The Wild Wesht (Chapter 1)

The rain came down out of the heavens, turning the roads into small
rivers and the people greyer then the clouds.
Another summer day in Dublin.
Waiting for the boss under an ordinary streetlight on Dame Street, a
heavy drip hangs off my baseball cap and falls onto my 5th fag of the
hour and extinguishes it. With a shred of annoyance pulling at my eyes,
I try to suck life back into the cigarette and just get a spongy taste
of tobacco against the back of my throat.
Throwing it into the gutter, I watch the half smoked blem get washed
away with the litter and occasional condom wrapper. I looked up at
Christchurch, the direction of where the water was coming form and
wondered if one of those wrappers was mine. The annoyance, turned into
a glint and the glint spread and my face beamed with the reminder of
last Saturday and the Physio I met in the Turks Head who lived beyond
Christchurch but couldn't take me back to her apartment because her
flatmate was in. We talked, which is a first for me and got more and
more drunk as I found out she was originally from a small village in
Devon and moved here over a year ago. Her dad took her to see U2 in
1987 over here in Croke Park and she, even at a young age of 10, fell
in love with Dublin and moved here as soon as she qualified. I told her
I was there and that I was taken by my father too. We both had
interests in travelling and wanting to eventually go to Sydney. I was
surprised that she liked Gangster films and her favourite film of all
time was Goodfellas. I showed my amazement by asking if she'd found out
some secret information about me and was using it to get me into her
bed. We laughed, and gently brushed against each other and gazed into
each other's eyes as they became more and more glazed. As I went to get
up to the Jacks, she kissed me on the lips and I returned the favour
and gently let my tongue run over hers, as my hand came up to hold her
face. And so it went on, telling our life stories to each other,
shouting over the shit being pumped out of the speakers for the
tourists downstairs grinding up against each other and the slags from
the Northside eyeing up their prey. A frightening thought on any day of
the week. When I was first here, they nearly got me. Nearly. As I went
to the Jacks, a young one on the reception in my office was eating the
face off one of the bar men. I thought better about saying something to
her. I wasn't supposed to be there and with a mouth like that, word
would soon spread around. After going for a slash and washing my hands
I looked up in the mirror and saw a young couple come out of one of the
cubicles, the girl wiping her mouth and the fella grinning like a
Cheshire cat. Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of youth, never
admitting what I do nearly every weekend is as bad if not worse. I give
the fella a wink and as they head out, the bouncer from earlier with
his tongue down the receptionists throat, grabs them both and drags
them out the fire exit. Now that's the ridiculousness of youth, getting
caught.
Striding back upstairs, I think that I gotta keep my story in check and
make sure that the alcohol doesn't tamper with the string of lies I've
laid out already. I work for the Bank Of Ireland and I'm a FX Trader,
purely buying and selling US Dollars and Sterling. I hate my job and
the hours are crap but the pay is ok and I can leave early on a Friday,
which is always a bonus. I live in Raheney in a flat but it's a mess at
the moment because I'm decorating. I love where I live because it's
close to the city and to the country. The view out my bedroom window is
of the Irish Sea and I'm so glad that I left Boyle 2 years ago. That
bit about Boyle is the only true thing about me. She even thinks my
name is Damien. Her name will come back to me sooner or later. As I got
back to my seat, I leaned over and kissed her. In the meantime she had
got me another pint and herself a double vodka and white. Fair play, I
thought. I killed my left cheek sitting down as it landed on my Warrant
Card. Fuck I had better move that somewhere else I thought in case she
wants to grab my arse later on. We started chatting again. She looked
warmly at me as if conversations like this never happen before. Well
not on a Saturday Night in Temple Bar, and not with me. My lies become
truth after a while and I start to believe them myself. The night
begins to close in round us and before we know it, half the pub has
been kicked out, someone got glassed in the street and then kicked a
few times before Uniformed came storming in with their High Visibility
Jackets and a couple of them put the boot in themselves. I took note of
their badge numbers while gripping her hand, as she looked on
petrified.

-Can I walk you home?

-Was going to ask you that myself

And we walked up past the blood being washed into the drains by the
rain; one of the cops noticed me. My eyes kept his mouth shut and I
quickly looked round to make sure she didn't see. She was too busy
looking at the usual Saturday night carnage. I'm so used to it that if
I didn't see some sort of violence on a weekend, something would
defiantly be wrong somewhere. I hate being sterilised to this kind of
shit but I have to be to function in my role. I remembered her name, it
was Rachel.

