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The first time he disappoints Marlo, he doesn’t say anything, but Chris can feel it.
The disappointment is practically rolling off him, though as usual, his face remains relatively motionless and steady. If it weren’t for the many years he’d spent observing the man up close, Chris wouldn’t be able to see the flicker of Marlo’s eyelashes as a hint of disapproval, or the moving of his hand up to his face to touch near his scar as displeasure. As is the case most of the time, Marlo doesn’t have to say a single word for Chris to know what he’s saying, like he’s an extension of Marlo rather than a separate entity.
“You’ll get him next time.” Marlo sounded certain, not to say that it’s a statement or even a question, but more a confirmation. That he trusts Chris won’t disappoint him twice.
“Yeah,” Chris had nodded, staring up at the balcony that Omar miraculously vanished from, trying not to let the frustration of failure consume him, “yeah, I will.”
“’Aight then. Make sure you check everywhere.” Marlo had turned to look at him, still running his thumb across his jaw lightly, Chris being unable to help tracking the movement with his eyes.
Chris had simply nodded in response, watching as Marlo gets back into his car without looking back. He knows deep down Marlo is probably barely concerned with Omar’s getaway, that he’d probably expected Omar would get out of it somehow. Yet, for some reason, Chris can never shake the feeling of inadequacy whenever things go wrong. Of course, up until this point, he’d never actually done anything poorly and was usually only in the crossfire for other people’s mistakes. Perhaps it’s for this very reason he’d felt the crawl of inferiority up his spine.
For years he’d watched Marlo stroll to the top of the pyramid without so much as a hitch, always managing to get his timing perfect and never losing his cool. Chris thinks he’s probably only seen Marlo truly angry once, early on in their relationship, when Marlo had lost a corner to some no-name small timer. It was always his name that seemed to get him emotional, the connotations of it that concerned and enthralled him. He didn’t see himself as just a person, but practically as a brand, and the one thing Marlo Stanfield did not allow was his name to be dragged down. Especially by the inadequacy of others.
Many people had asked him over the years why he’d continued with Marlo, why he stuck by as an enforcer when he had a group of men loyal to him specifically that would most likely leave with him, if he made the decision to do so. He found it hard to ever explain that he’d never really wanted a name of his own, that Marlo’s suited him just fine and he had no intentions of leading anybody when he was so well suited to following Marlo.
In the earlier days, Marlo was completely different to the man that he is now, the man that is a mystery to everyone. There was a time where he was hesitant, uncertain, when he’d ask Chris openly for advice and assistance. Now he doesn’t need to even ask and there isn’t a hint of uncertainty, and at most it takes one glance for Chris to know exactly what he needs.
He wasn’t about to find that with anyone else.
“You’re protective of him.” Marlo says, stood in the dark of the night outside of a club that’s heaving with people, the bass thrumming into the parking lot. “That Michael kid.”
“Nah.” Chris shrugs, keeping a watchful eye on the side-door of the club. You could never be too careful in Baltimore, one lapse in judgement outside of a club could result in multiple deaths, after all.
“Why is it you’re so interested in him anyway?” He practically ignores Chris’ denial, as usual, seeing through him and ignoring his attempts to divert Marlo’s attention elsewhere.
Chris sighs, looking at the floor. “No reason.”
He doesn’t have to look up to know Marlo is staring at him, that he’s turned fully to give Chris his attention, eyes trained intently on him. He offhandedly brushes off Chris’ shirt, even though he’s usually immaculate by most accounts, but it gives Chris something to train his eyes on instead of making direct eye contact with Marlo.
“I don’t-,”
“Doesn’t matter.” Marlo interrupts, tilting his head as he stares at Chris with an unreadable expression, one that’s entirely new to Chris. “Figured I’d ask a question I already knew the answer to, s’all.”
He wants to ask what Marlo means, but he doesn’t think he has to. He’s known him for a long time, after all, and he’d spent many a long night in the car with Marlo with nothing to do but talk, as much as that might surprise anyone to hear. Marlo had told him about his strained relationship with a single mother, a father he’d not wanted anything to do with. The way he’d attempted to reconcile with his mother years ago only to be left feeling like he was fifteen again on her doorstep.
It hadn’t taken long, after one particularly gruelling night, for Chris to start speaking about things he hadn’t let himself even think about for years. It was after one of his more difficult kills, when the guy had fought back far harder than he’d expected him too, and he’d barely slumped into the car seat before he’d spilled it all out to Marlo.
He’d said nothing, initially, just simply watched Chris as he’d shredded down every single barrier he’d ever built up with shaky hands and tainted memories. Chris doesn’t doubt Marlo had assumed half of what Chris had told him that night anyway, if not from the fact Marlo is freakishly perceptive then perhaps in the way Chris still flinched at being touched by anyone without prior warning in the first few years of their business relationship.
“Oh.” He’d said, nodding as he’d stared out of the car window, glancing back at Chris.
“That’s it?” Chris felt an odd sense of childhood familiarity in the way he was trembling a little, all too aware of what this information could’ve meant if he’d spoken these words to anyone else.
“What else is there to say?” Marlo’s eyes flicker towards him, practically pitch black in the night-time, but Chris feels breathless at the primal emotion in them. Unlike the usual unfocused gaze he often favoured, this was intense, overwhelming and completely consuming. “I’m glad you told me.”
They hadn’t spoken about it since then, but here they are, standing outside of a club and Marlo is giving him that same exact stare again.
“You best be careful with that,” Marlo turns away, motionless, “you got a tendency to see yourself in things that’ll only cause you trouble.”
How do you put into words how vital acceptance is? Chris could’ve moved on years ago, either took the excessive amount of money he’d earned already and left with it or started something of his own. Yet a man who isn’t afraid of using brute force, who revels in the power of having a name on the street, had accepted him unequivocally. He hadn’t pried, asked further questions, made Chris regret opening his mouth. He’d accepted it and moved on, never letting this information cloud his opinion or judgement of Chris, and in his opinion, it was something worth dying for.
Most people, especially in Baltimore, live unfulfilled and brief lives in the pursuit of the superficial. But at least Chris Partlow could rest assured he’d always be a part of Marlo’s empire for as long as it was left standing, or until he went down to save it.