The Wild Boys

Chapter 3

LOS ANGELES, NOVEMBER 1991

“Eric, have you seen Joe?”

Eric groaned inwardly when he heard Beth’s question. He looked up from his work with an irritated frown. It was more than three years later and eighteen year old Eric was in his final school year. His workload had increased considerably and he was in no mood to babysit his thirteen-year-old brother. He disguised his irritation with a small smile.

“Last time I saw him he said he was going surfing. I asked him if he did his homework but you know him... he hardly heard me.”

“Surfing?! Have you seen the weather?! For that matter have you seen the time?! I told him this morning not to go surfing, there’s a storm brewing and there’s a bad riptide. Eric... he should’ve been home long ago!”

Eric looked down at his watch and realized his mother was right; usually Joe would have been home already. He suppressed another groan and rose from behind the table.

“I’m sure he’s fine mom. He probably just lost track of the time. I’ll go find him.”

Eric took a slow walk through their back yard and down to the beach, not at all worried. Joe was reckless and hard-headed, but he was a good surfer. He stopped at the top of a sand dune and peered over the ocean. There was no sign of Joe. At first Eric thought he couldn’t spot Joe because of the big breakers but then he looked hard, longer, and realized Joe wasn’t in the ocean – in fact, there were no surfers out at all. He shrugged, thinking he probably missed Joe and that Joe was on his way back to the house. He was about to turn around when his gaze fell on a small bundle lying near water. It was Joe’s towel and his rash vest. Eric’s heart began racing. If Joe’s towel and vest were still on the sand he had to be nearby but the beach was deserted. He sprinted down the dune yelling Joe’s name, but got no reply. He stopped at the water’s edge trying to decide what to do. If Joe had gotten in trouble in the ocean his best bet would be to run up to the house to call search and rescue. If he went in on his own to look for Joe, he could get in trouble in the stormy waters and that would do neither of them any good. He spun around, about to race up to the house when he spotted a lone figure limping in his direction. His heart leap-frogged in his chest when he realized it was his brother. He ran toward him yelling, “Joe! Where have you been?! Mom’s been....”

His yells stopped mid-sentence when he got to Joe. Joe was hopping on one foot, dragging what was left of his surfboard behind him. It had snapped in half and the half he was lugging along was badly banged up.

“What happened?!” Eric yelled when he got to Joe.

Joe dropped down on his backside on the sand.

“Stop yelling will ya? My head hurts.”

Eric sank to his knees in front of Joe and his eyes fell on Joe’s right foot. It was swollen and the sole was red. His eyes went up. There was a gash on the inside of Joe’s left calf that had stopped bleeding, and it was caked with sea-sand.

“Did you get washed up on the rocks?” he asked with a worried frown.

Joe’s grimace spoke volumes. “Duh. What does it look like? I got caught in the rip and I began riding it out but I kinda misjudged. My board saved my ass. I think I’ll hang what’s left of it on my wall as a thank you. Ow!”

Joe began getting up and let off a loud yelp when he put weight on his foot. “I stepped on something.”

“Something what?”

Eric was the one person Joe could not fool. Eric saw straight through him and Joe turned red. “Nothing...”

“Nothing my ass... gimme that foot of yours lemme see.”

Eric yanked Joe’s foot up. Joe lost his balance and dropped down on his backside but before he got the chance to give Eric a piece of his mind, Eric went off like a rocket headed for the moon. “A sea urchin?! You stepped on a frigging sea urchin?! How’d you get the spines out?!”

“I yanked them out... it’s not that bad lay off.”

Joe forced himself to his feet and began hopping up the dune towards the house. Eric grabbed Joe’s board and put an arm under Joe’s shoulders to support him but Joe shot him a warning glare. “I’m no sissy... hands off. It don’t hurt that much.”

Eric let go and raised a hand in surrender. He knew Joe would eat his words sooner or later. Halfway up the dune Joe turned to Eric with a decidedly embarrassed blush and pale face. “Uh... Eric? I think...”

“... your ego is bigger than your brains, as always. I gotcha bro...”

Eric slipped an arm around Joe’s waist and helped him up the dunes and the steps and through the backyard into the kitchen. When Beth laid eyes on Joe she almost threw a fit. She dropped the dishcloth she held and rushed right at him. “Joe?! What happened?!”