-Are you ok, Rachel?

-I see this kind of thing at work in Tallaght, it happens all over the
place but no one likes to see it right there in front of you

-I know, I know. Come on, let me take you home.

And that was how my sincerity got me into her behind the Cathedral up
against a cold wet wall, we consummated our relationship with a fast,
primal, tearing at each other fuck. We walked back to hers, with the
clothes hanging off us and out of breath. In that short time, I had
opened myself up to her as she had to me. I couldn't be more honest. If
she had asked me what I did for a living, while fucking her, I would
have told her the truth and that killing people is part of what I do
and that I don't mind doing it.
But the sex, it was needed. It was necessary to do that there and then
and not give a fuck about where it was.
I conveniently lost Rachel's number as I walked home and gave her my
old mobile number. As part of my routine, I wouldn't visit the Turks
Head for the next 6 months.

As I went to light another cigarette, the rain suddenly stopped, thank
fuck. The cold suddenly pushed its way under my skin and numb me from
the inside out. The Boss was characteristically late but I may have
been watched by his followers on to see if I arrived on time. He was
urgent enough in his message to pull me off my current case, advising
me that this is a one-man job and in his Hollywood way, deemed me to be
the man for it. Fucker. I'm annoyed because I was close to busting a
group of human traffickers, buying and selling Chinese people. They
were being shipped from Amsterdam to Belfast then moved over the border
and down to Dublin. And I was so, so close. I told him in no uncertain
terms that if I was pulled off the case, no one would be able to get
the gang. When he told me that Dave Ryan was taking over, I knew the
undercover work may as well be scrapped because he could wear civilian
clothes and still look like a cop. My complaints fell upon deaf
ears.

I stood out like a soar thumb under the street lamp, a Boston Red Sox
cap pulled down firmly over my head, leaving my mouth, jaw and the tip
of my nose visable to anyone who wanted to look close enough at me. The
sharpness of my jaw, was wedged deep under my fleece and the three day
stubble was catching against the rosary my Dad gave me 15 years ago for
my Confirmation. A large beaded chain hung down past my chest and the
wooden cross lay against my naval. My eyes were tired looking and the
jade was fading into grey after being awake for 36 hours. My diet of
coffee, cigarettes and saturated fat left me feeling like a clich?d TV
cop and heightened my anxiety even more then usual. My broad, muscular
build was hidden under my overcoat, which also doubled as a sleeping
bag. It also contained my 9mm Smith and Weston Pistol and spare clip.
It dug into my hip, the weight of it always making me aware of its
presence as I sucked down to the filter the cigarette and waited.
Some young kid, about 13, long greasy hair tied tightly behind her head
came walking up past me then waited before she crossed over and stood
just down from Jury's. Her face looked like it had recently taken a
beating and the bruises were trying to compete with the rash of acne
across her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes were light brown and matched
her hair. She had dirty white Nike runners with Reebok polyester
trousers with unzipped bottoms hanging over them. She had more
jewellery on then Mr T with gold bracelets hanging from her left wrist,
at least 7 out her 10 fingers were covered in rings. And to top it all,
a big chunky mess of 24 carat gold necklace with dangly clown for good
measure lay over her pregnant stomach just covered with a tight
white-cropped top. Her tits lay flat on her stomach and then I noticed
the thin red tracks on her arms. I felt nauseous looking at her. She
caught my face in her vision and tried to find my eyes. She watched the
burning embers of my fag, and her eyes turned lizard like, as if
nicotine reminded her own addiction. I looked at her pregnant stomach
and wondered if the unborn thing inside her, and even if she's on
methadone now, will be dependant on whatever chemical cocktail she's
on. From my right side, a 28-35 year old man in a long leather jacket,
wearing loose black jeans over black doctor martins crossed over Dame
Street. He had long black hair like I used to have 10 years ago. He
looked like he was in a Death Metal band, a bad one. The hair was slick
from the rain and matted straggly over his jacket. As he turned to face
the oncoming traffic, I caught a glimpse of his face and really hoped
he was in a band because the trainee Goth had a long way to go. His
face was white enough to make The Crow look like he's been on a summer
holiday but my God, the schmig looked like a dead gerbal attached to
his top lip. His eyes were dead and as he checked that no traffic was
gonna kill him more then he is already, he turned, just passing his
eyes over me and then looked at the young one who was still focussed on
the glow of my fag. Trainee Goth then grabbed her arm pulling her to
face him. As she turned, so fast that I just a quick side profile of
her pregnant torso, about 6 moths maybe 7, her face screwed up in
pain.
I moved away from the lamppost.
My fag was just hanging there, jade eyes focussed on his dead pair. He
looked up at me, as his hand began to squeeze at the loose flesh of her
upper right arm, covering her tracks. She shouted out that she was
sorry, and he slowly turned to her, staring into her face with his
empty eyes and he smiled revealing yellow teeth and his tongue flicked
out briefly. The reptile had found his prey. The girl tried to pull
away but the vice like grasp of her arm just made her dangle like a
puppet. I watched, waiting. Now, what was I meant to do?
He whispered into the girl's ear, looked over at me and smirked. I
threw the fag away, gently clenching my left hand, and let it rub over
the 9mm. Cars drove by and pedestrians took wide births as they walked
by the odd couple. The state of this place, no one does the fucking
decent thing to make sure this girl was ok and just become temporarily
blind to it. Fuck it. My breathing slows down as I take this all in, my
chest rising and falling with my heart beating faster the Mitch
Mitchell on crack. Trainee Goth is still whispering in her ear, vicious
words opening out into the air as he spits into her ear, she turns
round and slaps him, not hard but it knocked Goth off balance. Here it
goes. Electric pulses run through my body, waiting for the next move.
Goth does nothing but cackle and the girl says she is sorry, quieter
this time but I could lip read. He grabs her again and swings the open
palm of his empty hand round and slaps her across the face
I make off across the road forgetting the traffic and am over in less
time before he realised I was next to him and cracked his nose open
with a punch that had taken 2 minutes to build up. Bone and sinew
crushed under the blow and Goth let go of the girl to nurse what was
left of his nose. Blood poured down over his mouth and discoloured his
teeth more then they were already. His fingers moved round and a little
squirt of blood hit the girl in the face. The girl was screaming at
me

