#mw-no.3

Beck had a terrible day at the office. The Mayor had sent him handwritten notes from thirty different meetings to type up, and the man’s handwriting was indistinguishable from a toddler’s scribbles. He was typing up the last page of the final report when the day went from terrible to somehow worse.

Office Martin Sandallo walked in, blue police uniform crisply pressed, one thumb hooked through a belt loop.

“Hello there, Beck.”

“Officer.”

Beck nodded his head at the man—he wasn’t an unusual face. In fact, they met up frequently at nights with the guys, but there he usually went by Fat Marty in those circles, to distinguish from Little Marty, Martin Everly.

Fat Marty held out a folder to him, just a plain manilla folder.

“For you. For him. You know what I mean.”

“I do. Thanks, Officer.” Beck plastered a smile on his face, watched the man tip his hat and exit, then whipped the folder open. Inside was a printed letter, one page, from one member of the Connell family to another. They were discussing Pat, and how to best go about confronting him with their new ‘leverage’.

The details of the document were incredibly vague, and he couldn’t be certain, but the heaviness settling in his gut knew that the leverage was that briefcase. This piece of paper could ruin Simon’s life, if and when Pat found out what the Connells had.

He pulled out his phone, and texted Simon.

Hey. Just got a letter for Pat. It’s from Connells, about ‘leverage.’ I think it’s the briefcase.

After a few seconds of no response, he sends another.

What should I do? I’m supposed to deliver, and he’s having me over for dinner.

Simon, what do I do?

His palms were getting sweaty, staring at the phone, waiting for an answer. Eventually, one popped up.

Give him the letter. I’ll take care of it.

Then another.

Ma made lasagna btw. See you at dinner.

Beck squeezed his eyes shut. Dinner with his boyfriend, his boss, and a letter like a loaded gun—this wasn’t going to end well.