The Redeeming Affair

By Chloe Hare

Small-time criminal Mark Flint is sent to rob a jewellery store, however he gets cold feet and doesn't want to continue down the dark path he has taken. In the midst of his identity crisis, the police swarm in and arrest him. While behind bars, he familiarises himself with his arresting officer, the firm, but alluring Rachael Clarke. For re

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chloe Hare
• Release date: Dec 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781802273144

Book preview

Chapter One

Istand in a dark alleyway and check my wristwatch; just past midnight, and all is quiet in New York City. I rub my hands together in an attempt to keep warm against the bitter cold. I walk out of the alleyway, my feet splashing in a few puddles as I cross the recently rain-drenched street. Steam evaporates from the nearby manholes as I reach the opposite sidewalk and stand outside Preston’s Jewelers. This is the place that my boss, Tobias, wants me to break into and wipe clean. I don’t want to do this, but it’s the only way I can escape from this life. I’ve never broken into anything before. Tobias has always kept me in the background of his crimes, so I have no idea what I’m doing or how to get in. I case the building closely while pulling my leather gloves from my pocket and slipping them on. Smashing the window is definitely a no-go. I examine the door. It looks like I could pick the lock. I remove the satchel from my back and take out a lock pick set from the breast pocket of my charcoal jacket. I kneel down on the damp ground and examine the lock. A gunshot rings out in my head and makes me fall back as my mind is taken back to how I found myself in this situation.

Tobias’ crew sat around the burning fire awaiting his orders. He emerged into the room and immediately, his green eyes flashed towards me and Adam. He broke his gaze and announced loudly.

There’ll be no heist today. You boys have earned a break.

We all sagged with relief as Tobias walked further into the room and came to stand between me and Adam.

You boys, however, are coming with me. I have a job for you.

We glanced at each other, our brows furrowed, but got to our feet and followed him out of the dilapidated house and towards the waiting SUV.

We arrived at the docks near the Hudson River where we all climbed out the car and followed Tobias round the back of a warehouse where he stopped and turned to stare at us.

What are we doing here, boss? Adam asked.

Tobias grinned wickedly before turning his steady gaze at me.

Mark, stand beside me please. Adam, stay where you are.

I stood at Tobias’ side and looked up at him. He pulled his revolver from his pocket and offered it to me.

Take care of our dear friend, Tobias ordered.

I looked from the gun to Tobias, and at Adam who stared at me wide-eyed. I shook my head and stood back.

No, I said.

Tobias stared, eyes bulged before shrugging mindlessly and drew his firearm in Adam’s direction. Before I had a chance to intervene, he fired, hitting Adam at point blank range in the chest.

I sit on the wet ground and raise my face up to the cloudy night sky. Who am I kidding? I can’t do this. Tobias murdered Adam two days ago… for betrayal. All Adam wanted was to leave the crew and live a normal life. Losing all faith in Tobias and his crazy schemes, I stand, leave the empty satchel on the ground, drop the lock pick set and begin to walk away. I turn to take one last look at the store. My mind is made up. I won’t do it. Tobias may come after me, knowing I haven’t fulfilled my end of the bargain. I have no ties in this city, so I could run far away from here, where Tobias will never find me. I want to get as far away from my unwanted criminal life as I can, but I have no clue how. All of a sudden, I’m stopped in my tracks, deafened by the sound of police sirens closing in around me. I panic, my pulse racing. What should I do? Run or stay? Before I can decide, police cars surround me; officers emerge from their vehicles swiftly and draw their weapons at me.

Freeze! Hands behind your head, one officer orders.

I comply, slowly raising my hands and placing them on the back of my head. A female officer who is tall, lean and slim steps forward. She holsters her gun and grabs me firmly by the upper arm. She slams me against the hood of her police car with a loud bang, incapacitating me.

You’re under arrest, she barks.

She pulls my hands down to my back and snaps the handcuffs tightly around my wrists.

On what charge?

I attempt to look up at her, but she has the right side of my face firmly pinned against the car.

We had a tip off that this store was going to be hit by a 6ft male in his late twenties with long brown hair. Seems to fit your appearance.

I chance another look at her, still to no avail. Who tipped off the police? I’ve only been in New York for a couple of months, and I don’t know a soul in this city, apart from - Tobias… He set me up. Why would he do that?