-What the fuck have you done?
Turning in surprise more then anything else, shacking my fingers loose
in case I need to slap Goth again.

-Saving your lizard babies life.

She didn't seem to care.

-You smashed my boyfriend you fucking wanker.
There was no way I was going to tell her I was a cop cause she would
claw my eyes out with her week old painted nails.

-Do you not see why I did it? Not for the fun sweetheart. Your
boyfriend is a scummy cunt.

-You're the cunt man. A fucking dead one

The Goth had managed to speak through the blood and snot
Oh, a dead one, well at least that's a turn up for the book. Ah, he's
your boyfriend, well your sorted for each other I thought, you fucking
knackers. The crowd of people on the other side of Dame Street were
right to stay there and not get involved which I had gone and done. I
caught a glimpse of the boss stood in amongst the crowd. You wouldn't
give me a hand would you, ya bollix?
I have no time to explain my actions to these fucks.

-Touch her again and I'll rip your dead fucking heart out man.

I heaved those words out of me with a great push.

-You're the dead man pal, just you fucking wait.

Oh how I wish I could have told him that I'm untouchable and a ghost of
these streets. So to explain things a bit more clearer to him, fire
burning my skin now, I grab as much hair off the back of his jacket as
my hand to hold and pulled him back and stuck my right leg round and
tripped him up. She started screaming again

