Anger and Abuse

Maggie’s World

Maggie Drake turned her key in the door to unlock her showroom, ready to get to work. The furniture shop that she ran mostly as a front to her father’s drug business gave her an opportunity to interact with normal people, which was a good thing most of the time. She also acted as the face of the Drake real estate holdings, which seemed to be multiplying all the time.

The cozy furniture store was tucked away amongst other shops near Jackson Square. It didn’t have the foot traffic—or drunken revelry—with which Bourbon Street was blessed, but they had enough lookers and customers to keep the doors open. Even if she made no sales, the store would have been a success for her father’s purposes. The fact that she broke even during her first year in business had been a pleasant surprise.

The showroom featured a circular layout of all the areas of a home: bedroom, living room, dining room, and office. She imported and sold the best hand carved wooden furniture for every part of a house. Ornately carved headboards were her most popular product, so the bedroom section of the store dominated the space. Matching bedroom sets seemed to be most in demand, even at the outrageous prices she charged for her handmade pieces.

Maggie dreamed someday of separating herself from her father’s pursuits and becoming a legitimate business person. Checking in each day and working from nine to five, not worrying about drug wars and revenge hits, seemed like a paradise out of her reach.

Sighing as she thought about the plight of her life, Maggie turned over the “open” sign on the door and flipped on the lights. She walked through the furniture to make sure nothing needed to be unwrinkled or fluffed. Tonja, who worked the evening shifts, usually did a good job cleaning up, but it never hurt to double check.

A burst of sound came from the front door, the bell hanging over it ringing, accompanied by the grunting cries of Marco Breaux as he dragged himself through it. From the other side of the room, Maggie could see that his normally toned skin was flushed either from exertion or fright. His eyes shifted from almost closed, to squeezed in pain. When he was through the door, he stumbled a few more steps and collapsed in front of the living room section of furniture.

When he wanted or needed to, Marco could clean up into a handsome man. She didn’t know where he’d been, but the dingy white T-shirt and dirty jeans he wore let her know that he apparently hadn’t wanted to clean up last night. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn if he had been out all night with the club fiends, or perhaps hanging out at the warehouse with the drug addicts. Marco lived on the edge, and she’d seen him in dire straits more than once.

Crossing the room, Maggie walked past Marco to the door and locked it. She returned to him, sinking down to one knee. “What happened?” she asked.

Marco rolled onto his back. The lower part of his shirt was stained red with blood and torn near his ribcage. Maggie pulled the garment up and tried to assess the damage.

“Got ambushed on the way home from the club,” he said, gasping.

“Is this from a bullet?” she asked. Amidst the blood smeared over his abdomen, Maggie could see a small divot in his skin a few inches from his navel.

Lifting up his head to look down at his body, Marco groaned. “Yeah, there might be another one somewhere. Feel better already.”

Maggie snorted. Even though Marco’s recuperative powers might have been above average, but it would take more than a few minutes to get over bullet holes. “Do I even want to know who shot you?”

“One of The Company guys,” he said, his head falling back to the carpet.

“What did you do to deserve this?”

Marco looked down his nose at her, his breathing still ragged. “You have no faith in me, do you?”

“Let’s see,” Maggie said, tapping her lips, “I know you, so not much.”

“Thanks a lot. I didn’t do nothin’,” he said.

Maggie sat back on the floor beside Marco. He was no longer bleeding, so she didn’t have to worry about the carpet. She didn’t like to think of herself as heartless, but Maggie had long ago come to the realization that her mindset was much different than most of her fellow Family members. When their actions got them in trouble, she usually did not feel sorry for them. By her association with Drake, she had no choice but to participate in some shady dealings, but she did not like doing so and avoided criminal activity as often as possible. Marco and those like him accepted crime and morally wrongful conduct as the norm.

Fitting into society was a dream that Maggie realized would probably never come true. Her mother had prepared her early on for a life on the fringes of society. Working as a receptionist made that easy for them, as Maggie’s mother did not have the resources to provide for life on a stage. So they’d lived day to day, mostly in their small apartment on the outskirts of the city. Maggie’s mother had gently told her that she shouldn’t expect to fall in love with a nice doctor, or grow up to be a lawyer. She didn’t have a blue print of what life would be like. Most other people did, she supposed. Though her mother tried to prepare her for life with Drake, Maggie knew that nothing could have done that.

“Were you pushing on the east side?” Maggie asked.

Marco shrugged, then whimpered at the pain that caused. “So what if I was. They don’t own this town.”

Maggie shook her head. “No, they don’t own the town, but we know what happens when we sell on the east side, just like they know what happens when they sell on the west. It’s better for everyone if we avoid antagonizing each other.”

“The east side is better business,” Marco said, his voice a shrill whine.

Maggie reached out lightening fast and punched him in the stomach, not hard enough to steal his breath, but hard enough to irritate his wound. “You know it’s not all about the sale for us. If you get arrested or taken to the E.R., the Family has problems.”

Marco shifted away from her touch, his brow drawn in anger. “I know, but it ain’t right.”

“The world’s not always right. Father won’t be happy with this, but I’ll try to smooth it over,” Maggie said.

Relaxing fully against the showroom carpet, Marco let out a labored breath. “Thanks. I won’t mess with them again.” He put his hand over the bullet hole. “You going to do anything about this?” he asked.

Moving like she intended to punch him again, Maggie smiled as he flinched. “You’ll be fine. Let me move you to the back so none of the customers trip over you.”

