaked ankles, but none of it mattered.
We had death to deal, Mags and me.
20
Mags
Mid-morning, sun halfway up the sky. It was bright and nearly blinding. Clouds drifted in slow wispy waves and the wind stayed dead. The humidity was just starting, and I thought of all those Philly summers I barely survived, sweating my ass off in that dirty little club, in that awful little house with my selfish, terrible father.
I’d never have to do any of that ever again.
Dean parked his car on a quiet South Philly block in the East Oregon neighborhood. A trolley line ran down the street and cars were packed on either side. “The bar up there at the corner,” he said, nodding up ahead of us “You see that fake stone shit and the weird peaked roofs?”
“Yeah, I see it,” I said. “Looks like a German beer hall, sort of.”
“That’s your uncle’s place,” he said.
“Are you sure he’s in there?” I asked. “It looks like it’s closed.”
“It’s open,” he said. “It’s always open, even when it’s not. Roy’s in there most days, in an office upstairs.” He leaned forward, running his hands over the steering wheel, peering at something. “I’ve got two cars full of guys parked near here, ready to go.”
“Is it going to be dangerous?” she asked. “He’s not expecting you, right?”
“No, he’s not, but he’ll be suspicious if a bunch of guys show up suddenly. Roy keeps an office up this narrow staircase behind a heavy metal door, so fighting’s going to be rough. We’ll have to get up the steps and break down that fucking thing before the cops show up.”
I chewed my lip and shook my head. “Sounds impossible,” I said. “How long’s that going to take?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But we’re bringing enough firepower. There’s no other way out, so once he locks himself inside, he’s trapped.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed.
“I’m positive,” he said, and grinned. “We picked up his lieutenant, Big Bruno, and he wasn’t shy about ratting out his boss in exchange for his life.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Someone’s going to get killed,” I said.
“I hope so,” Dean said.
“I have a better idea.” I grabbed at the door and pushed it open.
“What are you doing?” he called out as I climbed onto the sidewalk. I hurried away, walking fast, heart racing up into my throat.
This was dumb, very dumb and impulsive. As soon as I started toward that bar, I immediately wanted to get back into the car and pretend like I hadn’t been a total moron. Dean jumped out and chased after me, but I walked faster and crossed the street. The bar was right up ahead, two doors down—
Dean’s hand grabbed my wrist. “Stop it,” he hissed. “What the fuck are you doing, Mags?”
“Trust me,” I said, turning to him. “Let me go right now. Someone might see.”
“Mags,” he said, shaking his head.
“Trust me,” I said again and touched his chest. “Give me five minutes, then follow.”
His jaw clenched, but his grip loosened. I pulled myself free and ran for it. He chased, but it was too late—I grabbed the door and ripped it open. He didn’t follow as I stepped into the cool dim interior.
The floors were wood, the walls wood-paneled. The hostess station was empty, and I turned left toward the bar where a young guy with a thick beard and too many tattoos on his neck wiped down glasses. He seemed surprised to see me.
“We’re not serving for a few hours,” he said. “If you want to come back then.”
“Sorry,” I said, giving him my best polite smile. “I’m actually here to see my Uncle Roy.”
That made him stop wiping. He slowly put the glass down on the bar top. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Maggie,” I said. “Tell him Maggie’s here. I want to talk.”
He nodded once and walked away. I sat down on a stool and looked around. The place tried too hard to be a German pub: swords crossed on the walls, beer steins lined up along shelves, lots of exposed wood, lots of old-timey light fixtures, a few shields and helmet with vaguely German-looking relief carved into them. I had no clue what my very Italian uncle was doing with all this German crap, but it didn’t matter, not anymore.
I shifted in my seat, starting to get nervous. I expected Uncle Roy to come down right away, since he thought I was dead. I figured it would draw him out and make things easier for Dean, but the longer I waited, the more I started to think maybe I was tipping Dean’s hand by showing up like this, maybe Roy would realize that this was
