My father himself sat where he always did, a beer next to his elbow, cash in front of him. I always thought it was stupid to count money right there where any petty criminal might walk up, push a gun against his back, and take everything, but he did whatever he wanted. I couldn’t tell him otherwise, anyway.
I drifted over toward him, my feet moving like they were glued to the floor. The place smelled like sweat and liquor. I hated that smell, hated the sparkling lights, the terrible music, the body glitter that got everywhere when the girls gave lap dances. I hated the disgusting men laughing as they threw back shots and stared at Jasmine’s tits. I hated my father, sitting in the middle of all this like it was no big deal, and hated myself for staying here for so long and never once trying to get away.
I stopped just behind him. He didn’t notice me at first, then felt my presence. He looked back with a scowl, ready to tell me to fuck off—
Then his eyes went wide.
There was a moment, a few seconds at most, where I still loved my dad. I thought of the good times when he made me laugh. I remembered going to the shore with him when I was a little girl and running through the waves. He was heartbroken back then but still a regular human being. He turned into a piece of shit later, as I got a little older.
He was surprised. Not upset, not happy. Just surprised, like I was the last person he expected to see.
But what really did it for me was the drink.
Not a beer, like usual, but whiskey. Probably the good stuff too, knowing him. He never drank whiskey, not unless he had a good reason.
“You look surprised to see me,” I said.
He blinked quickly, and the moment was gone that fast. But I didn’t forget the look on his face. I didn’t think I’d ever forget it.
He knew.
“You’re with the Don now,” he said, trying to smile. It was a ghost of the real thing. “I didn’t think you’d come visit your poor father ever again.”
“I probably shouldn’t have,” I said, tilting my head. “Considering how much of an asshole you’ve been to me for years.”
He winced slightly but the old anger came back. Dad couldn’t hear a challenge without stepping up, especially not from me.
“What do you want, Mags?” he asked. “You need money or some shit?”
“No, I don’t need your money,” I said and stepped closer. “I came to warn you.”
“Warn me?” He frowned a little. “What the hell would you warn me about?”
I reached out and grabbed his whiskey. He watched me toss it back. I slid the glass away and it banged up against the taps. The bartender stared at me then looked away like he couldn’t bear to watch.
Motherfucker. He knew.
Dad knew.
“Something’s going down in the family,” I said, leaning toward him. “Dean’s been talking. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Oh, yeah, kiddo. I’m safe. Don’t worry. Uncle Roy looks after me.”
I leaned toward him, closer than I’ve been voluntarily in a long time. He leaned back like I was about to bite his throat, which I really did consider.
“You might want to avoid Uncle Roy for a while,” I whispered. “Word is, he’s been doing some bad things.”
Dad’s mouth dropped open. His jaw worked. He tried to speak, stopped himself, cleared his throat, looked for his drink, stopped himself again. “What are you talking about?” he asked finally.
“You knew,” I said and the words wrenched from my throat like a knife wound. “You knew he was going to try to kill me, didn’t you?”
“No,” he whispered but his face went pale. “No, honey—”
“You motherfucker,” I said, hands balled into tight fists. “You piece of shit. I knew you were a bad father, I knew you were a selfish bastard, but I didn’t think you’d let your brother murder your own daughter. How could you, Dad?”
“I didn’t know,” he whispered, and there were tears in his eyes, fat crocodile tears. I didn’t feel bad for him. I couldn’t pity this man, this pathetic half-man.
“Leave town,” I said, moving back away from him. “Run away. Leave tonight. Take all that cash and get out of here.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Dean will take care of me,” I said. “If you’re still around when this is all over, you’re going to die. I promise you that, Dad. I’ll make sure Dean finishes you off.”
He sucked in a breath and looked down at his hands. For a second, I thought he might apologize. I thought he might have a good excuse, some reason why he knew and didn’t try to stop it, like Uncle Roy blackmailed him or forced him or—something, anything, any reason for me to not despise my own father for letting me get murdered.