The Hand that Feeds

by Jake Nantz

Dylan Videtich waited for the mark to arrive, every morning the same. Ten minutes early, smile at any pretty girls, high five some co-workers, go inside the foreman's trailer for coffee. Idiot. You'd think the witness protection people would at least have him vary his routine. Dylan was almost insulted.

A glance at the time and here he was, ten minutes till. Sean Garrity was tall, fair skinned, with pale, reddish-blond hair and a limp. The limp was fake, taught to him by the feds in order to mask his normal gait.

He seemed happy, free. D umb bastard.

Dylan remembered the instructions clearly. “You get him for me, Dylan. For my little girl. He owes her. He owes his life.” Dylan thought that could be arranged quite nicely.

***

Sean grinned, an unconscious reaction to the news. Papa O'Malley got caught, and the fear would be over soon. Sean and his family could live out their new life knowing that Papa couldn't reach past the FBI. Better yet, Karen would never need to know the real reason Papa wanted him dead.

As he neared the construction site, he checked out the women in the café across the street. Two rather ordinary-looking blondes and a slender brunette with a cigarette. He smiled at the brunette and winked at the bustier blonde. Some days being married was a crying shame. December 17 th , with Kristi O'Malley, had been one of those days.

She was so cute, that little butt, and the tiny buds pushing against the front of her shirt. He couldn't help himself. Any man would have done the same, right? Hell, that little tramp had wanted it, whatever she told her father. Fourteen years running guns for Papa and the man trusted that lying little bitch over Sean.

Didn't matter now. The old man was goin' down and Sean was the catalyst. What a great day.

About ten yards from the jobsite, Sean's smile faded. In the alley next to the café, a homeless man dug through the trash. Sean knew the trash had been picked up just yesterday. And yet here was the same bum he'd seen off-and-on all week. In the same alley. Trying too hard not to make eye contact.

Sean averted his gaze and turned into the jobsite. He headed straight for his foreman's trailer, locking the door behind him. Sean picked up the phone and pulled Special Agent Franklin's number from his wallet. Images of Papa and Kristi played through his head.

The suit answered on the first ring. “ Franklin .”

“They found me, and they're right across the street. You gotta get us outta here.”

Franklin blustered, still half asleep. “Calm down. You're being—”

“Don't fucking tell me to calm down! My family and I are in danger, we're your responsibility, and there's a guy across the street that's acting way out of place. Get. Us. Out.”

“Hold on, I've got two people on site there already. I'll get it checked out.”

Sean went to the window and peeked through the blinds. The bum was still there, milling around trying to look busy. Two black cruisers pulled up and blocked the entrance to the alley. Rather than run, the bum played stupid while the agents flocked around him, cuffed him, and questioned him.

Outside the office, Sean could see that the activity had drawn a lot of interest. Everyone craning their necks to get a better view. Everyone except the brunette. She looked right at the trailer window. Right at Sean. Waving something at him.

Then he recognized it. Kristi O'Malley's nightie. He felt wet warmth on his left leg as his bowels let go.

The brunette smiled, reached into her purse.

***

Dylan fished the remote detonator out of her purse and flashed Garrity a smile. Rape a twelve-year-old and then rat on her pop? Don't think so.

She clicked the button and the trailer erupted, showering the feds, the bum, the café, and the crowd with scrap metal and wood. Placing the detonator back into her purse, she put on a concerned face and mixed into the rubbernecking crowd. It was hard hiding the smile.