Joe sat down heavily in the breakfast nook and Eric dropped the board while he casually answered Beth’s question on his way to fetch the car keys. “He went surfing, got caught in a rip and ended up kissing the rocks. A sea urchin got in his way when he waded out with his wasted surfboard. I’ll get the car out... and phone doc... I swear he’s waiting for the call it’s been two days since our last visit and that’s almost too long.”

Beth yanked off her apron and ran to get Joe, who was still wet, a towel. Eric had just walked back into the kitchen to help Joe up and into the car when Beth decided to give Joe a talking to. She marched up to him, shoved the towel into his hands, and put her hands on her hips. “Joe Farrell! What did I say this morning about not going surfing?! In this weather?! With that bad rip tide?! Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?! Damnit Joe you’ll make me old before my time! What’s your excuse this time?!”

Eric took one look at his brother’s face and rolled his eyes to the heavens. Beth was about to become runny custard because Joe knew just how to make her heart melt, no matter how mad she was at him. Joe dropped his head, looked up at Beth from under his soggy fringe with a hang-dog ‘please love me’ look in his eyes, and pulled his bottom lip a little over the top one.

“I’m sorry mom...” he whispered with a very small voice, and then he put the icing right on top of the cake. He put his foot flat on the ground on purpose and let out loud yelp along with a big grimace that screamed for love and sympathy. “OW! Ow mom that really hurts!”

Eric spun around muttering under his breath but before he could get clean away Beth stopped him. “Eric Farrell! Where are you going can’t you see your brother’s in pain!? Come over here and help him to the car!”

Eric kept his muttering to himself and gave Joe an angry glare as he helped him up. That particular glare went over Joe’s head. He hopped, yelped “Ow!” and hopped some more, yelped again and turned a little paler, and by the time they reached the front door Eric had turned into the same runny constituency as his mother. Joe had them both where he wanted them; smack dab in the corner of his pocket.

Four hours later, when William’s car turned into the driveway, Eric was outside, taking his frustrations out on the basketball hoop. William pulled to a stop and walked over to him. He could read the signs a mile off. He caught the ball in mid-air as Eric threw it, and tossed it back at him. “Okay buddy what happened? What did your brother get up to this time?”

Eric tossed the ball through the hoop and let it drop on the other side without bothering to pick it up. He sat down on the grass and William decided to join him. Eric took great pleasure in informing William of Joe’s little mishap. He knew Joe would get grounded for not listening to his mother. He was hoping it would help. He wasn’t so sure, but he was hoping.

When Eric finished the tale, William sat back with a small frown. “Since that episode with Friedrich your brother has been taking too many chances. This is the last straw. I’m going to ground him for a few weeks. Maybe then he’ll learn to listen to your mom.”

“Until the next time...” Eric mumbled and William couldn’t help chuckling. “I hear you. He’s a wild child that one... he always will be. Takes too much after grandma Joyce, heck your mom even named him after her. But seriously... this is costing me a small fortune in visits to the doctor. No wonder doc Marlowe can afford to retire.”

Eric chuckled as well as he got up. “Yeah let’s take stock shall we? Last week Tuesday Joe banged both knees up because he took a bad bail on his skateboard. He knocked his head on the side of the pool on Friday because he was showing off to a girl, and on Saturday he almost got his teeth knocked out in that fight on the ice. Lucky he won the game for the team before they dragged him off and put him in the stockades to cool down. And the other guy looks worse than he does. Good thing mom didn’t see that one happening.  On Monday he twisted his ankle because he landed wrong when he jumped down from the banister, on Wednesday he nearly blew himself up in Science lab because he didn’t listen to what the teacher said about not mixing chemicals and today... need I say more?”

William let off a loud groan. “Please... enough. My poor stressed out mind can’t handle it.”

He broke into a smile. “Besides, I’ve got some news for all of you. Maybe after Joe hears what I have to share, he’ll simmer down a bit and take fewer chances. I can only hope.”

