My Departed

“My Departed”





Hi my name is Derk Deon. I am a typical Irish pup, dark brown hair, short 5’ 10’’, and 180 lbs. In case you don’t know a pup is just a nickname for really Irish looking people. I am an orphan now, and living in a gang I had grown up in. You see when I was a baby my mother died at birth and my father was in organized crime. My father was never a bad person to me the mob stayed nice to me too. This is because my father was never high in the chain of the mob. He mostly was in the muscle part when the boss was in for a deal he was in charge of it. Even the boss himself had to ask my dad, Jim, ask to do something. My dad was never in drugs, alcohol, or anything till after the death.

I once had a brother, his name was Evan. He was in a drive by when we stole some money from an enemy mob. My dad was on the job with Evan. They were coming back to the safe house when they clipped their passenger rear quarter. They flipped the car and crash into a warehouse wall. Surprisingly they survived the crash and on foot they moved two blocks with SMGs. Then they were pinned down they shot my Dad an inch from the heart. But my brother wasn’t as lucky, he died there.

After the suffering of, Glen telling me what happened we pulled ourselves together. My dad was fixed up by the mob doctor. Then when we saw each other we didn’t say a word. We both knew what had to be done. The boss approved our plan and we set out on it. We broke in to the enemy boss’ house and it was over. The guards didn’t even know we were there till we triggered the alarm on purpose. They knew who it was to cause we left a mourning card that read “To the Departed” signed “Evan Deon”. This was the end of my dad. Not physically of course he was still alive but he just wouldn’t stop drinking. He was at the club drinking and even I was into drinking at the age 14. I mean he would carry a bottle all the time and if he wasn’t drinking he was into drugs. About every other night he would go and make a drug deal and use half of it that night. The next day sell the rest for more than what he paid. Coke was his main hit. Easy to conceal, easy to use, and flushable. The cops were worse than before though.

The cops used to raid our house about once every two months. But now it was about twice a month. Nothing ever stuck though the drugs would magically disappear down the toilet. We had an informant in the police force. Real hush, hush, type of talk. Of course we made it with time to spare and hid in the guns in the underground vault. But still they kick in the door and make us get down on the floor. It’s a real pain in the neck.

Now after the raid my dad didn’t care at all right after he said, “Well I’m gonna go score some so see yea later.”

The drugs were getting out of hand even though I knew many people before him that are addicted. This wasn’t the person I wanted to call dad. So I later talked to some of his friends to see if they would help him with me.

They all said something along the lines of, “He can do whatever he wants he has lost a son and is loyal to the boss.”

So after no one would help me and told me to screw off, I decided I had to do it myself. As we went to eat dinner he had a few beers aside from the ones he had through the day I started. I asked him why he was drinking so much.

He answered with “You know why and I don’t want to talk about it.”

I said back, “Just because Evan died doesn’t mean you have to be a drunk” in sort of a frustrated tone. This angered him deeply, I would soon find out…

After a few more questions and arguing it was like a trigger from a Glock. As soon as you squeezed too hard it fired he jumped on me words slurring. Dad was a big guy but all of his drinking had made him soft and I finally pinned him on the ground. As much as I wished not to, I did. I punched him three times. The third was in the side of the temple and he was knocked out. He slept for the rest of the night on the living room floor. I was too mad to even drag him into his room.

I was in a horrible position in my room and too many ways to do what I wanted done. You see even in the mob we had Christmas and Birthdays. It was a little different though instead of toys and thing we got knives, guns, and things of such. I couldn’t count how many different handguns and brass knuckles I had. All there in my room as I sat hating my knocked out drunk father. It was hard not to do it but I guess it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Summer was about to end now and winter came. This was a good time for us because the boss didn’t do much in the winter but we all still got together. In the bar it was decorated by the boss’ I don’t even know what she was to him but that didn’t matter. Though we were all friends there were still fights among us. But it was kind of playful like they would punch each other a few times and it would be over. My dad and his buddy Quinn were going at it but it was fine until my dad knockout a tooth out of Quinn’s mouth. This was when things went bad before we knew it.

After the tooth we all turned to sip our beer while they fought. Then we heard a click. Quinn had pulled a knife and before anyone could get to him my dad had been stabbed. We brought him to the doctor but it was too late. The knife had cut a major artery in his lower chest. He was bleeding to his death.

On December 24, 2010 my father Jim Deon died at 11:59pm. We couldn’t even spend another Christmas together. I know that he was not the greatest parent in the world but he was still my dad and I loved him. The grieving stages weren’t an opinion in the mob. It was either be hard or die. So I stuck it out till I actually accepted it.

On Christmas everyone in the gang came to my house. Just about everyone else. I told to get the #@$% out of my house. Quinn stayed with me the whole day and had said “I’m so sorry” about a hundred times. The thing he didn’t understand is that yes I was sad about my dad’s death but it wasn’t that bad. He was a free person now no booze and drugs in where ever he is.

After the boss came and saw me he told me that if I ever needed anything I would have it and even offered to take me in as his own. But I said no. He wasn’t the parent I was use to. But after awhile and the funeral ended Quinn asked if I would move in with him. I told him that yes I’d move in but only till I took on my dad’s job in the gang. I was the only person he shared his tricks and knowledge to. Something I never knew about my dad he had made me the only true friend. I guess he didn’t have much else he could do.

Though I lived with him, It wasn’t like I had to follow him and his rules which weren’t there in the first place. I just self-destructed for awhile. I found drugs and sold them to get money. I drank more than ever. I boosted cars all the time though I didn’t even have a license. I got caught by the cops. Got thrown in jail several times but the mob boss would always bail me out. The money was nothing to him. Millions were in his bank account.

It’s been a year now after my father’s death and I am addicted to drugs and alcohol. It didn’t seem like it before. But now that I read what I write to you. I am. My mother had drank till I came and the people that were supposed to protect me from this environment embraced me in it. I am still in the mob and doesn’t seem like I can leave but I am going to AA meetings and stuff trying to stop. But I hope that none of you ever have to be in a place like I was. The horrible things we did in the mob. The killing that went on around me and still does. The drinking and drugs around me. It almost felt useless to try and stop after seven years of it. That’s all the far back I can remember also. Who knows how far back it went. The three people that knew me are gone never to come back till I die. To the teens and even adults that read this don’t fall in the same pit, drugs and alcohol has dug for me. They my start for you.