Redemption (Sempre 2)

A taste, they called it. Everyone always wanted a taste. They claimed, as a family, that they all worked as one. They said it was a matter of respect. They said it was the honorable thing to do.

As far as Carmine was concerned, it was utter bullshit.

Where was the respect in being summoned out of bed at three in the morning to watch a man get his head bashed in because he borrowed money he couldn’t pay back? Where was the respect in burning some man’s house down, taking away everything he had worked for his entire life, because he gave the Boss a look he didn’t appreciate? Where was the respect in intimidating a seventeen-year-old girl and threatening to kill everyone she loved because she witnessed something she shouldn’t have seen?

Assault, extortion, hijacking, kidnapping, robbery, bribery, gambling, chop shops, prostitution, corruption, arson, coercion, fraud, bootlegging, human trafficking, and murder . . . where was the respect in any of it?

He sure didn’t fucking see it.

“Bad night, man?”

Carmine glanced over as Remy slid into the booth across from him. “You could say that.”

Remy motioned for the waitress and asked her for a rum and Coke, taking it upon himself to order Carmine another shot of vodka.

“I figured,” Remy said. “You got that look about you tonight, that ‘I’ve seen shit that can’t be unseen’ look.”

Carmine pushed the empty glass aside with the others. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try to forget.”

“True, but you’re doing it the wrong way. Alcohol is a downer. As if this all isn’t depressing enough, hitting the bottle just drags you further down. You go from being a moody bitch to a miserable cunt, and nobody likes a miserable cunt, DeMarco. Not even me, and I love everybody.”

Carmine managed a small laugh at that. “It numbs me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it probably numbs you enough that you won’t feel the concrete shattering your bones when your depressed ass leaps off the top of Sears Tower,” he said. “But you should never jump unless you know you can fly, or at least float. Nobody wants to fall. That’s how you end up hurt.”

Carmine stared at Remy as he tried to make sense of his words. He wasn’t sure if he was just too damn drunk or if the man intentionally talked in code. “I can’t decide if you’re a genius or if you’re just a fucking rambling idiot.”

“Why can’t I be both?”

Carmine shrugged. Maybe he was.

“Anyway, you wanna know how you really unsee?” Remy asked. “How you really forget?”

“How?”

“Instead of dragging yourself down more, lift yourself up. You don’t wanna be numb, man. You wanna be happy.”

Carmine shook his head. Happy. He remembered a time he felt that way. “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.” A sly smile turned Remy’s lips. He leaned across the table, closer to Carmine, and whispered conspiratorially, “I think it’s time I introduced you to Miss Molly.”

o;Vincent fought to ensure Carmine didn’t turn out like him, but at eighteen he made the exact same decision his father did anyway,” Corrado explained. “It’s logical they’d worry what happened to Maura would happen to you, too. What they fail to realize, though, is the main thing Maura tried to teach them. Cambiano i suonatori ma la musica è sempre quella.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

He didn’t answer for a moment as he wandered through the room, his attention focused on the juvenile paintings. It was weird watching him. Haven never took Corrado as someone who would be remotely interested in those sorts of things.

“You read her journal, so am I correct to assume you know I failed her?”

“Failed her?” she asked hesitantly. “She didn’t see it that way. She said you were always fair to her, even when she was . . . you know . . . in your home.”

“I could’ve done more.”

“Can’t we all?” she responded. “We’re only human, after all.”

“You’re a lot like Maura, but there are some differences. She wouldn’t have stood here and held a conversation with me, that’s for sure, and she would’ve certainly abandoned her plans the second I demanded.” He paused, smiling with amusement. “Regardless, I see why they’d worry, but just because a person’s situation changes, doesn’t mean they change. It doesn’t matter if you’re in North Carolina or California or New York or Illinois—you are who you are. That’s what I meant by it.”

The door swung open then, sunlight filtering in from outside.