Eric didn’t ask what the news was although he burnt with curiosity. William found Joe in the living room, stretched out on a sofa covered in a blanket with his foot on a few pillows and a bowl of popcorn on his lap, watching MTV. He hadn’t had a shower yet, so his collar-length hair still had the messy, gangly surfer locks that it turned into when the wavy mop got wet in the ocean. The moment Joe saw William he decided to let Eric start stressing, just a bit. William walked over to give Joe a hug and Joe poked out a tongue at Eric behind William’s back. Then he let rip. “Dad! You’re back! At last! Eric’s been driving me nuts he’s getting way too bossy!”

Eric groaned out loud but William just burst out laughing. “Simmer down champ... I’m sure your brother’s just looking out for you. Now what did you do to yourself this time?”

Beth walked over to William and gave him a passionate hello kiss. She ignored her blushing youngest son while she laid it out straight to his worried father. William mumbled, “Hmmm...” when she was done, then he had a look at the damage. He sat back with his arms folded. “Now if I’m not mistaken, your mother told you explicitly not to go surfing didn’t she?”

Joe straight away began protesting. “But dad those waves... they were so big and I have to practice coz we’re going to Hawaii for the holidays and there’s that competition and the waves are real big there and I’ve gotta...”

William held up a hand to stop him. “Whoa up there, I get all that and I understand, but it’s no excuse. You could’ve drowned out there today and then what would your mother have done? Hey?”

Joe’s blush had spread so well by now he looked as if he was about to blow up. William did his best to keep a straight strict face, but it was getting harder by the moment. “You are grounded for two weeks young man...” he held up a hand when Joe opened his mouth to protest. “...and no arguments. And one more thing... you need to pay more attention to your homework. Surfing and all that is nice, but it will not get you anywhere if you don’t have a decent education. Your marks are good, but I know you can do better... a little more effort is required. Are we clear?”

Joe sighed and mumbled, “Yes dad...” and behind him, Eric did a three-sixty and punched the air. He loved it when William decided to take Joe short. It always worked; at least for a little while.

Joe got the upper hand almost straight away. He distracted William’s mind away from his latest fumble and onto his latest achievement. “Hey dad guess what! I won that tournament yesterday! Master Hong is real happy with me he says I’m doing great!”

William spotted the new addition to the trophy case for the first time. Joe started taking Kung-Fu lessons a few months after his experience with Carl Friedrich. William wanted him to feel more in control, to be able to defend himself in the future should he ever get threatened, and Joe threw himself into it heart and soul. He may not be the most diligent student when it came to book work, but with Kung-Fu, music, Ice Hockey and surfing, there was no faulting him.

William had been away for a week and Beth hadn’t told him about Joe’s win because Joe wanted to share it with his father himself. William got up and took a good look at the trophy then he walked back to Joe and gave him a proud hug. “Well done my boy! Very well done! This deserves a celebration... let’s order pizza shall we?”

Eric yelled, “Yes!” and ran for the phone, and this time, Joe punched the air.

While waiting for the pizzas to be delivered the family sat down and talked about their plans for the upcoming holidays. Eric knew his brother had been watching the weather forecasts with an eagle eye. Joe was hoping that the waves at Peahi, the place surfers called Jaws, would be roaring when they got to Hawaii. William was aware of the same thing. Both William and Eric would keep a close eye on Joe during that particular holiday. Joe was too young to attempt surfing monster waves despite his bravado and reckless nature. There would be time enough for that later.

William decided to share his news when the pizzas had gone down the hatch and nothing was left in the boxes except for the crumbs on Joe’s fingers, which he was licking off, and on Eric’s chin, of which he was completely unaware. He sat back with his glass of gin and tonic in hand.

“Joe, Eric, Beth... I have some news to share with the three of you.”

All conversation in the room ceased. They looked in William’s direction, and he took the plunge. When William spoke, he looked directly at Joe. He wanted to see every emotion jumping onto his son’s face. Joe hid his feelings from most people but with his family, especially his dad, he wore them on his sleeve.

“I got news this morning that Carl Friedrich died in prison two days ago.”

Stunned silence filled the room. Joe paled and sat up a bit straighter, and a bit closer to Eric. Just hearing Friedrich’s name still set him off sometimes. “D... dead? He’s... dead? How?”

