Mallory's Melody

Chapter 20

Jason hated coming here.

Royale lounge. The bar just down the block, where he'd last seen his father before those shameless louts took him away. And now he was here again, donned in black, and encumbered by a wave of insecurity. He felt lonely as he gazed around the surrounding. The bar was discordant and raucous. But it wasn't the noise in itself that bothered him. It was the merry sounds of the customers as they downed their drinks. It was the passion of the kissing couples lounged on the couch and the felicity of the people on the dance floor. Happiness pervaded the atmosphere, and been here, emphasized his lack of it.

Somehow, the gaiety of the people reminded him of the old times when he and Carlos would come here and drink into the night, drowning the worries of the day in each sanitizing gulp of beer. On so many accounts, they found merriment in laughing at their own tears, joy in embracing how terribly deadbeat they were. Here, they could create the illusion that they were happy. Through drinking, they could dispose of the emotional trauma Lillian's death had caused them. Royale lounge was the only thing that convinced them that yes, life was worth the fight.

And the very Royale lounge, which had been his form of escape, had become the only place he now wanted to escape. Escape from the mistakes of Carlos's past; from the rugged-looking scoundrels that had taken his father away. The five of them were lounged in the same position as always, on the couch backing the bar's counter. The way they laughed and slapped each other's backs was upsetting, with the same exuberance and brutishness that could only mean one thing; Gambling. They were gambling again, the very thing gambling that Carlos had sold his freedom to.

Jason gulped hard and strode towards them, pushing his gun far down his pants. Being armed was a necessity around these men, the only way to ensure his safety. From Carlos's short affiliation with them, he knew they were insidious, with their animalistic and rash termination of anyone who gave off hints of disloyalty, the way they butchered the conspicuous and kidnapped with every dollar that wasn't returned—as they'd done to Carlos.

No, he wouldn't risk his life as Carlos had. He would kill if need be.

"You get our cash boy?" asked Bryan, the dark-skinned, haggardly dressed rascal. Jason couldn't make out his face underneath all the skin-etchings and heavily pressed tattoos. The same dirty bandana he'd seen a couple of times was tied around his head. An eye cap over his eye. As though irked by Jason's scrutiny, Bryan pounded his fist on the table and narrowed his eyes.

Jason smirked. "And if I didn't?"

Bryan turned to his other men and nudged them with his elbows, "Funny kid," he guffawed, "you better hand the money in...or your ol' pop gets it!"

"So you've been saying for the past 6 months." Jason slid into a nearby stool. "Look, is my dad fine?"

"Gif em some cash if you need answer, boy." said the one with a golden tooth.

"No, no Jake. Leave the stupid kid." Bryan turned to Jason. "Your father's doing fine, you little prick. Now hand in my frickin' money."

Jason sighed and undraped his backpack. He was sick of this, of the way money went out as fast as it came in. Perhaps if it flowed into a much more worthwhile bank, as opposed to the greedy hands of these messed up nobodies, he wouldn't be so sad. But this was for Carlos, he reminded himself. This was to rectify his father's reckless mistakes, liberate his father and bring him back home.

Jason slammed the bundle of cash in front of the men. They stared at the money and rubbed their hands smugly. Jason snorted. Greedy pigs.

"Count it, John," Bryan leaned back. "| don't trust this kid."