Wendy's father was a simple man who loved very few things in this world none more than his only child. He ran a bar down by the waterfront that kept a steady business catering to a regular crowd of hard working Irishmen. Wendy's father - though as Irish as they come - only worked hard at two things: brewing his homemade beer and betting on horses. Unfortunately, he was only very good at the first of those two things. But Wendy's father never cared too much about making money and the losses he incurred at the racetrack were never enough to cripple the spirit of the friendly neighborhood brewer. Wendy's mother, however, left them both when Wendy was still a baby because she was fed up with the gambling that never allowed the little family to get ahead.
In short, Wendy's whole world was her father. She took naps in the bar back room as a toddler while her father brewed his batches and sat with her dolls on the counter while her father served his loyal customers every evening. Life might have continued on in this simple way if it weren't for the ambitions of one young Irish mobster who was willing to do anything to make a name for himself. He was known only as Mack and the summer Wendy turned 7 years old, he inadvertently started a chain of events that would define the rest of Wendy's life.
"Why should I trust you, ya dirty lying Mick? What's in it for you?" The air in the room was heavy with cigar smoke and cheap cologne. The sweaty, rotund mafioso stopped his staggered pacing and turned to face the young Irishmen sitting across the room in a large wing-back chair. The other Italians stopped whispering to themselves and also starred at the lone Irish in his pseudo throne. Though he was alone, the Irishmen was not afraid. He had the Italians on his turf and even if this underground deal went sour, his people would have vengeance.
But, he told himself again, this will not go sour.
The Irishmen took a long drag from him cigar and contemplated the doughnuts he puffed into the air. When the silence began to feel uncomfortable he spoke. "What's in it for me? Joey, I'm surprised you have to ask that? You should know as well as I do that neither my boss nor yours appreciates an outsider siphoning off a portion of our hard earned revenue."
"You think we consider some potato-picking Irish fuck competition?" Joey retorted.
The Irishmen's nostrils flared slightly but he regained composure quickly and attacked from a different angle. "Point taken, my friend. The majority of customers at this fine, family owned establishment are simple Irishmen like myself. However, the one thing we can't deny is - the homemade brew is delectable. The old timer refuses to give up his secret recipe and even some of your Italian brethren have made the trek to our side of town to sample it. Let's not let this get out of hand. You help us remove this thorn in our side before it becomes a real issue... and we'll make sure the good ol' bartender leaves you his property in his will."
Now it was Joey's turn to react with slightly raised eyebrows. "Your boss is willing to give up a piece of property near the water for a beer recipe? I gotta try this shit."
"And so you shall," the Irishmen replied. "Do we have a deal?"
"Sure thing, Mick. Lead the way."
And lead the way he did. The Irishmen lead the Italians down to Kennedy's Pub one of the last pieces of property down by the water that the Irishmen's boss hadn't yet appropriated. The Irishmen waited outside and lit a cigar as the Italians kicked open the door of the pub which was not yet open for business. He listened as Wendy's father begged to be spared and a slow smile crept over his face. After the sound of a couple shots were fired, he came through the door and heard Joey say, "That was easy. We should do business with this Mick more often."
The Irishmen pulled out his own gun and quickly dispatched of Joey's two henchmen. "The name is Mack, actually, and I don't think we'll be doing anymore business," is all he said as he put a bullet between Joey's eyes. The heavy Italian fell to the floor with a thud and the look of utter surprise stayed on his face even in death.
Soon, it was Mack's turn to look surprised when a young girl came out from behind the bar covered in blood.
"Why darling, are you hurt?" Mack's voice was full of genuine concern as he knelt in front of the child. His perfectly composed plan had not considered the possibility of any causalities. When the little girl looked his eyes she said nothing but the fear and anguish were clearly present in her bright green eyes. A quick assessment of the girl's body made it clear that the blood was not her own and Mack realized that this must be the old bartender's daughter. Mack had assumed that the bartender would have a daughter closer to his own age of 19 and he was quite taken aback by the presence of a girl who couldn't possibly be even 10 years old. So, the master of schemes found himself improvising and the snap decision would forever change his life and the young girl before him.
"I'm so sorry I didn't make it in here in time, darling. Is your father... well, is he gone?"
The girl just nodded and a curly red strand of hair fell across her face. Mack gently brushed the hair away as the little girl once again look into his eyes. Only one tear slid silently down the girl's freckled cheek and then with great effort she swallowed back the rest.
"He's dead. Those men shot him dead."
"Yes, they killed your father and now I killed them. These men, these Italians," Mack said gesturing towards the dead bodies, "they wanted to take your father's bar. But they're dead now, and I won't let anyone else hurt you. Okay? You're safe now... with me." Mack stood up and held out his hand and the little girl took it, pulling herself up off the bloody floor.
"Can I bring my doll with me?"
Mack smiled indulgantly at his new charge. "Of course, we will bring all of your things. Don't worry, darling, Mack here is going to buy you all the dolls you could ever want, alright? Now, where is this doll? And, what is your name, my dear?"
"Upstairs Mack. We lived upstairs... and my name is Wendy. Wendy Kennedy."
TO BE CONTINUED...