William walked over to Joe and went down on his knees in front on the sofa. He took both Joe’s shaky hands in his. “He’s gone son... details do not matter. I feel a bit guilty, being happy about it, but I have to be honest and say that I am. That man was dangerous in more ways than one. If he ever got out... I don’t even want to think about it. Now he’s finally and truly out of our lives... forever. He cannot come back. He’s gone Joey... do you understand? No more nightmares my boy... it’s over.”

Joe closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. He gripped his father’s hands just a bit tighter and whispered the question, “Over? For real?”

“Yes my boy... he’s gone... and he won’t be coming back.”

Joe opened his eyes and looked deep into William’s gentle brown ones. He believed him. With every ion in his body, he believed his father. He sucked in a fast breath, his bottom lip began trembling, and then he burst out in tears in his father’s arms.

THE BRONX, NOVEMBER 1994

Marco Salvano pulled his Harley to a stop outside the entrance of the seedy backstreet club owned by his rival, Carlos Ricci. The club was frequented by members of Ricci’s gang, the Wildcats. Marco’s own gang, Los Cachorros, was involved in an on-and-off war against the Wildcats. After what Marco planned to do that evening, said war would escalate. It was unavoidable.

Ricci, known on the streets as Cat, was a cold-hearted killer with the morals of a slug. Marco had come to save a life, one he would defend with his own if need be. Thirteen year-old Ren le Riche was on his way to that same club with one aim in mind – to die. Two days previously Ren had been witness to a double homicide; ‘No...’ Marco thought as he surveyed the scene, ‘... slaughter...’ committed by Ricci and some of his men. An upcoming young lawyer had gotten it in his head to put Carlos Ricci behind bars. He paid for his mistake with his own life, and with the life of his pregnant wife. Ren had gone along without knowing what Ricci planned to do until it was too late to stop it. He had been floating on Mandrax and had been outnumbered, powerless to help. Ren ran out while the slaughter was still taking place and his actions told Marco Ren would want out of the Wildcats. That would be a problem. Carlos Ricci did not allow walkouts. Ren would tell Ricci he’s through with the gang and for that, Ricci would kill him. But Marco had a good idea that was what Ren wanted.

Marco spotted the small figure strutting towards the club and blew his breath out in a soft blow. As he drew nearer, Marco saw that Ren was hurt. There was a limp in Ren’s challenging gait that would’ve gone unnoticed by lesser men. The youngster walked with his head down, the fringe of his grimy golden-blonde hair obscuring his dirt-streaked face from view, his stunning baby-blue eyes missing nothing. He had both hands in the pockets of his stained, torn jeans. Marco knew he’d be fingering his flick-knife with one of those hands, ready to lash out and defend himself. More telling than anything was the absence of the bandana usually covering Ren’s hair – Ren made his intentions of leaving the Wildcats clear by ditching it before leaving for the hangout. When he saw that, Marco knew he had been right in his assumptions. Ren walked past Marco into the club without taking notice of him, and Marco shut his eyes for a second.

‘Good. I am in time. And tonight it ends. But not the way you want it to. Not with you dying.’

Marco got off the bike, the ice in his eyes causing the men watching the entrance to step aside. He let out a disgusted snort – their loyalty to Carlos Ricci could be measured in green, they cared for little else but money. The cold steel of the gun tucked in the back of Marco’s jean gave him small comfort, as did the knife when he put his hand inside the pocket of his black leather jacket and closed his fist over its handle. He wouldn’t use it unless he had to. He stepped inside. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights of the club and then he saw Ren ahead of him, approaching Ricci, who sat by the bar. And Ricci saw him.

Silence flooded the club. Ricci jumped up. Marco’s jaw tightened. Carlos Ricci wasn’t a tall man. He was stocky and strong, though, and his speed with a blade not something to be taken lightly. A prominent scar ran down from the right side of Ricci’s forehead to his jaw, past his lips, causing that side of his mouth to pull into a permanent sneer. His short, curly hair lay pitch black on his head, his full moustache showed a hint of red, failing to do the job of hiding the scar and standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. That paleness was the only indication that Carlos Ricci’s blood was not pure Puerto Rican – his mother had been Irish.

A glint of fear darted into Ricci’s colorless eyes at the sight of Marco, but it shot out as quickly. He straightened up, his hand closed on the hilt of his knife. He pulled it out. “What do you want Salvano?!”

