“Only when it’s personal, Odie,” he scoffed.
I had no idea what that meant, and frankly, anything said pre-caffein was background noise. I poured myself a cup, forgoing the cream and sugar. Only black would do after the night I’d had. Immediate relief flew through my veins as the first sip coated my parched throat with warmth. The black high-back chair behind the mahogany desk was empty, so I took it. Ferdi was too busy typing away on his phone to pay me much attention, but there was something I needed to know.
“The security guard at Nipsy’s,” I inquired. “Please tell me he’s alive.”
Ferdi gave me his full attention.
“He’s fine. Busted shoulder, but he should make a full recovery.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good news. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what all of that was about?”
“No can do, sweetheart. Darragh will fill you in on what he thinks you need to know. Until then, try not to worry your pretty little head about it.”
Great.
Two more sips, and I was starting to feel like myself again. Great coffee always did the trick. I caught Ferdi giving me the side eye with a curious look on his face. I decided to engage.
“How long have you known Mac, Ferdi?”
“Ohh…we go back a ways.” He smirked. “From playing in the sandbox, through acne and hard-ons, to the upstanding, tax paying citizens you see before you, Odie.”
Real smooth, Ferdi.
“It’s just that, you weren’t here that first time I visited. Were you on vacation or something?”
“Or something,” he sidestepped.
We fell into a comfortable silence, me with my coffee, him with his phone. I’d nearly finished my second cup when the door swung open to reveal a frazzled-looking Darragh MacCabe. I stifled a moan as I took in his Italian cut suit and crisp white shirt with the buttons undone at the neck. His eyes landed on mine from across the room, and I could swear my heart stopped beating. The intensity in his gaze, the need, and, dare I say, relief? Ferdi cleared his throat purposefully loudly and annoying as fuck till we broke our connection.
“We good?” the cockblocker asked.
“Not even close,” Mac replied cryptically. “We missed.”
Something passed between them, a silent code which barred me from knowing what was really going on in their world. If I had to guess, I’d say Mac was losing ground where his business was concerned, a bitter pill to swallow for a man who was all about the Benjamins. O’Brien had convincingly played dumb in response to the fish incident, but I sure as shit believed he was the cause of the gunfight. He’d sent those fuckers to Nipsy’s to try and kill me, and for what? Well, that was something yet to be discovered. It was time I took the fight to his front door. Mac’s battle just became mine, and I looked forward to whooping O’Brien’s ass until he cried like a little bitch. He had no idea who he was fucking with.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve just about had it with this small dick, money-grubbing, pickle dick in the ass, coward motherfucker to last a lifetime,” I blurted without taking a breath.
“You used the word dick twice. Something on your mind, Odie?” Ferdi chuckled.
Mac grunted as he pointed a finger towards his friend. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Settle down, cowboy.” Ferdi sniggered.
“I have an idea that’s guaranteed to smack the Samuel Adams out of Kellen O’Brien and send his ass back to Fenway Park with his dick in his hand,” I announced, way too hyped for this room full of doom. “If you don’t mind my inexperienced input.”
Mac was taken aback by my outburst but granted me his ear with a slight tilt of his head.
“That’s my cue to depart.” Ferdi stood from the couch, but I stopped him before he could leave.
“No, stay. This involves you too,” I ordered with a stiff hand.
We each took separate seats while I composed myself enough to speak. It wasn’t fear that parched my throat and sent shivers down my spine, but the high stakes of going all-in. I didn’t ask to be involved in any of this shit, but I’d be damned if I played victim to it either.
“Have you ever watched the movie Dodgeball starring Ben Stiller and Vince Vaughn?” The two men looked to each other, then to me.
Nothing.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
I continued.
“In the movie, ordinary guys enter a dodgeball competition in order to win the cash prize and save their beloved gym from some greedy asshole who wants to take it over. It’s a comedy, but it’s all about the little guy fighting back against the big, bad bullies of the world.”
“So…what?” Ferdi chimed in. “You want us to throw a few big red balls in the ring and have the guys fight over them? Not for nothing, babe, but that sounds dumb as fuck.”
“You want to get shot, don’t you?” Mac growled at the big man.
I definitely didn’t need to witness another skirmish between these two, so I hurried along.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I replied calmly. “As an outsider looking in, there were major differences between the fights at Mac’s place and the ones at O’Brien’s. There are advantages to that, lucrative advantages, IF you’re willing to take the chance.”
Mac looked to Ferdi with raised eyebrows and a sinister grin. “Tell us more.”
We ended up talking for hours, working in tandem, planning, strategizing. Palpable excitement could be felt throughout the room and flourished like wildfire with rapt anticipation. I shared my ideas, my vision for the average Joe matches with the construction workers around town that would surely take advantage of the opportunity. I insisted on a few addendums regarding the usual setup of the fights. I wasn’t out to get anyone killed. Three rounds tops, stoppage immediately if either man showed signs of injury, and a hefty purse for the winner and a consolation payout for the looser.
My thoughts were simple. O’Brien catered to the elite, overstuffed, hoity-toity establishment with small-dick energy. What made Mac’s place so special was that anyone with a dollar and a dream could come away a winner. That was the audience we needed. Small dollars eventually became big dollars depending on how successful we were. Ferdi left the penthouse to get the ball rolling. Apparently, one didn’t just go out and place an ad in the local newspaper looking for underground fighters.
Who knew?
I felt this weird vibe coming off Mac as he removed his suit jacket and peered out of the penthouse window. Maybe he didn’t like my ideas at all and was only humoring me. He was tense and unusually quiet all of a sudden—the flex of his fingers, the tick of his jaw, his rapid intake of breath. It was obvious something was bothering him, and I was starting to get pissed. When he ran a frustrated hand down his face, I snapped.
“Look, I was just trying to help. Handle O’Brien however you’d like. I don’t give a shit. Fuck him and fuck you too!” I yelled.
“What did you say to me?”
“You obviously took issue with my suggestions, Mac, so save your mob hostility for someone else. I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why this is happening, and I won’t be kept in the dark due to some backwards-ass macho bullshit rules. This shit affects my life too, and I have a right to know why O’Brien has it out for me!” I ended my hysterical tirade.