BOSSY BROTHERS: JOHNNY Page 8

  It’s not true. And the reason it’s not true is because I have no power. That’s another lie I bought in to. People think I’m this dangerous, powerful man who can make things happen.

  Which is sort of accurate. It’s not all that difficult to go beat the shit out of someone to make them fall in line. And once you have a reputation like that making people see your point of view and take the action you prefer isn’t very hard, either.

  But that’s all based on reputation.

  I don’t have much real power. Not outside the Way. Money only gets you so much. People with real power don’t need to bribe others with money to get what they want. They ask, they receive.

  Inside the Way though, well… if one of the contributors got out of line and, for instance, refused to pay me one month, I could handle that myself. Beat them up, make them agreeable, hurt them. Or I could call a number, leave a message on a phone, and my problem child would fall back in line and become part of the solution or be taken out of the equation all together.

  But even within the Way I’m just a fuckin’ banker. If I ask for a favor from some higher-up, unless it has something to do with the money I collect every month, they’re gonna tell me no.

  Every time, they’re gonna tell me no.

  I could ask them to leave Jesse and Joey alone, and maybe they even agree to my face. But it’s a lie and nothing more. They give no fucks about me or my brothers. They give no fucks about how I feel. They give no fucks about anything other than the projected results they’re currently aiming for.

  That’s the extent of my real power.

  When it comes to anyone outside of the Way, well… I don’t even bother dealing with people outside the Way. If I do, the wrong kind of assholes start to take notice of me. Assholes like detectives, and judges, and politicians. Not that the Way wouldn’t take care of that shit real quick—they would. I’m not going to prison for anything.

  But if my name started popping up in police stations and city council meetings, the Way would just cut their losses with me and move on to Joey.

  So I just toe the fuckin’ line.

  Everything about me is just an illusion. Deep down I knew this long before my father died. Hell, I probably knew it long before my uncle died.

  So why did I buy in to it?

  Secrets are seductive motherfuckers.

  They make you feel special. They make you feel included. They make you something more than what you really are.

  Of course, the seduction wears off. For all of us. That’s the way for all things. Cars. Homes. Relationships. Careers. Luxury items like boats, and jewelry, and trips to fancy places. The first time you fly first class. The first time you fly private. The first time you meet the President. The first time you kill someone. The first time you see nine zeros in your bank account.

  The first time is always special, just like the first secret.

  But every seductive secret comes with a whole bunch of fine print. Some of it so small you don’t even know it’s there until it’s too late.

  That’s another first. The day you woke up and realized you don’t matter. That nothing you do matters. You don’t have control of anything or anyone and if you disappeared tomorrow the world would keep going. People might miss you. They might think about you every now and then. They might even shed a tear.

  But here’s the cold, hard reality: You don’t matter.

  In the big scheme of things, you make your mark, you die, and then others come along and wipe your mark off the map.

  Even the greatest thinkers and inventors in history will have their mark erased eventually. Put into a footnote at the end of a research paper or a book only because the person who took your place stood on your shoulders.

  And very few people who have ever walked this Earth even get that far. Like… almost no one. Most presidents and kings don’t even get that far.

  That kind of residual influence is meant for the Albert Einsteins and Steve Jobs of the world, not the Bostons.

  So here I am.

  On a boat in the Caribbean heading towards a city called Freeport so I can hook up with an old friend who came to this same conclusion just about the time I was taking over my father’s role in the Way.

  He was the one who told me to beware of success.

  He was the one who reminded me that the minute you reach the top you’re already falling.

  He was the one who showed me that there’s always a way out. It just might require a lot of blood on your hands and a very long time to get there.

  I let Megan drive this ship. Literally. I don’t think she’s gonna take me someplace weird and off schedule, but there’s no real way to know. And at this point, I’m just not sure I care. My plan is so sloppy, it barely matters if it all happens on schedule. Hell, if Megan Machette did have her own plan for me, that might work better.

  At least I’d be pointed is some kind of direction instead of all this aimless wandering I seem to be doing presently.

  So I let her take over and just sit my ass down on a bench on the back deck of the boat and watch our wake trail off behind us, internally waxing poetic about my life.

  Why do I do this shit? Why am I doing this now?

  I mean seriously, I’m here doing all this shit because Brooke Alder got me fired up over a half-assed plan to steal the money my contributors put in my bank accounts every month and use it to buy some kind of get-out-of-jail-free card using people who hate me as allies.

  We don’t even know what that looks like yet. I’m down here looking for Charlotte because I think she has answers I don’t. I think she knows shit. I think she has always known shit and that’s why she’s so fucked up. That’s why she went wild.

  But what if I’m wrong? What if she doesn’t know anything?

  And even if she does have some kind of incriminating information that could buy us that get-out-of-jail-free card, what then?

  Do I really think Brooke has an endgame in mind?

  No. Not for a fucking second. But her innocent, naive surety back in my office last week was contagious. And it gave everyone in the room a sense of hope.

  Isn’t that what she said Joey needed? Hope? Hope that we might all be able to just live our lives.