Ren turned around. A tall, muscular Puerto Rican stood in the doorway, a short distance behind him. He’d seen the man with the angry dark-brown eyes before, although he’d never spoken to him. He knew the man’s reputation. He also knew this angry gangster was the only man on the streets who scared Ricci.

“I know what you did Carlos. I am here to teach you a lesson.”

Marco’s voice was soft and quiet but his eyes blazed. Marco would look like a run-over to an untrained eye, despite his size. His rugged handsome looks had many of the women in the neighborhood drooling but none of them managed to pin Marco down. Stories went the rounds that he had a girlfriend on every block and that they all knew about each other. He wore his straight black hair parted in the middle and flowing down onto his shoulders, over the rolled-up black and red bandana tied around his head. His face, though square-jawed, had a full, sensuous mouth and the smile in his eyes spoke of a big, soft heart. At six feet he stood half a hand taller than Cat, and hid a six-pack of note under his black sleeveless t-shirt and worn leather jacket.

Many opponents underestimated Marco in the past; Ricci was no exception. He let out a mocking laugh that belied how much Marco scared him. “You’re making your last mistake, Salvano. We’re two against one. Its shovel time and you’re the one getting buried.”

“No. I’m through with you, Carlos. I know what you are and what you did to ma Reggie. What you did to her back then and what you did to those people in Manhattan was cold-blooded slaughter. I’ll see you in hell before I stand by your side. I did nothing to stop you but tonight I make my first blood vow. It starts now. Your life or mine. Your life for theirs. I won’t rest until their deaths are avenged. Mi vistos de la sangre o mi vida.”

Ricci snapped his head back at Ren when he heard him speaking. His blood ran cold at the sight that met his eyes. While Ren spoke, he took out his knife and flicked it open. Ren looked straight at Ricci while he cut a gash across his thumb. He was still glaring when he put his thumb in his mouth and sucked off the blood. His eyes transformed to a dark-blue fire, his icy voice spelt out his resolve.

Marco’s veins iced up. That threat had been spoken with such ferocity, so unexpected out of the mouth of a mere child. But the gringo youngster Marco had come to save was not a child; he’d never had the chance to be one. Marco stepped forward, his jaw set in a determined line. That night he would leave with Ren, and Ren would get a chance at a new life. It was time.

Ricci’s second took Ren’s place by Ricci’s side, evening the odds, putting out the challenge.

Ren smiled to himself. ‘I might get my wish huh? Here’s hoping... but I don’t think he’s good enough to take me down. Pity.’ 

Marco gave Ren a sidelong glance but couldn’t step in to help, yet. He had to take care of Ricci first. That did not take long. As the battle between Ren and Ricci’s second swung into action, Marco honed in on Ricci. It didn’t take him long to send Ricci down. Ricci had gotten slow from years of leaving the fighting up to his men, years of using ambushes and other people to do his dirty work. With Ricci out cold three minutes later from a blow to the back of the head with a chair, Marco turned his attention to Ren. Marco had not come to kill Ricci; he had come to save Ren from throwing his life away. Marco felt quite sure Ricci would take care of his own demise sooner or later; he did not want blood on his hands. Had he been able to see into the future Marco would’ve bade that blood welcome, but he could not.

Ren was finding life a mite more difficult than Marco, Marco saw that in the way he moved. Marco moved closer, ready to step in if need be, but it wasn’t necessary. His smile grew while he watched – Ren had built up quite a reputation for himself and Marco could see it was a well-deserved one; he was very fast on his feet. Marco saw the glint in Mack’s eyes telling him that Mack was about to strike, but Ren had also seen it. As Mack lashed out Ren ducked. The knife swung over his head. He sank his knife into Mack’s thigh and jumped sideways but Mack was high on Crystal Meth and hardly felt the hit. He swung round fast, grabbed a bottle, and brought it down on Ren’s head. The moment Ren went down Mack leapt on top of him. They began grappling, Mack making headway because the blow stunned Ren.  Mack’s knife bit into Ren’s shoulder. Mack underestimated Ren, though. Instead of screaming, Ren began smiling. His eyes flashed innocence. He lifted a knee and gave Mack a hard kick between the shoulder blades. Mack fell over and Ren spun around. Before Mack could recover, Ren delivered a blow to his chin. He leapt on top of Mack with his knife poised to strike

“Ren! ¡Deje que!” Marco’s voice cracked through the room like a whiplash.

