The Trouble with Loving a Milkovich Part 4

Collin's Birthday

***WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE***
December rolls around and I start planning for Collin's 20th birthday. Taking the car, I swing by the Gallagher house. Entering thru the kitchen door,  I see Mickey at the table, counting out money. Lip is talking to Ian in the other room. "What's up?" I ask, nodding at the money in his hands. "Long story," he says dismissively. Hearing us, Ian and Lip come back into the kitchen. "Jagger!" Ian yells, with more enthusiasm than should be possible in the morning. "Ian-" I start, but he cuts me off. "Wanna go for a run?!" At this, Mickey looks up and laughs. "This bitch?! Only thing she runs is her mouth!" Lip looks to the ground and laughs. Raising my fingers in the shape of a V in front of my mouth, I stick my tongue in between them then say, "Sure do! Up and down your brother's dick." Mickey groans and rubs the spot between his eyebrows."Gross."
Ian tosses his head back and laughs almost maniacally. "Okay guys, gotta go!" He dashes outta the house, closing the door behind him. Mickey is staring after him, but drops his gaze once he sees Lip and I looking to him. "Awfully animated," I say, pulling out a cigarette and putting it to my mouth. Lip furrows his brow. "Something's up," he says, motioning for me to hand him a smoke. Tossing him the pack, I exhale the smoke. "Meth, if you ask me," I shrug. Mickey shoots me a look. "Yeah, well, nobody fucking did, so shut the fuck up." Rolling my eyes, I flip him off. Irritated, he waves the cash in the air. "You come here for a fucking reason or?" Chalking his attitude up to his marital problems, I ignore his tone and tell him that its almost Collin's birthday. "Wanna make it big," motion with my hands. "I'm talking as many people as we can fill into our living room, as many drugs as we can shovel in our systems! Lip, bring your entire family!" Mickey stares at me. "And yet you accuse Ian of being on meth." Sighing, I turn to the door, pausing to say, "Sweetie, meth was my mother's thing; we all know I'm off that Hey-ron."

The day of Collin's birthday starts off with a bang- on our fucking door. "Jesus Christ!" Collin roars, his cheeks reddening from the anger. Groggy, I run the sleep from my eyes and automatically reach for the baggies we keep next to the bed. Inhaling a bit of cocaine, I yell at whoever it is to come in. Mickey steps in and shuts the door behind him. "What the fuck, man?" Collin bitches, shoving a pillow over his face. "I came to talk to Jagger," he motions, his voice serious. Concern rises inside me, and a cold fear takes hold. "What's up?" I ask. "You see Mandy's face?" he asks me, his eyes filled with concern. Scared, my heart beats faster. Collin sits upright and looks from Mickey to me. Mickey motions for us to keep our voices down. Lowering his voice, Collin asks, "What the fuck is going on, man?"
"Kenyatta beat the shit outta her." At this, both Collin and I leap up from the bed. Immediately, I reach for my gun and Collin for his. "Stop!" Mickey starts, but it's too late; the adrenaline sets me on fire and a rage I've buried deep rises to the surface. "Hand me my fucking phone," I command. Collin digs thru the pocket of my jeans and tosses it to me. Dialing, I hold it up to my ear as I cock back the pistol in my hand. I hear Collin do the same. Mickey has a hand up to his mouth. "You came in here for a reason," I say, waiting for an answer. "You knew what the fuck we'd do." Finally, the ringing stops and a voice answers. "Hello?" says the heavily accented man.
"Hey, Richie, it's Jagger."
"Ricci?"
"Yeah," I reply, I smile stretching across my face. "Gotta favor to ask you."
"Anything for my only baby neice!"

A tarp is set upon the floor of the warehouse. Collin and Mickey stand on either side of an unconscious Kenyatta, who is bound to a wooden chair by zip ties and barbed wire. Richie's men stand around him, various weapons in their hands. Richie Coppola is an old friend of my father's. Growing up, hed take me and his sons over to the wine fields in Napa while him and my dad conducted business. I've never had anything except love shown to me by him; hes also the kind of man you don't fuck with, period. Old school Italian Mafia, Tony Soprano shit. Kenyatta stirs, and I pull my mask down, motioning for the two guys to do the same. Following my lead, they pull down their ski masks. Just as Kenyatta wakes up, CRACK! A metal bat smashes his knee cap, the sound of shattering bone echoing off the walls of this abandoned warehouse. His screams are muffled by a ball gag, but theres no hiding the pain in his voice. "You like to hit little girls, huh?" Richie's voice comes from the shadows. Stepping forward, he motions for his men to do the same. Collin and Mickey leave his side, allowing for the army of Family members to swoop in. "Funny thing; my boys here do too," Richie flicks his hand, and like that, the henchmen descend on Kenyatta in a flurry of anger, violence, and chaos. Mickey and Collin edge closer to me. Giving my uncle a kiss, I whisper that we have to go. "You aren't gonna watch the festivities?" He asks. "Its my husbands birthday, Uncle," I smile, giving him one final hug. "You've always been such a sweet girl; i know you're looking out for him. And you," he turns to Collin, shoving his finger in his face. "You treat my niece well. From what I hear, you're her knight in shining armor. Make sure it stays that way." Collin gulps, but holds his ground and nods his head. "Of course," he answers gruffly. Respecting this, my Uncle nods and gives us a wave. "The Milkoviches have our protection," he reminds us. Smiling, I tell him, "Remember; maimed. Severely. But not killed."

Leaving the warehouse, I turn to Collin before we hit the car. "I'm sorry your birthday was spent taking care of this..." "Are you kidding me?!" He exclaims, lifting me off the ground and giving me a kiss. "This was like the old days, when wed run errands for your cousin after school!" Joy radiates from his being, and it makes me happy. Mickey, smiling in the darkness, tells us to hurry it up. "I gotta place we can go to end the night," suddenly he smirks, and I have an uneasy feeling about this. "Are we dressed properly?" I ask incredulously. Mickey gives looks us up and down. Forgetting what I have on, I, too, take a peak: fishnet stockings under knee high socks and doc martens; my baggie shirt goes down to mid thigh and its covered by a holey wool sweater; covering it all is my father's army jacket. Shrugging, Mickey tells me I'm fine. "Its not you anyone will be interested in anyway..."
In the car, Mickey gives us directions. "Here," he says as we pull up to what looks like a night club. The words White Swallow adorn the front and men of various ages filter in and out. Clapping Collin on the shoulder, Mickey says, "Happy birthday, big brother! Now let's get fucked up!"