  That’s all people really want. They want to shake off that collar of dependence. They want to feel like they have choices.

  Being able to make your own choices and not have them dictated to you by circumstance—that’s the real definition of freedom, and wealth, and power.

  I remind myself that that’s why I’m here.

  For hope. Because back in my office that day we all needed it.

  Hope is seductive too. It’s Secret’s second cousin.

  Hope is more powerful as well. You can accomplish a lot of things running on the fumes of hope.

  But it’s also very fragile.

  It doesn’t take much to shatter one’s hope.

  One wrong move. One wrong comment, for fuck’s sake. One wrong piece of information can change everything just because it changes your belief in hope.

  I’m not going to let it happen to me. I’m going to silence that voice inside my head that says, “It can’t be done. It will never work,” and just pretend like it can.

  I have decided to believe.

  We dock at the Port Lucaya Marina and Megan is silent as we make our way into the marketplace. I’ve been here before, lots of times, actually. But it’s changed over the years. Before the last hurricane devastated the area it had a much bigger feel and the marketplace was always bustling and busy.

  Now it’s calm, almost empty. Most of the shops are still open but there’s plenty of residual hurricane damage that was never repaired just about everywhere you look.

  “Here,” I say, handing her a wad of American dollars. She’s still wearing the t-shirt I gave her last night but I let her cut a pair of my jeans into shorts so she didn’t have to go out in public in boxers. “Go buy some clothes. And grab some groceries for the—”


  “Groceries?” She cuts me off. “You think I’m carting groceries back to the boat for you? Think again, buddy. I’m not hauling groceries.” She snatches the money from my hand.

  “Fine. We can get groceries together later. I’m not abandoning you. I just have to—”

  “Abandoning me?” She scoffs. “I’m not even with you. I don’t feel abandoned.”

  I just blink at her. “OK.”

  “I’ll meet you back at the yacht whenever you’re done. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  I just nod. Because I’m confused. She’s angry about something. And up until this moment I hadn’t even noticed. “Got it,” I say. “I’ll probably be a couple hours—”

  “Take your time.” And then she turns her back and walks off.

  “Fucking women,” I mutter under my breath. But I don’t have room in my brain to think about Megan Machette right now. Obviously she’s not helpless, and if I was counting on her as an ally, she’s just made it very clear that I’m on my own.

  Fine with me.

  I walk through the marketplace and come out the other side just north of the Grand Lucaya Resort. I’m meeting my friend here to have a chat and even though before that call this morning we haven’t talked since he left town almost two years ago, I probably still consider him my closest friend.

  Logan is the only one who really knew about me outside the Way. Hell, he knows far more about me and my business than my brothers do. Far more than he should, for that matter. And if the Way ever knew how much I’ve confided in him over the years they’d be hunting his ass down real quick.

  So I appreciate the fact that he not only took my call but also agreed to help me out.

  I’m skirting around an overzealous concierge in the hotel lobby who is giving me the stink eye because I look out of place when I hear someone call, “Johnny,” and find a friendly face walking towards me.

  “I got this, Perry,” Logan says, placing a gentle hand on Perry’s white blazer denoting him as staff at the resort. “He’s my guest.”

  “Good, all fine,” Perry responds with a smile. “Have a nice stay!”

  “Thanks,” Logan says. We both watch Perry walk off to harass some other dude who looks like he doesn’t belong here, and then turn to face each other.

  “Dude,” I say, bringing him in for a bro hug. “Long time, man. Feels like forever. How’s things?”

  “Things are good,” he says. He’s tanned, and smiling, and the sun has lightened his hair considerably since I saw him last. “Come on. I have a table for us. And here,” he says, handing me two wristbands. This is an all-inclusive resort so the wristbands act like cash. “I got you a room.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. We’re staying on the yacht.”

  “This is better. Trust me. They have a shit ton of security in this place and I already own most of them. The marina is a whole other set of thugs to deal with if we’re gonna keep you safe.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “They don’t even know I’m gone.”

  Logan, who has already turned away to head towards the beach, stops mid step to look at me. “You don’t really believe that, right?”

  I shrug.

  “Don’t underestimate them, Johnny. Trust me. It took me five fucking years to earn my way out and every step of the way my boss was on my ass with suspicion.”

  “That’s because you were planning shit,” I say. “I wasn’t planning anything until last week.”

  He shakes his head at me. “That was part of my point, dumbass. I planned my exit. Very carefully. And it still took me five years to make it happen. You just started this last week, brother. You’re dealing with some global assholes of epic proportions. You control a huge chunk of their money. Believe me, an impromptu trip to the Bahamas isn’t sitting right with them.”

  “It was a planned trip to Miami, thank you very much. Just regular business. They don’t know what I’m doing right now. They don’t even know I’ve been keeping my father’s yacht in a private marina in West Palm Beach all these years. They think I sold it after his death.”

  “Still,” he says, frowning. “You’re probably past the point of no return. You helped me so I’m gonna help you. Just stay here at the hotel.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say, waving off his worry.