Ren’s knife stopped in mid-air. ‘Killing... makes you like him... no... don’t...’

He grabbed a discarded bottle and brought it down on Mack’s head then he jumped off Mack breathing hard. The all-consuming anger fled as pain in his shoulder, body, and head hit him in waves. He grabbed his shoulder, knees wobbling despite his determination to stay on his feet. Strong arms grabbed him before he hit the ground. He lashed out then he heard Marco whispering, “Easy mi hijo... está bien... tranquilízate, I will not hurt you.”

Something in Marco’s voice spelt it out – he could trust this big man. Ren gave in to gut instinct, his head spinning while he felt Marco leading him out of the club.

“Come, I am taking you home.” he heard Marco saying.

Terror darted into his eyes. “No… por favor… no está en casa…”

“Not your house cabrito, mine. You are not going back to that loco rareza who calls himself your father. You are in my care now.”

Marco helped Ren onto his Harley and looked back as he sat down in front of him. “Hang on to me... I will get you to help just stay awake.”

Ren put his arms around Marco’s waist, leant with his head against Marco’s strong back, and held on tight. He found it difficult to keep hanging on as they sped through the streets because he had to fight to stay conscious. His eyes closed, his body began sagging against Marco’s but then he felt the bike stopping. He forced himself back to the real world. The engine died underneath him, he let go of Marco and got off. He looked around. They were in Los Cachorros territory not far from where he lived, parked outside a block of flats. For a second Ren wanted to panic but other feelings rushed him. His head hurt, his shivers worsened he felt terribly sore, and he was getting desperate because withdrawal symptoms were kicking in. He turned to face his rescuer.

“Marco…. I need… a fix…” he gasped out but his knees gave way under him. Marco growled, “No, not now!” then he grabbed hold of Ren’s sagging body and picked him up in his arms. He looked down at the unconscious youngster and his anger began rising. Ren was filthy, his face streaked with dirt, his clothes worn out, torn and stained. The child felt like a feather in Marco’s arms, thinner than he should be, looked younger than his thirteen years and Marco knew why. Most his life Ren had fed himself; many times Marco had seen the child scratching in garbage for food, but Ren never allowed anyone to approach him. Marco also knew Ren’s father, Brad  le Riche, meted out horrific abuse to the child, and that Ren had never admitted to any of it despite efforts of others to help. Ren’s t-shirt shifted up as Marco carried him, and Marco pulled in a haggard breath. Ugly black bruises peeped out from under it, made by fists and shoes – painful evidence of the cruelty Ren suffered at the hands of his father. Marco’s step picked up pace as he entered the flats. He gripped the youngster a bit tighter, as if trying to protect him from some unseen menace. ‘No more. Tonight your hell ends. From now on you are in my care and you will never go hungry again, never get beaten up again, and never get... tortured again. Mi promesa mijo... from me to you. From this day on, I am your papa. The papa you should have grown up knowing. Your life starts tonight, and I will teach you there are people in this world who care. That you deserve to be loved. You deserve the world.’

Marco’s determination to give Ren a better life started with getting rid of the man he knew as Ren’s father. The morning after he took Ren in, he paid Brad le Riche a visit and told him in no uncertain terms to get out of New York and not return, or he would pay for his mistake with his life. Brad took Marco’s threat to heart. An hour after Marco left, Brad had the few things he owned packed up. He walked out of the flat without bothering to lock the door; he couldn’t wait to get out of the Bronx. He was on his way to the staircase when someone stepped in front of him. Brad thought he’d have a heart attack when he heard the low, hoarse voice of the stranger with the diamond ring coming at him from the darkest corner of the passage. “You messed up. Carlos gave me word about Salvano’s interference. You should know by now I know your every move.”

Brad shook his shock down to his shaky knees. “I don’t want my throat cut. That big Puerto Rican isn’t someone I plan to mess with.”