Move, the female cop demands, interrupting my thoughts as she stands me back up and begins reading me my rights as I’m loaded into the back of her car.

I wake up late on Saturday morning. Yesterday, I was thrown in here. I’ve been processed, fingerprinted and photographed. Now, I await my trial hearing. I sit up, my head and neck still throbbing from the firm hand of that hot-headed policewoman. I look around my cell; three cold grey walls, eroded from the leaking pipes above, and a façade of steel bars surround me. It’s cold, wet and bleak and it smells of rot. The noise of the neighboring prisoners and the prison guards shouting back at one another unsettles me further.

How much longer am I going to be in this hell hole? one inmate shouts.

Shut up in there! a guard barks back before the sound of his baton rings out against the bars.

I rub my face vigorously and rake my fingers through my scruffy hair. I get up from my hard mattress, walk over to the opposite wall of my cell and scribble another number onto the tally. Day Two; not very long, but God knows how long I’m going to be in here. I make my way back to the bed and sit on the edge. I sigh deeply and flop back onto the uncomfortable mattress, close my eyes and drift back to where my life went so wrong.

I played with my old train set on the smelly, dirty living room floor. Dad was doing what he always did; he sat at the dining room table, smoked something that smelt horrible and ignored me completely. Mom sat on the couch and stared blankly at the wall. I got up from the dusty floor and sat beside her.

Come and play with me, I begged.

Not now, runt, Mom replied glumly.

She brushed me off and flopped back on the couch, which forced me to jump back to my feet. I wrung my fingers together and looked up at her.

What’s wrong, Mom? I asked gently.

She folded her forearm over her eyes and continued to lay still.

Leave her alone! Dad bellowed.

He jumped to his feet and stormed towards me; his face reddened as he grunted through his nostrils.

Please… not again, Mom begged.

Shut up, Dad barked.

Grabbing my arm painfully, he forcefully dragged me into my bedroom.

Now stay in here out of the way.

He tossed me towards the bed.

Stupid kid, he muttered.

He slammed the door shut, rattling the furniture. I stared at the closed door and started trembling, feeling cold, afraid and alone. I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked slowly to the corner of my room and sat. I wept softly as I listened to the raised voices of Mom and Dad.

You shouldn’t treat him that way, Mom bellowed.

The kid was getting on my nerves. I can’t deal with him right now.

"Oh, and yet you can deal with your low life friends? You pissed away our savings to try and pay them off. That was meant for Mark’s future," Mom screamed.

Come on. You know why I had to do it.

No, I don’t know why you had to do it. You never tell me anything. I think it’s about time that you grow up and think more about your son than yourself.

A loud slap rang out and the shouting ceased, then Mom started whimpering before the front door slammed shut.

I’m startled awake by a loud clanging noise coming from the bars. I turn over on the bed and see a burly prison guard with a baton in his hand staring at me.

Exercise in ten minutes, Flint, he barks.

I hate when I’m called by my surname; it reminds me too much of my parents.

Why can’t you call me Mark? That is my name, isn’t it? I growl back.

The guard sneers at me through the bars.

"Exercise in ten minutes, Flint," he repeats, before he walks away without a backward glance.

Christ. What a dick. I pace my cell, trying to calm myself down, but fail miserably. I pull at my hair and grumble angrily, falling short of screaming. I slam my hands onto the rim of the scabby sink and grip it tightly, my head lowered as I breathe deeply, further restraining my temper. I glance up slowly to face the cracked mirror and scowl at the dirty, unkempt man looking back at me. He has brown hair, unwashed and uncut, flopped over his blue eyes, dark circles under them through lack of sleep; muzzle unshaven and a large purple bruise spread across his right cheek, scowling back at me. I try to push the greasy forelock of hair off my forehead, so it doesn’t obscure my vision before my prison door slides open. I look over my shoulder and watch the burly prison guard who berated me earlier step into my cell, brandishing a pair of handcuffs.

Exercise time, he states gruffly.

I glower at him and fold my arms.

I’m not in the mood.

His brow knits together as his dark brown eyes blaze into me.

You’re coming with me.