-Shut the fuck up, would ya

As Goth laid on the wet pavement, fear spread over his face, mixing
with the blood and the snot and the tears. I knelt on him digging into
his rib cage and grabbed his face squeezing his jaw so all he could do
was squeal.
-Not such the big man are you now?
My weight was all on my knee as he tried to buckle away from me. His
breathing fast and anxious
-What are you saying big man?
I hated me when I was like this, I loose it a bit sometimes and let
emotion take me over. Especially when you see a girl the same age as my
sister addicted to whatever shit this fuck was giving her and more then
likely pimping her for 10Euro a fuck, and giving her a few slaps to
keep her in line. This fucker needed to pay.
The girl was in shock at what I was doing to her scummy pimp boyfriend,
so was I. So was everyone. I'm sure the "real" cops will be steaming
down here any second now.
I squeezed harder, little bits of spittle shooting out of his mouth as
he tried to breathe
-Tell her your sorry you fucking cunt, before I make this breath your
last one.
And I dug my knee into him some more for good measure
-Say those words, "I'm sorry"
Nothing, just fear.
I screamed into his face to say those words. I got so close to him, his
blood was on my coat. My left hand came round to him again but was
grabbed in midair. I looked round ready to yank it away form whoever
held it. The boss, at last.
-You're finished here now Jack
The realisation of what I was doing dawned on me, shocked back to life.
As I knelt off the Goth, he breathed out and I got covered in a shower
of his blood. Nodding at the acceptance of it being the end of my
little episode, I just think, fuck it and pull my arm free and feel
Goths jaw crack with one of the best upper cuts I had ever landed on
someone. Goths eyes rolled round his head like eight balls, I hacked up
a little bit of tar from my lungs and spat it on his jacket. Being
pulled up, I saw every person playing statues, eyes fixed on me. The
grazed numbing pain in my knuckles was coming to the boil as I shook
the fingers free from my clenched fist.
The girl with the train tracks up her arms just stood in my shadow
holding her unborn baby. My boss had his hand gripped round my arm,
gently trying to move me along before every Uniform from the Castle
came crashing down around me. As she rubbed her stomach, my eyes
focussed on her bruised jaw.
-You can compare war wounds now can't ya?
What the fuck am I saying to this girl, my sister? This poster child
for lost innocence stared blankly back at me as I searched her face for
an answer.
-I love him
Great one
-You don't even know what the word means, your smacked off your tits,
and you dare to say you love him. Do you even know what love mean? Love
hurts, but a punch doesn't count for love, selling your body doesn't
count for love, injecting yourself with that shit doesn't count for
love.
-Lets get out of here, now
My boss the impatient one.
-One more thing.
I looked at him more out of annoyance that he stopped me in full
flow.
-One more thing love, my sister died in a car accident and she wasn't
much older then you and she never saw half the things you've seen and
done but she had more love in her little finger then you could ever use
your whole infected, fucked up body for. That thing in your stomach
isn't a result of love, so do me a favour and get rid of it as soon as
it's born before you kill it and yourself.
Christ I was fucking livid. The frown in my forehead was folding in on
itself and the blood rushing though my ears was competing with the
traffic for volume. How can people live like that? Is that life? I felt
sick and frustrated that hitting the Goth was all I could do. What a
crap existence for anyone. I am so fucking pissed off.
With that I had turned and walked off down Dame Street and could hear
my boss trying to chase me up. Reaching inside for a smoke, lighting it
up and breathing deep, I turn to look at the man who became my mentor.
His hazel eyes rubbed red raw where he's been up for at least 36 hours,
and his shaved white hair shows off the scars he received from the wife
of Terry Noonan, a local drug runner and pimp in Coolock, and a
selection of vases which had taken pride of place in their lounge. I
always called him "boss", more out to annoy him then anything else
because he hated being it. He wanted to still be one of us, instead of
a paper pusher in Store Street.
-You look like shit and I've got to cover for you, once again.
He looked angry and annoyed.
-You would have done the same. That cunt was about to give her a
pasting and anyone with any sense of decency would have done the exact
same. So back the fuck off. Where were you? On the other side of the
road gawping at me while I had to calm the situation I made down. I
look like shit? I've been awake longer then you have and was on the
verge of cracking the case but you fucking pulled me off. What the
fuck? So I look like shit. I fell like shit. My hand hurts like hell
and all you can do is drag me over the coals for a little
skirmish.
-In public Jack for fuck sake, the middle of Dame Street on a Wednesday
afternoon
If I was pissed off after punching Goth, it was no way near as pissed
off I was now hearing my mentor talk to me like this, like my father
used to.
-I was told you had to take me off the trafficker's case for another
something else a bit more interesting. What could be more interesting
then taking down a group of Snake Heads with more firepower then most
Eastern European Countries?
He stopped. I stopped and we stared at each other for a few seconds. I
thought he was going to fire me. Fuck him anyway, I'm just the
Governments Puppet and whatever he say's isn't going to cripple
me.
-Heroin
Fuck
I eventually shrugged my shoulders. That word means nothing to me after
spending 6 months undercover in Balymun, hanging out with all the skag
heads and dealers, getting a wee bit of a habit while trying to get the
fuckers who were pushing it in the first place. To really get it, and
not to be just a concerned citizen who didn't do more then watch the TV
and wished they did more, I slept rough in the damp stairwell of one of
the 7 towers, making my bed for the night next to addicts, wino's, and
kids playing pick up with used syringes pretending to inject
themselves. I watched and waited for the right time, gently gaining
information that would hopefully stop the epidemic.
You never see anything as bad as a mother tying a tourniquet round her
arm and shooting herself to the stars and her child in the pushchair
next to her leans round to grab the syringe off her and gets slapped so
hard in the face that he gets knocked out. I got whom I went out there
to get but the show still goes on.
Drug problem under control?
Bullshit
-You ok with it?
The boss asked but knew the answer. Of course I was ok with it. It's my
job after all and if I can help in some way to get that shit off the
streets then I will be in the front line. I am the front line after
all, Bertie saw to that.