There were a few moments of silence before the stranger spoke. His voice came through cold, emotionless. “No matter. You did what I wanted and you did a good job. Ren’s hooked, he’s angry and he’s going to self-destruct sooner or later. You’ve got the photo on you?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Take a bus to Dallas and post it to his daddy with a nice little note written on the back. After that head to Sweetwater. Your money will keep coming as long as you’re available when I need you and as long as you keep your big mouth shut. I’ll be in touch. Don’t mess up again.”

Brad heard footsteps fading and sagged sideways against the wall in relief. ‘Damnit I wish he wouldn’t sneak up on me like that! Phew. At least there’s someone in the world who hates the McFadden bunch more than me. Bye-bye New York… it’s been nice while it lasted…’

The Shadowman didn’t pay Brad any more attention. He breezed out of the flats like a ghost and into the backseat of the Mercedes waiting a few cars up from the entrance. He plucked out his cellphone and nodded at his driver to pull away while he made a call. He didn’t warrant too big a worry about Ren at that moment. He would keep a close eye on him and strike when it would do the most damage to the family Ren didn’t know existed. In the meantime he had bigger fish to fry. It was time to bring the Jackal out into the open.

LOS ANGELES, JUNE 1996

“Yeah!! Let’s go rock the world!!”

Joe tossed his cap in the air and the class of 1996 followed suit with loud yells and air-jumps.  Graduation day had come and gone and Joe and his friends Chucky and Jerry couldn’t wait to hit the road. The beach buggy Joe’s parents bought him at the start of his final school year was ready and loaded with surfboards and backpacks, and the biggest waves in Mexico were calling his name. He was about to go on the holiday of lifetime before starting music studies at UCLA. He stormed off the stage, where he had delivered a valedictorian speech of note, and into Beth’s waiting arms. He cracked a smile when he saw her blinking away tears. “Hey I’m not getting married I just finished school... nothing major mom... stop bawling...”

“But you’re all grown up...” Beth whimpered and started crying. Joe couldn’t help himself. He pulled her into a hug. “Hey and it’s all thanks to you that I survived childhood. I love you mom. More than life.”

She pulled away and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Love you too baby.”

“Eric, join your mom and your brother! Smile for the camera!”

Joe and Beth turned to where William waited to take some photos. Joe threw his arm around Eric’s shoulders as he got to him. “So... change your mind big brother?”

Eric flashed him a wicked grin.

“Bag’s in the buggy bro. Mexico ain’t got no clue what’s about to hit it... go Farrells...”

The last bit got said as dry as toast. Joe burst out laughing. He punched the air and yelled “Yeah!!” and Eric followed his example with the same punch while William snapped away. He knew with Eric around Joe would be safe – well, as safe as could be expected from an impetuous hothead. Joe was barely eighteen but he still took wild chances and his temper was short as ever. The bickering between the brothers though, had ground to a halt. They were very close, and William’s heart swelled with pride when he looked at them. To be honest, he couldn’t wait for Joe to get home from holiday. Joe’s graduation present – a Harley Davidson 1200cc, would be waiting in the garage. Joe had been eyeing the machine for almost a year but William bided his time, and he had to talk his wife into it first. Joe had his heart set on the bike, even if he had to save up the money to buy it out of the allowance he got from his parents. That would’ve taken years. Joe worked very hard the past year, obtained excellent results in the finals. Beth gave in when Russ passed away from old age a month before graduation. Joe had been heartbroken and Beth decided the Harley would go a long way towards cheering him up.

William smiled inwardly when the difference between the two brothers once again hit him. During Eric’s final school year, Eric hinted like crazy about the family needing a fishing boat so he could go deep sea fishing with William. William listened, kept quiet, and handed Eric the keys on the day of graduation. Eric graduated with straight A’s and the fishing boat was well loved and much used, especially by the brothers and their friends. Now it was Joe’s turn to be rewarded for his hard work.

Joe and Eric heard Jerry Jones yelling, “Yo! Let’s go! Mexico’s calling!” and quickly said goodbye to their parents. Their hefty, good-natured friend sat in the back of the buggy with Chucky and Buck on either side of him, itching to hit the road. Beth yelled, “Joe! Your gown!” and Joe spun in his tracks. He tore his graduation gown off, tossed it in her waiting hands, gave her a last peck on the cheek and yelled, “Bye mom! Bye dad! Love ya!” as he stormed for the buggy. He dove into the passenger side, Eric started the engine, and the boys roared off singing silly songs and planning their first stop for beer and entertainment. Getting plastered almost every night was part of their big plans.