Stepping forward, he grabs my arms firmly. I attempt to shrug him off, but he grips me tighter and snaps the cuffs around my wrists. Tugging my arm sharply, he leads me out of my cell and down the corridor, past the other cells.

"You’re a friendly guy," I quip.

He darts his face to mine.

Shut up, Flint! he booms.

Though I’m shaken by his loud voice, I smile briefly, for the first time in months, satisfied with my little joke. We approach what looks like a large cage. Mr. ‘Burly Guard’ unlocks the door and leads me into a dreary indoor gym, releases me from my cuffs and shoves me forward.

I’ll be back in thirty minutes.

He turns to leave and slams the door shut, his loud footsteps stomping against the concrete floor. I walk around the gym alone, not in the mood to exercise or to risk going near the other prisoners, so I sit on the bench in the corner, isolating myself as I continue to reminisce.

I woke in the middle of the night and felt suddenly unsettled.

Mom, I called out, but there was no reply.

Mom! I tried again, louder this time, but still no response.

I climbed out of bed and made my way to Mom and Dad’s bedroom, pushing the door open. They’re not in here. I looked in every room of the apartment, but no one was home, and I was terrified. What’s happened to them? When will they be back? Will they ever come back? What will happen to me? I sat on the couch, hunched myself into a ball and wailed. My parents left me. Dad always told me he would leave one day with Mom. He was right, and they left. They’re gone. I stay curled up on the couch, tears poured down my face as I waited and hoped that they might come back.

The sun streamed in through the tattered drapes and I was still alone, though my tears began to subside. I heard a jingle of keys and the door handle being turned. I leapt up expectantly. They’re back; I knew they would be. The front door swung open, but it wasn’t my parents at all. Grandma walked in, her gray hair tied into a bun and her light blue eyes shone at me. She was followed closely by a police officer. I looked at the policeman and hunched back onto the couch. Grandma stepped closer and held out her arms to me.

Mark, what are you doing here all alone? My poor little man. Come home with me, Grandma said.

She offered her hand which I took hesitantly as I looked up at her warm, gentle face, smiling weakly. I looked towards the police officer who continued to watch me closely.

Grandma, where’s Mom and Dad? I whispered.

Grandma’s smile faded as she faced the officer who copied her expression, then the officer bent down and placed his hand on my shoulder.

They’ve gone away for a while, son. Your grandma will take care of you now, he said softly with a small smile.

Grandma cuddled me in her warm embrace, and I snuggled in close.

Let’s go home, she said quietly.

She placed her arm around my shoulders and slowly lead me outside into the balmy morning air, towards her car.

I never put any thought into just how much that day hurt. I still have so many unanswered questions from my childhood. Where did my parents go? Why did they leave their six-year-old son alone? Why didn’t they care about me? I often tried to ask Grandma these questions, but she would either change the subject or simply reply with something that would defuse my worries.

‘They disappeared, I never heard from them again’.

I’m sure she was just trying to spare my innocence from the pain of the truth. She always went out of her way to keep me happy and give me the best future possible. Boy. I blew that to hell. I wipe my eyes, trying to erase my memory of the pain that is my childhood. I get up from the bench and walk around the gym, but my thoughts continue to gnaw at me painfully. I know in myself that my parents are dead, either through suicide or something to do with Dad’s drug or gambling debts. I shake my head, desperate to clear these dark thoughts and look up at the over-large florescent lights, constantly flickering above me, and then divert my gaze to the prison guards patrolling the perimeter, watching us all attentively. My mood continues to take a nosedive, as bleak and dark as my confines. Grandma always thought I would grow up to be a good man; she did her best, but I’ve failed her.

Time’s up, a guard shouts from outside the cage.

Prison guards start filing in to collect all the inmates. As before, the jerk guard approaches me while unstrapping the handcuffs from his belt. Not feeling in the mood to annoy him any further, I turn my back to him and let him snap the cuffs back on, then he leads me back to my dark and miserable cell.

I lie on my uncomfortable bed, staring up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. I’m paranoid by the slightest sound; rats are scrambling around in the darkness underneath me. I hold on tightly to the thin, smelly blanket and try to get some sleep, not wanting my day to last any longer.

