Monday July 2, 2012
Grant Park Condominiums- Unit 311
Chicago, Illinois
3:13 PM Local Time
*SMACK*
“You careless little SHIT!” Augustus Briese snarled as his palm smashed into his son’s face. “You didn’t think to LOOK before you posted that damn video?”
Yuri Ganiyeva took several deep steadying breaths as he held his hand to his cheek, fighting down the urge to respond, to strike down his assailant. It took every ounce of self control he had, but he held his ground, nothing more.
“God DAMMIT”, Gus snarled, spinning around, beginning to pace.
“It’s not a big deal,” Yuri finally said, recovering some sense of his pride. “Even if she suspects that I’ve been with you, she doesn’t know where I am. I could be living anywhere in the world, as far as she knows.
“I’m wanted on a federal level, Yuri!” Gus replied, tugging at his receding, graying hair. “The moment your sister went back to her fat slob of a manager’s dressing room, she was probably on the phone to the FBI, telling them exactly her suspicions. Fuck, they may have been watching the goddamned show! And how hard do you think YOU are to follow, freak? You’ve probably been tracked all the way from O’Hare to here. For all I know, the GODDMNED FEDS are outside at this very minute! MOTHER FUCKER! Why didn’t you end her then?”
“The Dupree boy was with her,” Yuri replied uneasily. “He would have leapt to her defense the moment I tried, and the two of them together...” he bit his lower lip. “I erred on the side of caution, I thought.”
“Yeah, well, if your caution gets me sent back to jail, I swear to God, I’ll...” Gus trailed off, continuing to pace. He took several calming breaths, and closed his eyes, muttering “just a few hours” over and over again, like it was some mantra. O’Brien and Mahoney were supposed to pick him up in just forty-five minutes, and drive him to O’Hare for his flight to Belfast. IN less than twenty-four hours, he would be in Ireland for the first time in over thirty years. It absolutely could not... WOULD NOT let it go to hell now, because his idiot daughter had caught a glimpse of him in his idiot son’s wrestling promo video.
“It’ll be fine.” Gus said, taking deep breaths. “The feds are slow, bound by procedure. It hasn’t been that long. I’m leaving in a few minutes.” He swallowed hard, then veered off his pacing, heading for the apartment’s bedroom. If the FBI was on its way, there was nothing he could do. All he could do was make sure he was ready to go, so that he could get to O’Hare as quickly as possible. Once the plane left the gate, he’d be free. Of all this.
Through his thoughts, he heard footsteps, and was vaguely aware that Yuri had followed him. Gus paid him no attention, and looked instead to the bed, where two suitcases lay. Everything he owned in the world were inside those two pieces of luggage.
Not true, he realized, not without bitterness. None of this was his, either. Everything had been provided to him by Delaney, and Delaney owned him as much as he owned the baggage, the clothes, the phone, the computer. Six months of “freedom”, and this was all he had to show for it. Meanwhile, his money... HIS money sat in his daughter’s bank account. His house lay in ashes, again, thanks to that ungrateful bitch. If he had one regret about leaving America, it was that he wouldn’t ever get to witness her demise.
It was a regret that was eating him up more than he should let it, he knew. But it still stuck with him.
“Pack your things. Your mother’s, too. I’m taking both of you back with me.” Gus blurted out, not even bothering to turn and look at his son.
“Um... what?” the enormous Ukranian asked, completely confused.
Gus glared at him. “When Wendy ripped your balls off yesterday, did she stick them in your ear? I said pack your fucking things! We’re leaving!”
Yuri scowled at being insulted, but didn’t move. “Father, I don’t think Delaney would approve of you bringing us-”
“FUCK DELANEY!” Gus snapped, but he took a deep breath. In a sense though, he knew his son was right. There wouldn’t be any possibility of taking him or Ivana on this plane ride. The flight was probably already full, and he would need Delaney’s approval... or at least his money... to buy tickets. Besides, with the Feds already likely closing in on his whereabouts, travelling with more people than necessary was probably a good idea.
“We’ll have you wait a week,” Gus finally said. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t tell anyone you’re preparing to leave. Go beat up that little Cajun brat in Omaha, but don’t give any notice to SVW. They can figure out you’re not coming back on their own.”
“But what about Nathan Thunder?” Yuri asked, protesting. “What about Wendy?”
“You think I give a flying shit about Nathan Thunder?” Gus asked. “If the boy wants to fight you so badly, he can fly to Belfast and find you. As far as your sister goes...” Gus paused, biting his lower lip. “I’ll think of something.”
But Yuri wasn’t satisifed. “Why do you want us to go to Belfast? I have nothing to do with whether or not Ireland becomes free.”
“Free?” Gus broke out into a bitter laugh. “You think this crock of shit Delaney’s cooked up is going to make Ireland FREE?”
“Isn’t that what you’re going to try and make happen?”
“Try.” Gus emphasized. “Oh sure, some buildings are going to blow up. And yeah, probably a bunch of people are going to die. And maybe Saint Kitts and Nevis or some other tiny itty bitty country no one gives a shit about might pull their Olympic delegation over safety concerns. And even the staunchest Republicans in Belfast aren’t going to sign up for this madness, not when they see how much public support is against us.”
“I thought the CLF would be clear of any direct involvement...”
“Oh yes. But the moment anyone opens their mouth about how this is a sign the British can’t protect us, every fucking newspaper in Europe is going to accuse us of using a tragedy for political gain. Public sentiment for us will be nonexistant, and that’s BEFORE anyone figures out the connection. Which will happen. The moment the second or third bomb goes off, every fucking operative in Britain is going to be on the case. And if that’s not enough, they’ll ring up the Americans for -assistance. You think the CIA and Scotland Yard can’t put two and two together? And we’ll be fucked harder than a Derry whore on Saint Patrick’s day.”
“And you know what the funniest thing is?” Gus asked, looking over at Yuri. “It’s that I think Delaney knows every single bit of that is going to happen. But he’s getting old. This is his last chance, and he’d rather see the Celtic Liberation Front die in a fire, all of us included, than lying on his death bed bemoaning that he failed at his life’s one great mission.” He sighed. “I always knew that fucker was going to be the death of me.”
“So why go? And why drag Mother and I into it?”
“I’m going because I don’t have a choice. He’ll kill me if I didn’t. Besides... whatever his motives are.. I owe that man my freedom. And at least I’ll be home again. God, it wasn’t until he told me I was going that I realized how much I missed it.” He paused, feeling emotion rising in him, and taking several seconds to choke it down. “As far as you go... maybe with you by my side, I might just have a chance of surviving this after a-”
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Gus froze, and looked at Yuri uncertainly. He glanced at the clock sitting on the bedstand... twenty til four. Had Mahoney and O’Brien arrived early... or would it be a far less desirable visitor?
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
The second round of knocking was more impatient, and Gus swallowed hard. He looked at Yuri once, then walked out of the bedroom, heading towards the front door. He didn’t bother with the peephole- there’d be no escaping from whoever was on the other side of that door, and one way or another, they’d be taking him away, either to the airport or jail. Gus gritted his teeth, and grabbed the handle, yanking the door open.
He was never more relieved to see Mahoney and O’Brien in his life.
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