We crossed down into Parliament Street, by the Turks and turned right
onto the Quays heading east along the Liffey

I just nodded, my mind working overtime trying to figure out how much
smack were we talking about, who's involved, what backup have I got.
None probably but I can hope for someone somewhere. How long have I
got, where do I have to be. Too many questions and thoughts make my
head feel like clay. My hand is really hurting from the pasting I'd
just given Goth and my body is on the verge of giving up the ghost and
just collapsing in a heap on O'Connell Bridge. A couple of young ones
walk past, me, and my eyes focus on the red haired 20 something on the
left of the two. Her soft white face reflected the sun setting behind
me and I tried to find something in her eyes that I didn't like about
her. There wasn't anything but warmth and the smile she wore like a
secret as she listened intently to here friend. Please look at me, make
today normal for me, just a glance.
As she walked past, not even noticing me, I got knocked in the shoulder
by a humpty dumpty looking fella with a bowling ball for a head. Doing
what any immature male does, we stared each other down, moving away
with each step, daring ourselves to make the first move back to give
the other one a beating for just walking into you. I am the worsted
though, I never move out of the way for anyone. They move for me.
My senses refocus and I turn back round, not before noticing the red
haired girl had a fine arse. I'm a bad man
The incident with the Goth slips quicker from my mind like my ex's
knickers every time I went round her flat
Walking fast to catch up.
-Had your fun?
-Ah you know me, never can be too serious. I don't want to end up like
you.
-Funny man.
Instead of turning right across O'Connell Bridge, we headed up
O'Connell Street.
-So we aren't going to Store Street?
-Nope
I stopped by the Spire. He stopped too. I am a nosey fucker at the best
of times but I'm not going to get pissed about for whatever
reason.
-How long since you been home?
I had to think about that. When was the last time I had a shower or had
more then 6 hours continuous sleep?
-About 3 days I guess, maybe 4
He looked at me despairingly.
-I don't smell ok?
-I didn't mean here, I meant home
-Oh
Home, is no longer home to me. What was home, is Boyle. About 150 miles
north west of Dublin, the arse end of nowhere. I hadn't been there for
a couple of years and had no real intention of going back there again.
Too many ghosts, and too many skeletons. My dad appeared just for a
second, blood coming from the bullet wound in his chest. The bullet
meant for me.
-Why me? And don't give me your "You're the man for the job" shit. Why
me?
-You know the area, you know the people.
-I haven't been back there in over 2 years, you know this. I'm not
exactly the Town Favourite at the moment.
-Explain
-I'd rather not
-You have no choice
Fuck
-I thought you would have done your research on this?
-I have but I want your take on the situation
When you have really bad memories of anything in your life, you bury
them deep in your mind. Make then inaccessible and pile on as many good
memories as possible. When you feel all that negativity coming flooding
back, you just want to shut the door on it. But before you get to the
handle, its out in the open scraping on the inside of your skull,
grinning.
-You know about my father
I brought my chin down to my chest, I didn't want to look at my boss.
Looking at the cracks in the pavement, I wished for them to open and
pull me down under the earth. That silence between us, dragged out like
my mothers time in labour trying to get me out into the world. The Boss
just looked at me, the heat of his stare melted me.
-I've had the fucking counselling about this ok?
-And what did the councillor say?
Still looking away, looking at the GPO and the bullet holes in the
Columns. Shoot me please, not my Dad.
-She said I'm depressed, or should I say was.
-Your not now?
-I am now you want me to talk about my Father and you want to drag all
those memories back to the surface. Fuck, are you enjoying this?
-No
I just laughed, what else was there to do?
-Well neither am I man
It was all bubbling up inside me, the pressure with no valve to release
it. It was happening again, and I couldn't stop it. I closed my eyes
and felt the world spin round. As they opened, everything stopped. The
valve was opening up.
-Look whatever it is that's happening in Boyle, which I have to say, is
