Page 2 of The Friend Scheme
“He is,” says Dad. “He’s just distracted. Probably chasing some girl. That’s it, right, champ?”
I shrug.
“See?” says Dad. “Don’t get me started on the dumb shit you did when you were seventeen. Donna was the only thing you ever thought about.”
Tony chuckles. “She sure was.”
Dad looks at me through the rearview mirror. His murderous expression tells me everything I need to know. I get it. I’ve let him down, yet again. He lightened the mood to save face in front of Tony, but I’m nowhere near off the hook. I swear I’ve tried to be good at this stuff. I’m just not asinthis as they are. The Millers hate the Donovans with everything they have.
Me?
I’d never admit this to the others, but I’ve never really hated them. I know I should, because of what they did to my family.
We used to be the closest of allies. The Millers controlled our territory unopposed since the twenties, making millions off the illegal alcohol trade. And right by our side were the Donovans. Things were good, fortunes were made, and little blood was spilled. But then the fifties came around, and the patriarch of the Donovan familywanted to get involved in narcotics. Our patriarch, my great-great-grandfather, said no, not wanting to pump poison into the area, or risk destabilizing their relationship with law enforcement.
The Donovans betrayed my family, broke off, and built their own empire off narcotics. Now they control nearly half the city.
So, yeah. Donovans and Millers aren’t friends at the best of times.
Last year, it got even more personal, though.
They murdered my grandfather. They shot him as he was leaving a supermarket of all places. Right in the street. He died on the curb, with bullet holes in his back. It was the spark I think both families had been waiting a long time for, and once long-simmering tensions finally erupted, the city went to war.
When it’s done, only one family will rule.
“You can stay in the car,” says Dad. “It’s too late to go back. We do this tonight.”
“All right,” I say. “If you think that’s best.”
“No, Matt, I don’t think that’s best. I wish you’d remembered your damn mask.”
“It was a mistake, okay?”
“Just… don’t do it again. I’ve got enough on my plate right now, I shouldn’t have to manage you, too.”
I can’t help but think,Isn’t that your job? Seeing as you’re, you know, my dad.
Dad pulls over, stopping down the street from the restaurant that’s a favorite meeting place for the Donovans.Sofia’s.It’s 11:00 p.m., so it’s closed. At least that’s a good thing. My family won’t be burning anyone alive tonight. This is about taking something away from the other side. Making a statement.
It’s the way things are done.
“You sure this is a good idea?” asks Luke. He’s gone pale. “We could try again tomorrow.”
“No, we do this tonight,” says Dad. “They won’t see him, the windows are blacked out.”
“Are you sure about that?” asks Tony.
“I just said I am.”
“There are probably security cameras up and down the street. Lie low, Matt. Just in case.”
Dad grips the steering wheel tight. I undo my seat belt and slide down the seat.
The three of them climb out of the car and go around to the back. I hear the trunk open. They reappear a few moments later, each one of them holding a Molotov cocktail. These aren’t the ones used in street warfare, though, these are the best of the best: thick bottles filled with powerful incendiary chemicals.
Dad holds up a lighter, and soon, the ends of each one burn bright.
And there they are, my family. Doing what they’re supposed to. I know there’s the stuff to make a fourth Molotov in the trunk, but obviously that’s not happening tonight.