On a small hill overlooking the school, the man in the brown overcoat who had been watching the ceremony put his powerful zoom lens camera away when the buggy disappeared around the corner. He nodded to himself as he took one last look at where Beth and William walked hand in hand back to their SUV. ‘So... this is it then is it? Choices are made, things change, plans change... so be it Beth. Blood on your hands, not on mine.’

The phone in his pocket began vibrating and he quickly yanked it out. “Yes, what is it?”

“Are you quite done with your spying mission now?”

He sighed inwardly and began heading back to his black sedan, which was parked out of sight. “Yes, for now. What do you want?”

“Get your butt back here Carl. I allowed this little excursion to check up on the Farrells only because you had business to take care of in Los Angeles. My Arab clients are getting impatient and you have to slip back into the persona I created for you... you WILL follow orders of course?”

The last sentence was a thinly veiled threat. Carl Friedrich was scared of nothing – except his older brother. He began walking a bit faster. “Yes, of course. I always have, haven’t I? But how long do I have to keep up this charade? My interest in that side of your business is zero.”

“I know that... that’s why you have to do what I tell you, step for step. One thing you are good at and that’s following instructions. You proved that when I organized that fake death of yours. Now do me a favor and don’t make mistakes. To the world you’re dead... keep a low profile and stay dead. I won’t have you messing up my well-laid plans. The Jackal has to get back into business. Time is money and I need more of it... revenge is a cold bedfellow... money keeps the bed warm. Now get back here so we can discuss the details.”

Carl got in on the driver’s side and hesitated for a moment. “What about Marj?”

“What about her? She’s a mindless drunk and an addict and she’s serving her purpose. That green-eyed little hothead I gave her to raise is living in hell and she’s enjoying every minute of it. It’s almost time to pull Troy Corelli’s young mind into the Corelli fold of crime. You just stay away from her she’s crazy... her screws are nicely undone leave our sister be, I’ll deal with her if she gets out of hand.”

“Revenge... sometimes I think you’re the crazy one.”

“No... I’m the only sane one out of the three of us. That’s why I hand out the orders and the two of you follow them. That’s why I am where I am now, and Marj is trailer park trash while you’re nothing but a small-time crook with a crazy streak... and that’s another thing.... that little hobby of yours? Keep it in for a while... I’ll turn you loose soon enough. If you follow my orders and the deal with the Arabs are sealed and the goods in my hands I’ll give you your time... as long as...”

“I know... as long as I cover my tracks. I know how to do that, I’m not stupid.”

The Shadowman studied the diamond ring on his finger for a few moments before replying. His thoughts spun to Ren, and the inclination to check up on him bit at his heels. He forced it down. Ren didn’t worry him he had him right where he wanted him. He had other priorities, like keeping his insane brother in check and pulling William Farrell’s strings in the wrong direction. Farrell worried him. Being one of the best agents in the country and incorruptible, Farrell was a force to reckon with, especially now that he started investigating the Jackal’s activities. His first priority, though, was to appease his brother. Easy enough, he thought as a look of disgust crossed his face. ‘Yes you are stupid... you have no clue. You will take the fall... the loathsome terrorist... and I will be one of the most admired men in this country because I brought you down. I will be exactly where I need to be and you are the one who’ll get me there. I’ll let you think what I want you to think. The Jackal is nothing but a puppet... a fall guy to advance my career... and if you mess it up I’ll have no problem pulling your plug before the time. No problem at all...’  

He forced a smile into his voice and straightened his tie before locking his penthouse door behind him. “No, you are not... but you are obsessed. Patience little brother... patience. All good things come to those who wait and if you do as I tell you, you will have your day in the sun.”

He hung up abruptly and Carl put the phone back in his pocket. He drove away deep in thought.

‘My day in the sun... ha. I hate the sun I prefer the night... well, he knows what he’s doing and I’m quite happy being on his string for now, as long as he follows through on what he promised. I can’t keep my urges in forever I’m going to erupt sooner or later and then I WILL make mistakes. He knows that. He promised. Time to get the ball rolling... see you soon... Joe.’