laughable, I can cope with. What happened with my Father happened about
6 months after I finished my training
-It was 7 months
-6 or 7, what does it matter?
Some other little shit knocked into the back of me as he walked past. I
paid no attention. I needed to get another deck of fags, I'd just
finished up the last one and already the craving for nicotine was
making my skin prickly.
-I was working in Boyle with my friend Glen. It was our first posting
after training. We were best friends and had been since Junior School I
think he's still there, but I'm not sure to be honest. I haven't spoken
to him in a while
-He is. A Sergeant like yourself
I wasn't surprised he was still there. He must have been able to cope
with the loss of a colleague, not a Father.
-Funny, we always did do things together, even when we were kids. My
brother in many aspects. He was the first on the scene after the
incident. So without too much of a pause, not that I was looking for a
dramatic effect as its dramatic enough, I told my boss all that I
wanted to tell him. I didn't give him everything. I have
to give my father some peace in death after all it wasn't much of a
peaceful ending. It was harder then I thought. Harder then most of the
punches I'd ever received and it hurt like a three-day hangover
entering its fifth day. Saying that, it was a cleansing of sorts. The
kind of cleansing where your skin boils and is peeled off like paper.
It leaves you standing alone and raw.
-Thank you
-What do I get a medal?
-You will if you catch these fuckers
He handed me a manila envelope.
I opened it, keeping the contents close to my chest. Read it, then
re-read it. It was bullshit.
-Not very thick
-No but you seem to be
I read it again and turned the page over to make sure there wasn't
anything on the other side. If I emphasised the point anymore I could
have been a neon sign.
-So let me get this straight and stop me if I miss something. You want
me to go to Boyle and kill people I don't even know rather then arrest
them because it's easier then bringing them to court. And by killing
them, a void is left in the Heroin market which is going to be filled
with, and I have a real fucking problem dealing with this if you pardon
the pun, a Government endorsed agency. And the reason for this is if we
can't beat them, join them? Isn't that illegal?
-You're a sarcy fucker Jack. The reason why the Government is getting
involved is because its Heroin is too high a mountain to tackle. So why
not build our own Everest. The smack will be tested and analysed before
hitting the streets to make sure its not filled with shit, so therefore
we are saving addicts from injecting themselves with bleach or fucking
laxatives. The second and more vital point is that these bucks your
going to execute run about 30% of the smack in Ireland and when we get
a foothold on that market, we can take it over. Of course, after
expenses, the money raised will be used for Government purposes.
-Like rehabs?
-No, but health will play an important part. You wouldn't believe how
much money Heroin makes
He showed me a figure on a piece paper. He was right, I didn't believe
it.
-Did I wake up this morning in a Banana Republic? Who's fruit loop idea
was this?
-I can't give names but as high up as you can get
-The Pope?
-May as well be
-Is he injecting a bit himself? Fuck if this gets out, we may as well
burn ourselves now. But why kill them, can't we just keep them as
puppets and use them to our advantage?
-How do you mean?
-Draw out the court case, make it look like they controlled more then
30%. How we are the good guys by getting it off the streets and
promising to take the drug war off the streets and make it nice and
safe again. It would be better then being the playground bully. Not to
mention the fact that once I take out these fucks, everyone will want a
piece of the pie and I can't fight them all myself
-We know. We have a plan in place, which will take effect after you
have followed through on your orders.
-Care to fill me in?
-No
This situation was getting worse by the minute and I haven't even left
Dublin.
-Why kill them, it makes no sense
-Actually it was my idea, and its been authorised
-Why?
When he told me, I think he held on to me in case I went a bit mad
again. I did but only in my head. In there, a war just kicked off and
it was tearing me apart from the inside out. When I calmed down enough
to breathe, I asked to be told again. I was calmer this time
around.
-These are the men who killed your father