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ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑎
❦
The drink slid welcomingly down his throat, wetting his tongue and quenching the thirst that clenched his teeth. Arthur's eyes squeezed closed, his hand tightening around the bottle, the golden ring that chocked his thumb, clanging against the tinted glass. His brother's shouts already rung through the betting den and straight to where he sat in Tommy's office.
Arthur had no energy left in him to shout back. The physical life had been drained out of him. He felt like it was God's doing, a punishment for killing his attackers so violently, but what did Arthur know? He had come to terms with the fact that he wasn't a good catholic. But what would Linda say?
Tommy stormed in, black coat flying behind him like a dark shadow, the double of his moody figure. He leaned against the desk, eye brows raised as he spoke through gritted teeth.
"If you're not going to show up for a family meeting, let someone know. We thought you were dead. There's 15 fucking Italians out there," he snapped, pushing away and walking into the dusty light that streamed from the covered window.
"No there's not. There's 13. I just killed two of them." He let out a breath, watching as Tommy through his gloves to the table. "Ripped our their hearts and burnt their bones to ash." He tipped back a drink. "Oh I did it. Me. Your brother."
Arthur forced himself to his feet, seething with frustration. His shoulders hunched, as if he was dangling by a rope, attached to the body coat that still bore the proof of the murder he had committed only an hour ago. Angrily, he pointed straight to himself.
"Not Aberama Gold or his punch drunk son, but me! Even if you don't trust me no more."
His chest was heaving. Arthur meant every word. But as Tommy shouted for him, it was like a nail to a magnet. Arthur turned begrudgingly, chin dipping and eyebrows sewn together.
"What the fuck you talking about?" Tommy said, stepping forward.
"I got cleaned up at Ada's. She told me you took a vote in my absence."
"All right. Calm down, and tell me about the men..."
"You put my job out for contract," he interrupted, shaking his head.
"Arthur..."
"Yeah well I'm going to make it my fucking job anyway. Because this was all my fault," he shouted, edging closer until he was looking down the few inches to his brother's face, teeth almost barred. "It was me who shot the old man."
"Yeah, our of mercy."
"Aye. Now John's dead. He's dead because of me and I want to make it right."
