by Nate Mancuso
Bobby is jolted awake in his cold, drafty bedroom by his father Francis shaking him violently by a fistful of nightshirt. Bobby’s mother Abby stands behind her husband, weeping hysterically, her face streaked with tears. Next to her is Lenny Murphy, staring directly at Bobby with eyes so cold they could freeze the pipes that run through the walls.
“What the hell happened? Why’d ya’ leave Denny last night?” Francis’s voice is a thunderclap, cutting through the fog of Bobby’s confusion as he slaps Bobby across the face, snapping him fully awake. “Who was he with? Where the hell’d ya go?” Francis shakes him harder while Abby’s wails intensify. She falls back against the bedroom wall and slides to the floor, her loud sobs amplifying the chaos in the room.
Bobby’s heart races as he looks around wildly. “I-I-I don’t know wha—what happened?”
Lenny steps forward and brushes Francis aside. He kneels by the bed and faces Bobby, his eyes fierce. “It was a fuckin’ honeytrap,” Lenny says, his voice low but steady. “I knew those two were bead-rattlers, an’ I told ya to look out for Denny and Will. Denny don’t think straight around the ladies, especially lookers like those two. An’ Will’s a sheep who’ll follow Denny wherever he goes.” Lenny pauses and takes a deep breath. “We already know from the bartender that they left Mooney’s with the two girls about 2 a.m. Did ya get their names? Not that it matters since they prob’ly used fake ones. Or maybe they said somethin’ about where they were goin’ next?”
Bobby’s mind races, trying to piece together fragments of the prior night. “Gracie was one of ’em – the darker-haired one – and the blonde one was Mo I think, short for Maura or Maureen. They all just went out to dance, an’ then I left. They said nothin’ about after that, but what the—”
Before Bobby can finish, Abby leaps onto the bed, screaming and clawing at his face in a frenzy. Raising his hands to defend himself, Bobby can only make out one thing she shouts through her uncontrolled rage: “—killed him, killed my Dennyyyyyy!!!”
Francis and Lenny scramble forward and pull Abby off the bed, then Francis carries her out of the room. Her cries fade into the hallway as Bobby jumps out of bed, staring at Lenny with wide frightened eyes. “Wha-wha-what the—”
Lenny grips Bobby by the shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. “Denny’s dead. Willie too. Bodies found early this mornin’ in an alley off a’ St. Galls by some old man takin’ out the trash. They did nothin’ to hide the bodies. Provos wanted us to know it was them.”
“But why Denny? He wasn’t mixed up in any a’ that; he never—” Bobby’s voice falters and he stops short, narrowing his eyes at Lenny as a dawning realization creeps in. “An’ why’re you here, what’s this gotta—”
Lenny shakes his head and tightens his grip on Bobby’s shoulders. “Best ya leave, Bobby. Not good for ya here anymore.”
Just then, Francis re-enters the room, tears streaming down his cheeks – an image that will forever haunt Bobby, who’s never seen his father so vulnerable. Francis wipes his eyes with his shirt sleeve, composes himself, then fixes Bobby with a stone-cold stare. “Lenny’s right. Just leave. Be gone by this evenin’.”
Bobby’s mouth drops open. But before he can muster a word, Francis cuts him off – with the last words Bobby’ll ever hear from his father; words he’ll never forget:
“Get out. You’re not fuckin’ wanted here no more.”
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