Page 70 of Scarred King

“We served on the police force for five years,” he starts talking, and I realize that he is trying to change the atmosphere. I chew my food and watch him curiously. “Mike and Tommy were in my unit.” He takes a sip of wine and continues. “Our job was to stop the drug dealing in town. Maybe stop isn’t the right word – but at least to reduce it considerably. We did a pretty good job. We dedicated ourselves to our mission and everyone knew not to mess with us. We knew how to walk a tightrope between what we were legally allowed to do and what we needed to do. We knew everyone – from the big dealers all the way down to the small distributors. We cracked them down until they were helpless. We didn’t let up, not even for a moment. We had well-paid informants, and we rewarded them accordingly. All three of us were decorated. We were dedicated to the job, we lived on the streets day and night. Until it all exploded.” He is silent suddenly, finishes his wine in a long gulp and smiles bitterly. “I got some information about a drug house on the South Side. We went in with our weapons drawn, but instead of drugs we found kids. Boys and girls. No older than ten.” His gaze is fixed on the wall in front of him. “They would see clients there.” The meat gets stuck in my throat and I cough and flinch in terror. “You understand?” he stops staring at the wall and looks into my eyes. “Little kids. And their pimp was sitting there counting his money.”

“Oh my God!” I mumble.

“God isn’t in places where these children cry,” he answers dryly and grimaces in disgust. “So, what were we supposed to do?” He taps the table with his finger. “Bring him before a judge so that he’d get out after a year or two and go back to his business?” I don’t react and he hits the table. “No,” he says. “I decided this time I’d be the judge and the executioner. I aimed my gun and shot that scumbag in the head.” He smiles and I can’t move. “Tommy and Mike finished off the clients.” He pours himself some more wine and fills my glass as well. “So, we were quietly kicked off the force.” He raises his glass to me and drinks. “They didn’t want to make too much noise about pedophiles’ businesses going on under their nose.” He snorts in disgust, “Everybody won.” He strokes the tattoo on his wrist and smiles when he sees me staring.

“The letters BP, Boston Police, symbolize my old world in the police force. And the sword symbolizes my new world.”

“Then how…” I start to ask and fall silent, searching for the right words. “Then how did you change sides so drastically? From upholding the law to breaking it so blatantly?”

“We don’t break it blatantly.” He strokes my hand. “We break it subtly,” he sniggers. “We don’t sell drugs to kids and we don’t employ minors. Everything else is crap.”

“Fine, I can see that you’re not letting plain facts get in the way… but still, if you get caught, it will ruin your lives.” I hold his hand for a moment before he pulls it away.

“If.” He shrugs indifferently. “Meanwhile, we’re making lots of people’s lives much better.” He winks.

“That’s one way of looking at it. A twisted way, but still a way.” I say and continue eating as I think about the terrible story he just told me.

He lights up a cigarette and I clear the table and wash the dishes. My head is spinning with so many thoughts. He’s not just a brothel owner and a drug dealer, he’s a murderer as well. But despite these terrible facts, he has morals. Twisted morals that bizarrely make me want him even more. If I suspected before that I had lost my mind, now I’m sure of it.

When I return to him, he’s deep in thought. My heart expands suddenly, and I feel the need to comfort him. I sit on his lap and he kisses my lips gently, his hands are limp by his sides.

“Touch me,” I ask, and he puts his hands on my hips and kisses me again. I shake my head. “Touch me the way you want to,” I insist, and he raises one hand towards my hair and stops. His pupils shrink as he looks at me tensely and I close my eyes and whisper, “Touch me, I know you won’t hurt me.” He puts his large hand on my head and strokes my hair. My body grows stiff and I am breathing heavily.

“I will never hurt you.” He leaves his hand on my hair and kisses me softly. “And if anyone ever hurts you again, I’ll make sure they die in agony.” I take a deep breath, lay my head on his shoulder and try to relax my body.

Several minutes pass and I feel his body awakening, so I stand up. “Not yet,” I say sadly. “I need to process everything that happened today.”

