Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Do you remember me?” Mitch asked, and then corrected carefully, “Do you remember us?” He eyed the old man in the pushchair with a mixture of burning hatred and disbelief. Could this really be the same figure that haunted his nightmares? The source of all terror? This pitiful, bony wreck of a man?

Beside him, Tiny stirred. Mitch had pondered long before selecting whom he should bring along with him on this particular call. His lawyer, Mr. Gains, of course. They needed everything kept strictly legal, and Gains, used to Mitch’s ways, knew to look the other way when he should, such as during the application of judicial pressure.

But Mitch had three of the boys with him also, those he deemed most deserved to come. Those who should see this—Tiny, Billie, and Tom.

Did they all feel as shocked as he at being admitted to Morton Fink’s parlor and seeing what their old enemy had become? Old. Old. Frail. But perhaps, judging by the hard gleam in the man’s eye, not entirely beaten. Yet.

Morton Fink eyed Mitch up and down, and his thick lips twisted. “I remember you. One of my boys.”

His boys. God help the lad who found himself in this monster’s hands. Discipline and harsh words—never a whisper of love.

Love. Mitch’s mind darted to Tessa. Nearly a week had passed since the night she asked him, in the sanctity of her bed, to change. She’d spent every night since in his arms, her body cleaving to his in the dark. And he nearly dared hope her feelings for him might be changing. That, more than anything—even the desire for revenge—had brought him here today.

“And you, and you—and you.” Fink’s gaze moved from face to face, ignoring only Gains before switching back to Mitch. “You were the worst of them. Now I hear you’ve made a name for yourself.”

“Yes.”

“As a bully and a brute.” Fink virtually spat the words. “Can’t get more out of a gutter than you put into it. Scum, that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“And you’re a mean old bastard.” Mitch caressed the words. “That’s all you ever were. Why don’t you ask us why we’re here? It isn’t a social call.”

“I didn’t expect it was. You ran when you were—how old? Thirteen?”

“Fourteen. Just after the last time you beat me. I still have the scars.”

The old man leaned forward. “Well, bully for you. You come here to whine about it? Or do you want me to say I’m sorry? I’m not. A hard hand was the only chance you lot had of moving out of the slime where you were born. I tried. Obviously, in certain cases, I failed.”

“I—we—didn’t come for an apology.”

“Good. You won’t get it. Why are you here then?”

“This is my lawyer, Mr. Gains. He tells me you still own Carter’s. The new man there’s just an agent. You’re still living off the funds that should be used to fill those boys’ stomachs.”

“What of it?”

“I want to put in an offer.”

“I fail to understand what you mean.”

Impatience joined the other emotions beating a tattoo inside Mitch’s head. “I want to buy the place.”

Beside him, Tiny, Billie, and Tom stirred. He hadn’t told them why they were coming here today. He imagined they thought he wanted to rough Fink up. They liked that prospect.

“Carter’s isn’t for sale.”

“Everything’s for sale, Mr. Fink. Name your price.”

Fink’s eyebrow quirked, and his cold gaze moved over Mitch slowly. “That wealthy, are you? And how did you acquire such wealth? No, don’t tell me—through blackmail, no doubt, usury and other illegal activities.”

“Yes.”

Fink gave a sniff. “As I said, the blood will tell.”

Mitch kindled. “You don’t know what kind of people were behind me.” Even he didn’t know.

“Oh, but I do.” Fink sneered. “I’ve seen it over and over again. Dropped by a whore, no doubt—and got by some lowlife no better than he should be. I did my best to eradicate all that from you—from each of you.”

Tiny, who tended to react readily, could stay silent no longer. “Is that why you whipped us bloody and raw?”

“Yes.”

“Starved us?”

“No, Tiny,” said Billie, beside him. “That was ’cause of his greed. The less coin he spent on food for us, the more he could put in his pocket.”

Fink waved a hand. “Spare me your moaning. You all managed to survive, even if you have apparently sunk to your lowest natural levels.”

“We are what you made us,” Mitch stated.

“Wrong—you’re what you made yourselves, in your case the self-styled King of Prospect Avenue, isn’t that it? Ha!”

“I want to buy Carter’s. If you don’t sell to me, you’ll regret it.”

“What do you want with the place? I can tell you, it’s not a good proposition, certainly no money maker. Not worth your time. Anyway, what could you possibly do to me?”

“I’ll expose what goes on inside that place. I’ll send somebody in to take a look at the books. I’ll—”

“That’s not what I meant. Anyway, inspectors have already barged in—some bunch of do-gooders who have no idea what it takes to ride herd on a bunch of evil-minded young criminals.” Fink had no idea those do-gooders included Mitch’s wife. “What I’m asking, King Prospect, is why you want to buy an orphanage.”

The boys all looked at him; no doubt they wanted the answer to that question, too. For twelve years they’d done their best—singly and collectively—to get shed of the place. Why return to it now?

“I want to make improvements, bring the place up to nineteenth-century standards.”

“Again, why?”

“My reasons don’t concern you. But maybe I want to improve the lives of the poor sods stuck there.”

Fink began to laugh, not a pretty sound. Mitch remembered him laughing like that when he beat the boys, as if genuinely amused. “That,” he said, “is a joke. All of you get out of my sight before I call the police.”

“Mr. Carter,” Gains said, “we should leave.”

“No,” Mitch told the lawyer. “I’m not done. Fink, you can either sell to me now and get benefit from the money, or I’ll wait—until you’re dead.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just saying. You’re not looking too good. How much time do you think you have left?”

“I’m not sick, just old. A few infirmities, mostly caused by rich living.” Fink smiled again. “You’ll have to watch out for that, given your lifestyle. I’ll thwart you by living a good many years yet.”

“You sure about that?” Mitch glanced at his companions. The boys all stared, rapt. Mr. Gains gazed away into the near distance. “Fright can kill a man, or at least hasten his demise.”

Fink’s lips pulled tight.

“Live here alone, do you?” Mitch asked.

“I have servants, as you’ve seen—both human and mechanical.”

“There must be a whole lot of people besides us who hate you. Boys turned into men, those who survived.”

Fink stared into Mitch’s eyes for a long moment. Suddenly his composure broke. “Get out of my house. Get out. Get out!”

“We’ll go. But you give my offer some thought. Send me a message when you’re ready to sell. I’m on Prospect Avenue.”

“You’ll fry in Hell first.”

“Mr. Carter.” Gains touched Mitch’s arm.

“Think on it,” Mitch urged Fink again, and they filed out the way they used to leave the dining hall at Carter’s after one of their meager meals, in a silent chain.

Outside on the sidewalk, the sunlight had faded. The three boys clustered around Mitch, and Gains stepped away to the car.

“Mitch,” said Tiny, completely forgetting the title of Boss he normally used, “what was that all about?”

“Yeah,” said Tom, “why in tarnation would you want to buy that rat hole? Or have anything to do with it?”

Mitch eyed them in turn. “Don’t it bother you that it’s all still going on? Sure, there’s another man in place at the head, but from what I’ve been told, it’s no better inside. And Fink’s still in control, giving the orders, living off the fat those boys never see.”

“Well, sure it bothers me,” Billie said, squinting up his eyes like a boy in pain. “But to buy an orphanage, Boss. What you gonna do with it?”

“Hire somebody to run the place right, make sure the boys get fed and see a doctor when they need one. Maybe make sure they learn a trade.”

All three of his employees stared at him like he’d caught fire there on the curb.

“But why, Boss?” Tiny emphasized. “You’re no do-gooder.”

“Well, maybe I should be. A man has to think about more than his future, you know, in the end. At least, he does if he wants to be proud of himself.”