TL;DR Press Word Herd
Prompts: Henchman & Family Secret
[Did not place]
The harsh crunch of cartilage echoed through the still quiet of the boxing gym. A nasal howl followed, spit and blood lending a wet sound to the noise.
“Now,” Mikey straightened up, easing out his fingers, “has Mr Monroe made his displeasure clear?”
The pitiful drug pusher frantically nodded amidst whimpers, nursing his broken nose between clasped hands,
“Then get out of here.”
He half-crawled half-limped towards the back exit of the gym. Mikey did not even bother to watch him go. Instead, he walked over to the small back office, accepting an ice pack from Crawford, another of Monroe’s enforcers.
“Thanks, Crawf.” He hissed as the chill penetrated through the initial swelling. “Evelin won’t be happy if I come home with another obvious injury for Jack to question.” That Mikey Strachan was the top enforcer for local gangster Ashley Monroe had never been a secret between himself and his wife. But for the last eighteen years, since their son was born, Evelin had insisted that Jack be kept innocent of what his father truly did. So Jack had grown up believing that his father coached at Monroe’s Boxing Gym, riding out the fading glories of his youth.
Crawford blew out his cheeks. “Isn’t it about time Jack got told the truth, Mikey?” An innocent enough question but it set Mikey’s teeth on edge. Especially today.
Grabbing the scruff of Crawford’s collar, Mikey yanked him out of his chair. “You really trying to tell me how to raise my son?”
He spluttered against the sudden pressure on his windpipe. “A-alright, Mikey, just a q-question!” He held up his hands. “No offence meant, mate.”
Mikey growled, shoving the other man towards the doorway. “Go get the next one.” There was always someone who required a more personal intervention on behalf of Mr Monroe.
Only once Crawford had gone did Mikey rummage through his jacket pocket for his scuffed mobile. His son laughed himself silly over the antiquated model, but Mikey preferred it. Simple and straightforward: how life should be.
1 new message.
Steeling himself, Mikey pressed the ‘read’ button, scanning down the bold black text.
Just heard back! I got in, Dad!
His knees buckled. Now what was he supposed to do? Once this got out… He was finished. He knew first-hand what happened to people who hid things from Monroe. He was usually the one doing it.
Shuffling from the office, Mikey almost collided with Crawford escorting another lowlife who thought they could cross Monroe. He side-stepped them with barely a second glance.
“Mikey? Where you going?”
“You have a go, Crawf,” he mumbled over his shoulder. “Need to deal with something.” Best to confront this head-on.
Above the gym itself was a suite of stylish offices. Amidst the crisp carpets and tasteful décor, Mikey stuck out like a sore thumb. He swallowed, uncomfortable despite the polite nods he received. He hadn’t gone all this time as Monroe’s right-hand man without earning a little respect of his own.
When he reached the desk of Monroe’s personal secretary, she was quick to phone through on the direct line. His request for a meeting was granted immediately. As he entered the lavish office, Monroe immediately stood up from his desk.
“Mikey!” he beamed. He made to clasp Mikey’s hand but caught sight of the still reddening knuckles. His brows pinched. “Is there a problem downstairs?”
“No, sir. Business as usual.” Mikey spoke around a dry tongue. “But I… I need to hand in my notice.”
“Hand in your notice?” The frown deepened further as Monroe crossed his arms, perching on the edge of the desk. “Our line of work doesn’t usually involve resignations, Mikey.” He studied the other man. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Jack.” Mikey looked anywhere but Monroe. “He’s just got accepted… into police training.”
“Police?” The single sharp word bounced around the office. Mikey flinched. “Your kid is going into the police?”
“I know! He’s always wanted to do it. Look, I know it’s a confli—”
One upward flick of Monroe’s open hand was enough to silence him mid-syllable. “How long have we known each other, Mikey?” His lips drew into a thin line.
“Twenty-five years, sir.”
“Twenty-five years.” He drew in a deep breath before exhaling loudly. “And how did you think this was going to work out, Mikey? Jack being a bobby on the beat?”
“I—I don’t know, sir. I hoped he might not make the cut—”
Monroe cuffed him upside the head. “Never wish your kids to fail, Mikey!” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, screwing his face momentarily. “Let’s get this sorted.”
Mikey swallowed hard. “Mr Monroe, sir—”
But Monroe ignored him. Instead, he laid a heavy hand on Mikey’s shoulder, steering him out of the office. The thought of resisting never even entered Mikey’s head.
“Ruth,” Monroe addressed his personal secretary, “Mikey’s son has got into the police. Spread the word.”
Mikey felt his stomach clench. “What’re you—”
“Good parents don’t stand in the way of their kid’s dreams, Mikey.” Dropping his hand, Monroe straightened his suit jacket, gold cufflinks gleaming. “Your kid wants to be in the police? I’ll make sure no one touches him. And,” he slid a pointed glance towards Ruth, “nobody is going to tell him about this either.”
“I’ll inform your contacts this is all in the strictest confidence, Mr Monroe,” she confirmed, fingers rattling over the computer keyboard.
Slack-jawed, Mikey stared at Monroe. “I didn’t think—”
“Don’t pay you to think, Mikey,” he snorted. “You’ve been loyal to me for over two decades. It’s not your fault your kid decides to stick on the straight and narrow.” He paused, considering something. “But,” he drew the word out, “there is something you can do for me.”
Mikey’s breath quickened. “What?”
“Make sure your kid gets his dream.” Monroe slung his arm around Mikey’s shoulders, grinning. “But maybe see how interested he is in the British Transport Police over Criminal Investigations, eh?”
C.A. Raine 