I didn’t give anything away in any way, not ever. I didn’t raise my voice. I only allowed the minutest reactions to show on my face, to leak from my eyes, to set in my frame.
So my voice was soft because it was always soft, and without inflection because it was always without inflection, when I asked, “Who does he have?”
“Green,” Tommy answered as we moved quickly down the hall.
Green.
One of my men.
My soldier.
Green was not his real name. It was a nickname my older sister, Georgia, had given to him. It had been Georgia who had used her special skills to recruit him years ago. He was so eager, and so stupid, fresh, naïve…green.
And that was who he became.
He was no longer stupid, fresh or naïve.
But he was still Green.
I walked down the hall, my strides fast but restricted due to the tight skirt I wore.
As I did, my mind was moving from annoyance at what I was certain was happening in my father’s office to wondering for perhaps the thousandth time why he insisted we continue to do business in this foul, possibly rat-infested warehouse.
It was the middle of a sunny day and the hall was ill-lit and murky, the floors filthy, the walls grubby.
Even in my office, which I’d insisted—like Georgia had with hers, like my father had always had with his—was clean and decorated (mine with a classic elegance; Georgia’s a modern sharpness; Dad’s a lavish obnoxiousness)—the windows were grimy (on the outside).
But my father’s father started the business there. Now Dad felt it sent a message. He was convinced in its top-to-bottom filth that it terrified anyone who might think they shouldn’t take us seriously.
He also felt it said we were one with our roots.
He was right.
My grandfather had been a lowlife thug who was willing to do anything for money and power.
And he did.
He’d done very well. He’d built an empire.
My father was also a lowlife thug with the same mission.
He wasn’t as successful.
I saw the double doors at the end of the hall, Gill standing outside them.
But I heard my father shouting.
“Is Georgia around?” I asked, eyes to Gill, my question aimed at Tommy who was at my heels.
“Nope,” Tommy answered.
That was not good.
I had very little hope of calming my father down. There was a slim chance, but it wasn’t much. I had more chance of earning his ire. His temper was quick, unpredictable and volatile. Although he seemed more in control of it around Georgia, otherwise, he didn’t discriminate.
But without Georgia at my side, or better, taking the lead, the highest likelihood was that whatever this was was not going to go well.
We got close to the door and Gill turned to it, knocked twice, loudly, put his hand to the handle and pushed it open.