I just turned seventeen. It had been a week since Grandma passed away, I was lost without her. I found myself homeless; sitting and sleeping in the doorway of Chicago Union Station and stole food from the local market. I couldn’t help remembering what Grandma said to me when I got in trouble at school for stealing from the cafeteria.

Be careful how you choose to live your life, Mark. One day, your bad deeds will catch up with you.

I tried to be a good person. She wouldn’t have wanted me to go down the same bad path as my father, but at that moment, I had no choice but to steal to survive. I had been begging passers-by for spare change for a couple of hours, taking a break from thievery, but they walked by and ignored me. In the distance, I noticed a man who was tall and stocky with a broad face, piercing green eyes and black slicked-back hair, wearing a finely tailored pinstripe suit walking towards me. He stopped in front of me and grinned down.

Spare change? I asked.

His grin broadened.

You want some money, kid? Follow me.

I stared at him and scrambled to my feet.

Who are you?

I was very much like you; unwanted, cast out onto the cold streets, but I’ve made a life for myself now, and I’m offering the same opportunity for you.

I squinted my eyes at him.

You’re not talking about pimping, are you?

The stranger laughed and shook his head.

Absolutely not. Why would you think that?

I shrugged my shoulders.

You’re looking a little hungry. Let’s get you some food, he said.

He turned on his heel and walked into the station. I stood frozen to the spot, but my desperation and intrigue got the better of me and I raced after him. I followed him through the station and barged my way through the bustling crowds of businessmen and tourists. I struggled to match his pace, but I finally caught up and stood beside him outside a café. He reached his hand into his pocket and palmed me five dollars.

Go in there and get something to eat. I’ll wait here.

I looked down at the money, then made a beeline for the café, my stomach gurgling.

I bought myself a pastrami sandwich and a bottle of water, then rejoined the kindly stranger who proceeded to head in the direction of the train’s platform.

Now it’s time to get you some shelter, he said.

A train rumbled to a halt and people started to pile in and out of the carriages.

After you, he gestured.

I looked around and took a slow step forward before I paused.

It’s okay, the stranger said.

I climbed onto the train, followed closely by him, then the doors slid shut and the train pulled away from the platform. We took a seat in the first booth that we found, and I began devouring my sandwich, savoring every mouthful. The stranger stared at me, his fingers steepled against his mouth.

You’re a young lad. How old are you? he asked.

I’ve just turned seventeen, sir.

His brows furrowed.

Seventeen? Where are your parents?

They disappeared years ago. I was living with my grandma, but she died a week ago.

His lips thinned.

Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. What’s your name?

I finished the last piece of sandwich as he leaned forward.

Mark Flint.

He grinned and his eyes twitched.

Nice to meet you. I’m Tobias O’Malley.

After a train transfer and a bus ride, we arrived in a neighborhood called Riverdale. It was close to eleven at night and I was freezing. I glanced around at the trash strewn all over the front yards and was startled by angry dogs that barked through the fence line. We arrived at a white-paneled house, a few windowpanes smashed, and several cars were parked up on the driveway.

This way, he prompted, turning to look at me.

I looked into his green eyes and followed him through a door that was rusted off its hinges. We walked down a long, narrow corridor which was drab and very cold, then he suddenly turned left and opened another door.

Through here, Mark.

He held the door open for me. I stepped in and widened my eyes at the surroundings, a contrast to the house’s exterior. This once would have been a much-loved family home. It was warm with a welcoming, fully lit fireplace, a well-stocked bar and two green leather couches. There were several other young men sat around the fireplace who wore sharp charcoal suits with a red carnation pinned to the breast. They all looked up and smiled at us both. Tobias walked past me, shrugged out of his pinstripe jacket and tossed it onto one of the couches before he greeted the other men warmly.

Excuse me, Mr. O’Malley. Who are these people? I asked.

He turned back to face me.

Take a seat, kid.

He kicked a chair towards me. I grabbed it and took a seat next to the crackling fireplace.

These are my friends.

He gestured with his hand at the others who continued to smile and greet me.

Make yourself at home, he continued.

I got out of my chair and went to sit beside another man at the bar who looked roughly around my age; tall and slim with straw-colored hair tied in a ponytail, molten brown eyes and also wore a sharp charcoal suit. He glanced at me and outstretched his hand as I perched myself on a stool.

Hey there. I’m Adam.

Mark, I said, shaking his hand.