Maggie sat in the back of the main hall, waiting for the throng of Family members to empty out. Smiling people walked past her, apparently pleased with yet another happy pep talk from Warin Drake. Their leader had been decidedly upbeat for this week’s meeting. He’d talked about how business seemed to be booming, as if the declining society all around them was a good thing. Drake had even mentioned that the furniture store was making a profit. For some reason only his duplicitous mind surely knew, he’d used none of his usual scare tactics.

The eerie shades of light from the flickering torches lining the walls cast dancing shadows across the floor. The great hall seemed to double in size with the family gone and no one to fill the chairs and tables. It seemed a much happier place when full of the Family, even if many of them had a dark and dreary disposition.

Drake remained on his platform talking with a petite blonde after everyone else was gone. As Maggie approached, she noted with disgust the way he reached out to hold the young woman’s hand. In response, the blonde smiled bashfully at him and twirled her hair. After having watched her father seduce so many members of his flock over the years, the fake courtship seemed so unnecessary.

Moving beside the blonde, Maggie put on her best smile. “Father, could I speak to you?” she asked.

“Of course, Maggie,” he said, then waited expectantly.

Maggie looked to his companion. “Alone?”

Tension creased his brow for a moment, then the man smiled. “Of course. Trisha, why don’t you go wait for me in the living room. I’ll bring us some cocktails in a moment.”

“I’d love to, Warin,” she said. The much older man watched his prey intently as she walked away.

When they were alone, Drake’s charming act melted away. “What is it?” he asked.

“Marco had an altercation with a few of The Company’s thugs.”

Drake shook his head. He had a high tolerance for his people’s mistakes. It took more than one stupid transgressions to get his ire. Like Stephan, though, Marco had a history of getting into trouble. “Was he dealing in the east?”

“Yes, and he’ll probably continue. He just can’t seem to get it into his head that selling there is dangerous,” Maggie said. Part of her wished the Family lost the ability to conduct the drug business. Her logical mind told her that no matter how much she deplored their pursuits, they were necessary to keep the Family afloat.

“What did they do to him?” Drake asked.

Maggie pointed to her stomach to mark the spot. “Two slugs in the gut. He bled like a stuck pig.”

Clinching his fists, Drake peered off over her head in thought. “My flock is getting entirely too sloppy for my tastes.”

“I agree completely. Someone is gonna get caught big, and there are going to be some questions we can’t answer.”

“I’ve been in New Orleans far too long for the likes of Marco Breaux to run me out. Where is he?” Drake started toward the far end of the dining hall.

“Resting in his cottage as far as I know,” Maggie offered. She didn’t know what Drake had planned, but it had been a long time since she’d seen such an intense fire in his dark eyes.

Storming through the house behind her father, Maggie wondered what might happen when they reached the hapless Marco. It wouldn’t surprise her if Drake made an example of the man by filleting him on the spot. Word of such a harsh reaction from their leader would certainly make the minions reluctant to do anything even marginally against his wishes.

For all the faults Marco had, though, he also had a lot of street smarts and connections that the Family needed. He’d gotten away with a lot over the years by being worth more than the trouble he caused. Maggie didn’t think that he’d tilted the balance out of his favor with the recent clash, but she also never could tell what her father was thinking.

They emerged from the dark of the manor into a moonless Louisiana night, clouds hanging over their heads, blocking out the stars. The air was damp as usual, sucking water from the Gulf, cooling what otherwise might have been an uncomfortably hot wind. A magnolia tree lined path led to the cottages where Drake hosted the more elite Family members. Almost no light infiltrated through the canopy, forming a pitch black tunnel.

Marco lived in the first cottage. He’d joined the Family long before Maggie, so he had a much older relationship with her father. Marco normally got first choice when it came to luxury offerings to the flock. He’d chosen his home because of its proximity to the main house. All the cottages had one main room with a place for a bed and a kitchenette. Drake allowed them sparse furnishings from the Family account. Most of the tenants picked up odds and ends from the French Quarter to add a personal flavor.

After Drake knocked on the door and called to Marco, it only took a moment for him to answer the door. “Father,” he said. Marco was dressed in a white tunic that hung down to his knees, his dark hair a mess. His face still bore the bruises inflicted earlier in the day.

“How are you feeling?” Drake asked.

The darker man shrugged. “Better all the time. You want to come in?”

Nodding, Drake entered the small home with Maggie on his heals. Marco closed the door behind them and followed them to the middle of the room. A pile of dirty clothes sat in the center of the circle they formed, and matching stacks surrounded them. Many of the Family members living in the cottages had to pair with another for the privilege, whether they had a romantic relationship or otherwise. Marco, however, clearly lived in a bachelor pad.

His dark eyes darting from Drake to Maggie, Marco shifted on his feet nervously. “I’m really sorry about having a run-in with The Company today,” he said.

Maggie noticed Drake’s jaw clenching as he stared at his disciple. In a movement faster than the eye could perceive, Drake burst forward. His hands wrapped around Marco’s throat in a python’s grip. Drake kept moving forward until Marco’s back slammed into the far wall, his head bouncing against the wooden slats. Marco’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head and his mouth moved without sound.

“Marco, you disappoint me,” Drake said, squeezing harder against his prey’s fragile throat. “You’ve given much to the welfare of this family and I appreciate that.” Drake lowered his head for several seconds while Marco squirmed beneath his grasp. As panic overtook the man, he grabbed Drake’s hands and fruitlessly tried to pull them away. “Don’t think, however, that because you have been well thought of in the past, you are exempt from the rules under which we all live.”

Drake looked up and gave another powerful shove against Marco. His head plunked against the wood again, his face now a dark shade of purple. “I will let you live—this time.” The gray-haired man crushed Marco’s neck one more time, then let him fall to the floor.

“Thank you,” Marco whispered through his damaged throat.