“Take as much time as you need.” He rearranges his jeans at the crotch and lights a cigarette. “You’re still on sick leave anyway,” he laughs, and his laughter releases my tension.

I go to the kitchen and turn on my laptop. I have new tasks from Professor Sawyer – just what I needed. I’m drawn into the fascinating world of issues of artificial light and I only raise my head when the room is flooded with natural light.

“Is it morning already?” I ask in confusion.

Liam, who is sprawled on the sofa, looking at two sheets of squared paper, turns his head to me. “Yes,” he laughs. “We really should go to sleep.” He stands up as I rub my eyes and follow him upstairs. “You didn’t go to the bar last night,” I say in astonishment as I walk towards the bathroom.

“Even criminals can take a day off.” He takes his clothes off and goes to the shower. I sprawl on the bed, and when he lies down beside me, I hear his muffled voice in my dreams.

28

“Are you still on sick leave tonight?” he asks in an amused voice as I stretch in bed. He walks over to the closet, removes a pair of pants and dresses quickly.

“No.” I yawn and stretch again. “If I want to continue studying, I’d better get back to the black hole you call work.”

I force myself into the shower, and when I come out, he’s not in the room. I dress and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is flowing over my shoulders, reaching all the way down to my ass, which looks strange. I feel like I am looking at somebody else. It’s such a radical change in such a dramatic period of time. I brush my hair, part it in the middle precisely and gather it in an elastic band. For the first time in thirteen years I’m about to go out without braiding my hair. It feels strange and kind of irritating.

“Elena, get yourself down here,” Liam calls from downstairs. I move away from the mirror and go down. He looks at my new hairstyle carefully but doesn’t say a word. He lets me have two sips of coffee and then urges me out. As we sit on the motorcycle and the garage door opens, I don’t see the Volvo parked outside. “Feel free to press your luscious breasts against me,” he says and starts driving slowly for a change. I hug him tightly, and each time he stops at a red light I rub up against him and giggle.

When we reach the quiet neighborhood and he is navigating his way through the narrow streets, I caress his stomach and put my hand between his legs. Within seconds I feel him growing hard.

He accelerates, and I push my hand inside his pants, stroking his erection and hug him again. He screeches to a halt opposite the bar and jumps off the motorcycle. I join him and the bouncer opens the door for us, but Liam slams it shut and pins me with my stomach to it. He presses against me from behind, his hands sliding under my tank-top and holding my breasts as his hips press towards mine. “Never start something you know I can’t finish,” he whispers in my ear and then turns me to face him and kisses me long and hard. I peek in embarrassment in the bouncer’s direction, but he is watching the street alertly and ignoring our private show.

Liam opens the door. Charlie is already behind the bar and some of the girls are sitting around and chatting. Everything looks exactly the same, and I realize how much I haven’t missed this place. Tommy, Mike and Ralph arrive one after the other and sit down at the round table, and I start working. Each time I go over to their table, I hear a new piece of information. It seems that, up until the temporary truce, their side has suffered damage to property, including burning cars and smashing windows at the strip club, some of the distributors were beaten up and two were found dead under strange circumstances… the other side has suffered similar damage as well.

They talk about it so casually, as if it were a movie they all watched. Only Ralph loses his temper occasionally and he doesn’t stop cursing throughout the conversation.

He looks at me as I serve him another drink and narrows his eyes at me. “You changed your hairstyle,” he says. “You look much sexier this way,” he says loudly and lights a cigarette. I feel nauseous, but I fight the urge to braid my hair again. I won’t let this creature set me back. I don’t respond and he rejoins the conversation. A new girl enters the bar and I recognize her from the wedding party on Friday. She’s the one who sat by Tommy. He stands up and she throws herself at him enthusiastically. Minutes later they go upstairs together.

Its better this way, I think irritably. Johanna will just have to understand that her falling in love with him is one-sided and should stop her nonsense. I put two wine glasses down in front of the twins, and I'm horrified to see Johanna coming in. Her hair is disheveled, she’s looking around wildly and she seems disoriented. I walk over to her.

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