  He’s right. About all of it. I’m a hundred percent sure that the Way knows I’m doing something off script. But I really am looking for Charlotte Kane and that’s not technically outside my list of responsibilities. Her family is one of my contributors so I should be looking in to this. And if the Way is behind her disappearance, they should’ve told me to stay out of it a long time ago.

  Logan and I don’t say much else as we make our way outside and over to the restaurant. He stops at the hostess station and whispers his name. The young girl nods her head and then invites us to follow her through the restaurant, out on the patio, and over to a secluded table under a thatched umbrella.

  After politely thanking the hostess, Logan and I take our seats. He’s wearing a pair of dark trousers and a white button-down shirt, not entirely buttoned. He runs his fingers through his hair and smiles, looking over the top of his dark sunglasses.

  “You look good,” I say.

  “Wish I could say the same for you.”

  “Retirement is treating you well, then?”

  “Got a kayak business.” Then he laughs. And I laugh. That’s how fucking absurd that statement is. “Not really mine, of course. It’s AJ’s. But he lets me help. Some days.”

  I laugh again. Trying to picture Logan running a kayak business down on Isla Holbox. AJ is his… best friend? Partner? Lover? Maybe all of those things? And they have a girl and a couple of kids down there on that Mexican island now.

  “Most days I just get in the way. But fuck it. We don’t care. We really are living the life over in Mexico. The kids, AJ, Yvette. I just never thought this would really happen. And no one’s looking for me.” He shakes his head a little. Like he can’t believe any of it.

  I lean back in my chair and let out a long breath. “So it all worked out.”

  “It all worked out,” he agrees. “I mean… I was a fuckin’ wreck when I left the city. Wasn’t even sure I was gonna go down there. I had a ticket to New Zealand and only decided to take a chance on the past at the last minute. But…” He nods. “It all worked out.”

  “I’m glad,” I say. “I’m really fuckin’ happy for you.”

  Logan and I go way back. We’re about the same age and we’ve both been involved in organized crime our whole adult lives. We met on some crossover job. These not-in-the-know government black ops guys were causing trouble for my father back in my late twenties and it turned out they were causing trouble for Logan’s boss at the time as well. We did a little tag-team deal, took them all out on an emergency clean-up job, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  I helped Logan plan his big mob boss exit a couple years back. He’s not in the Way. At least, neither of us think he is. The deal he made to get out was a real one. An exchange of services. A way to transfer power from one asshole who kept him in chains to another one who cut him free. But when you make deals with the kind of people we run with you never know if someone’s word is good. Trusting them is always a risk.

  So hell, the fact that he’s still alive is a win. And the whole living-the-good-life look he’s sporting right now is a big-ass bonus.

  “So?” I say. “What do you have for me?”

  “I can get what you need. Am getting what you need,” he stresses. “But not until tomorrow. That’s part of the reason why I got you the rooms. Just… relax for a minute. Eat too much, drink too much, swim in the fuckin’ pool.” He looks around. “I thought you said you had a guest?”

  “I do,” I say. “At least I think I do. But she’s shopping right now. Gonna meet her on the yacht later.”

  “Shit,” Logan says, taking out his phone. “You got a pic of her? I’ll send it to my security and he can head her off
and bring her here.”

  He nods over his shoulder and that’s when I notice a big local guy standing against the outer wall of the restaurant. Hands folded in front of him, eyes sweeping the area with a concentrated gaze that lets everyone know he’s on a mission and not to be fucked with.

  “No,” I say. “I don’t. But she’s white. Not just Caucasian, but fucking pale. And blonde. And wearing too-big cut-off shorts and a too-big white t-shirt because I found her practically naked and chained in a fucking dungeon on one of the Way’s prison islands a few hours southeast of here.”

  “Jesus,” Logan says.

  “I know. I probably should’ve left her there. Or killed her. Because when I went to that place I was on script. And when I left, I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah.” Logan sighs. Then looks up at his approaching security guy. “Thane, this is my friend Johnny Boston. He came here with a girl. Pale white, blonde hair—what color eyes?”

  “Blue-green,” I say.

  “Regular princess, huh?”

  “Sure.” I laugh. “The kind they lock in dungeons.”

  Then I look at Thane and repeat the details of her clothing.

  He says, “I’ll get some people on it and we’ll find her. Don’t worry.” His voice is deep and melodic the way voices are in the Caribbean. The kind of voice that makes you believe everything’s gonna be just fine because he’s gonna make sure of it.

  After he leaves I say, “So… bodyguards, huh?”

  Logan nods. Kinda chews his lip a little as he gazes out at the ocean. “Can’t be too careful.” He looks back at me. “I mean… I want to believe I got out. I think I got out. But I have two kids and two partners and I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Smart,” I say. And then I sigh and spend my own moment looking out at the sea. “So this kayak business. That’s all you do?”

  “I’m not short on money these days.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, that’s not all I do. I run a private security business.”

  “Security?” I raise my eyebrows at him.