How long have you lived here? I asked.

Adam puffed out and looked around the room.

I’ve been with Tobias coming on five years now. We move location all the time though, we’ve only been here a week.

I widened my eyes.

Why do you need to move all the time?

Adam laughed loudly and patted me on the back.

We’re on the run. Didn’t he tell you?

My mouth dropped open, and my heart sank.

You’re criminals?

Adam shrugged.

It saves paying rent. Let me introduce you to everyone.

He jumped off of his stool and pointed out the other various men in the room.

That big, tattooed guy is named Rusty, he’s Tobias’ right-hand man; and that one over there is Chris, Tobias’ driver.

I held up my hand causing Adam to fall silent.

I don’t want to be a criminal. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Adam looked around quickly before grabbing my arm and dragging me into an empty backroom.

Look, all I can advise is keep your head down. I’ll protect you. I’m a lot like you, I got myself in too deep with these people and I plan to escape when I get the chance. You should come with me.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then Tobias’ loud, instructive voice rang out causing Adam to drag me back into the room with the other men.

We move out at dawn boys. Our big score awaits. Mark, you’ll be staying here with Adam, he’ll be showing you the ropes. You’re our new bar boy.

I’m abruptly woken by the sound of my cell door opening.

Time for your interview, Mark, a female voice states calmly.

There’s a familiar ring to her voice. She referred to me by my first name. Strange. I sit up in bed and see a young, fair-skinned police officer standing in the doorway. Is this the same officer that arrested me? I squint at the policewoman’s name tag under her badge. It reads: Clarke. I look directly at her.

You arrested me? I ask, but then grimace. What a stupid question!

Yes, I did. Good memory, Officer Clarke says.

This is the first time I’ve seen her properly without the flashes of blue and red from the police cars that obscured my view, and I can’t help myself. I’m staring at her, in awe of how pretty she is, despite how firm-handed she was with me on the day of my arrest. She has a kind face with a slender jawline, full lips and a straight nose. She has warm hazel eyes that bore into me and mahogany hair which glints in the light above us. It’s tied tightly in a bun with a couple of loose tendrils hanging down both sides of her face. Despite her firm, no-nonsense stare, I can see kindness and sympathy in her eyes and warm to her, forgetting about our first encounter.

Are you coming?

Y-Yes, of course, Officer Clarke- I mean, ma’am- I mean- I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare.

I jump off the bed as she walks around me and snaps the cuffs gently on my wrists.

Let’s go, she says.

She pulls my arm gently and leads me out of my cell.

Nice bruise by the way, she says, peeking over at me.

It’s the new me, I chuckle.

She snorts, a smile forming on her full lips, then she clears her throat, and we proceed to walk in silence.

Officer Clarke and I enter an interview room where another officer is already sitting at the solitary metal table. He’s lean and tall with a buzzcut and looks to be in his late thirties. I look at his name tag: Benson.

Thank you, Clarke. Take a seat, Mr. Flint, Benson says.

I sit in the lone metal chair while Benson and Clarke sit opposite me. Officer Clarke sets up the voice recorder quickly, then presses the record button.

Interview commencing on October 23rd, 2016 at 8:25 am. Interviewee is Mark Flint. The interview is being conducted by Officer Rachael Clarke and Detective Greg Benson of the 17th precinct, Officer Clarke says.

Rachael. A beautiful name, for a beautiful woman. I shake my head to clear my abrupt inappropriate thoughts as she lifts her delicate head and turns her gaze at me. I quail at her hard stare, my palms going cold and clammy. I clear my throat and square my shoulders.

Can you tell me what you were doing outside Preston’s Jewelers on October 21st, 2016 at ten past midnight, Mr. Flint? Detective Benson asks.

I was on a job for my boss.

Rachael and Benson stare at each other, then she looks back at me.

Could you tell us about your boss, Mr. Flint? Rachael asks.

Her bright eyes pierce into me. She rests her elbows against the table, clasping her hands together as she leans closer.

I can’t say.

Mr. Flint, we know who your boss is. If you don’t divulge any further information about him, we will charge you further, as an accessory to his crimes, Rachael says, her perfect brow narrowing.

I look down at my orange jumpsuit and pick at an invisible piece of lint on my knee.