Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

A SUICIDE BY DEGREES

Bobby leant against the scrubbed wooden bar, waiting for Genevieve to speak. Nectar was bustling, but neither paid the patrons any mind.

“Say something.”

“What did you think was going to happen? That he would just forget about it? You’re an idiot if you thought anything other than blood on the streets would be the outcome here.”

“Frank Valasco was found dead last night,” Bobby said, their voice hushed. It hadn’t been reported to the police, and probably never would be.

“And?” She shrugged.

“He was stabbed seventy-three times in the chest.”

Genevieve looked at them as if this piece of information was no more interesting than the weather.

“Are you really going to tell me you don’t see the problem here? He’s out of control and he’s only going to get worse.”

“Are you worried about him, or you?”

“I’m not afraid of Hugo.”

“No?” There was something malicious about the way she said it. “He spent his whole life protecting you and the one time he needed you; you betrayed him.”

“I’ll get mine one way or another, don’t you worry.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Samuel threatened my wife! What would you’ve done?” They regretted the words before there were out. They knew exactly what Genevieve would have done: protect her friend. It was how she had lost Hassan.

“Rings a little hollow the second time around.”

“This is nothing like Hassan.”

“No, him you killed with your own hands.” Danger seemed to swirl around her like a deadly aura. “Two of your so-called friends finally get a chance at what you have, at love and happiness and you snuffed it out. Maybe the problem here is you.”

“There aren’t enough apologies in the world for what I did to you, and I didn’t come here to rehash the past.”

“Why are you here?”

“I want you to save Hugo!”

“You think I didn’t try? He’s a wreck. He’s hellbent on revenge, but what he really wants is to die. It’s a suicide by degrees and I don’t know how to stop it. You killed him when you let them kill Evan.”

“Help me fix this.” Bobby was desperate.

“How many are left on his list?”

“If I had to guess—five.”

“Including you?”

Bobby shook their head.

“You still don’t get it. He is going to kill you. You destroyed him. Hugo is dead, that thing walking around out there is just a corpse looking for a grave. You want to keep him alive? Run. Make it hard for him to find you because that’s the only thing that will stop him. Three down, six to go.”

“You’re going to help him, aren’t you? Help him kill Sam?”

“I don’t know.”

“He is not a perfect man, he’s not even a good one, but he raised us.”

“He abused us, turned us into killers, and took everything that mattered. The only reason you were allowed to have Dana is because she was already in the life. He murdered the man I love. I want him to suffer.” She looked like a fury from ancient Greek mythology as her eyes glimmered with hatred.

“You’ve played the long game, but you’re no better than me if you let Hugo be the instrument of your revenge. You’ll be the one killing him.”

“It’s already too late. If he doesn’t kill Sam, Sam will kill him. There is no going back for Hugo, or any of us for that matter. I’ll help him, save him if I can, but there are no happy endings here.”

“Thank you.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I might pretend for Hugo, but you and I aren’t friends and we never will be. If he kills you, I won’t shed a single tear. I hope you see my face at the end, and I hope you know it’s what I’ve dreamed about for five years.”

Bobby looked at her, seeing sincerity all over her face. They nodded once, stood, then left the bar, knowing that Hugo would come for them.