In Boston St Valentine's Day Is an Irish Holiday
Chapter 5
Mike sighed, puffed out his cheeks, and let his breath escape as if he were blowing up a balloon. “Jack, Eira is not in Japan. She’s in Bali, accompanying that South African industrialist, Pieter Detoit. In Hawaii, she told the press she was involved with an American businessman from Boston, and that she had finally found the man she wanted to spend her life with and have children with. Now, just a couple of weeks later, she’s acting like arm candy for Detoit. Something isn’t right, and I have people I trust asking questions.”
Mike’s revelation hit me like a baseball bat to the ribs. I felt sick, bile rising in my throat. Why would Eira betray me so quickly? Was she really that shallow? Did money mean more to her than a relationship? I was beyond devastated. I was crushed.
I hurt, and that hurt quickly turned into anger. At least I kept my emotions in check. I didn’t start weeping, didn’t make threats, or do the things people often do when they’re betrayed by someone they cared about. My experiences in college had tempered me against reacting that way.
I’d been betrayed before by a woman I thought was the one. For a moment, the humiliation rushed back. I had opened my heart to the girl of my dreams, dated her for over a year, and was ready to pop the question, only to learn she had already said yes to the son of her father’s business partner. The real humiliation was that we were still together when she agreed to him. I had been played then, and it sounded like I was being played again.
“Mike, why are you taking such an interest in what happens between Eira and me? You don’t have a dog in this fight,” I said. “Heck, I’m not even Irish. I’ve accepted that Eira is fickle; this isn’t the first time I’ve been dumped for someone better than me. In college, a woman I loved dumped me under similar circumstances. It hurt, but I picked myself up and moved on. It just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”
“Jack, I run one of the biggest gangs in Boston. There isn’t a bookie in the city who doesn’t pay tribute to me. You name the illegal activity, and I’ve got my finger in it. The only things I won’t touch are drugs and human trafficking. Those are lines I won’t cross. I don’t want to stand before the Lord and answer for that.”
“It’s time I do something right to balance the ledger, if you will. Let me help you and Eira,” Mike said sincerely. “If anything feels right, it’s the two of you together.”
Mike’s offer to get Eira and me back together sounded sincere enough, but he hadn’t explained how he knew that Eira and this Pieter Detoit were involved. I hoped he was wrong, that this was some huge mistake or even a prank.
“Mike, how do you know that Eira and Detoit are in Bali together? The last time I talked to her, she was finishing up her photo shoots and was supposed to appear on a TV program,” I said. “Unless you have proof, I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t want to show you this, but here,” Mike said, thrusting his phone into my face.
I took the iPhone from him and saw that a video was already queued up; all I had to do was hit play. It began in a language I didn’t understand—probably Japanese, I thought. The video opened with Eira and a man, whom I assumed was Detoit, sitting on a couch while being interviewed by a host. It looked like a Japanese version of an American late-night talk show. Detoit kept staring at Eira, almost leering. From her body language, it was clear she was completely fine with the situation.
The video then showed them walking into a posh restaurant in Tokyo. She held tightly onto his arm as they walked, I doubted you could slip a sheet of paper between them.
The last clip showed them frolicking on a beach in Bali. Eira was topless, wearing a barely-there bikini bottom. Her exposed chest was blurred out, but it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bikini top. She looked like she was having a good time—too good of a time, if you ask me.
I dropped the phone and bolted for the front door, barely making it outside before the bile surged up my throat and I retched into the bushes. Mike followed, steadying me so I didn’t collapse face-first.
Mike helped me back into the house and steered me into the bathroom. I leaned over the sink, rinsing my mouth again and again, trying to wash away the sour burn of bile. When I finally looked up at my reflection, I didn’t like what stared back. I saw a broken man, someone who had once again fallen in love too fast and was paying for it emotionally. What made it even worse was the date, February 14th St Valentine’s Day. Never again, I resolved.
I came out of the bathroom as Mick returned with something for us to eat. He handed each of us a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of juice. We sat there quietly. They ate, and I tried to, but no one said a word.
I sat there thinking about my future and how I wanted to proceed. Mike sat across from me, watching closely. I knew he wanted to say something but chose not to. Mick ate, completely unaware of what had happened while he was gone, content just to have something to eat and to act as driver and bodyguard to his boss.
After we finished, Mike looked at me and asked, “What do you want to do, Jack? How can I help?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Eira made a fool out of me, and I’m done with her. Let her be in peace. People in Boston will see what kind of person she is—that’s enough for me. I just want to move on. The sad part is that everything here will remind me of her: my job, my friends, the city. I think I want a change, Mike. What that will be, I don’t know.”
As an after thought I asked Mike to see if he could get in touch with her through his “channels”. I never did get a response.
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