Sitting on a five dollar fold out chair from a hardware store, my anger builds watching the traitor who tries in vain to cover his story. But he lies.
I know lies. I’m the king of lies. And his are grating my nerves.
Happy kicks his knees out. He falls forward into a kneeling position.
The middle-aged, plump cronie shakes while pleading, “Mr. T, please, don’t do this. My family, they—”
He bites his tongue upon mentioning his family. As if I’ll go after them.
The guy doesn’t know me at all. That’s not my style.
Reaching into the back of my slacks, I pull out my .32 calibre semi-auto. She’s a beauty, but my .45 is my favorite. I won’t use my baby on this piece of shit though. I don’t want her dirtied by his filthy blood.
Looking down, right into his eyes, I hold his stare.
Using the barrel of the gun to scratch at my temple absentmindedly, I ask a second time, “What did you tell Hamid, Patrick? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because photographs don’t lie. And the way he shook your hand and smiled like he’d won the fucking lottery, I know you told him something.” He trembles and cries. Snot runs down his nostrils and into his mouth. “Nothing? You won’t tell me?”
Standing, I take two steps towards him and sigh at the pitiful state of him. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”
Raising the barrel of the gun to his forehead, I breathe deeply and close my eyes.
I exhale.
The shot rings out.
Smiling like a dork, I’m giddy at getting some girl-time in. I really need it after this week’s occurrences.
Nikki and I have a weekly standing date at a local café. Somewhere we can meet during the week and spend our lunch hour yakking away. I don’t necessarily like today’s subject.
She stirs her coffee and avoids my eyes, looking guilty. “I don’t know anything about this guy and that worries me. I-” Cough, “I’ve asked around and—”
I cut her off with a gasp, “Nikki, you didn’t!”
Placing her hands up in a placating way, she adds, “I can’t let me best friend go out with just anyone now, can I? It’s beside the point, babe, because I couldn’t come up with a damn thing. People know of him. People know about him. And people would rather swallow razor blades than gossip about Twitch. Meaning: he’s not only scary, but the man keeps his shit tighter than a Vatican priest.”
I’m not sure what to do with this information.
So I do nothing. And something.
I change the subject. “You do realize that it’s only two weeks ‘til your birthday, right?”
Completely on to me, she rolls her eyes, “Yes, mum, I do, but don’t even try to change the subject, girlie.” Smiling a sly smile, she whispers, “What’s he like?”
She’s dying to know. I can feel the want coming off of her in waves.
Thinking, I sigh and melt into my chair. “When it’s good, it’s the best and most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. So good, that it makes me feel bad for people who haven’t had the honor.” She smiles big and I add, “But when it’s bad…it’s bad, Nikki. A goddamn Greek tragedy. It’s horrific. And really fucking scary.” Stirring the coffee that no longer needs to be stirred, I whisper, “He scares me.”
I watch as the smile falls from her face. She now wears a look of anxiety.
Reaching across the table to take her hand in mine, I tell her honestly, “But those good times…” I sigh dreamily. “I’ll take the bad just so I can have the good. Because the good is outstanding. So, if you must know, I’m going with the flow and taking it as it comes.”
Nikki still looks worried, but her eyes have turned dreamy.
That’s what I love about Nikki. She’s a total romantic at heart.
“Okay, girlie. You’re smarter than anyone I know, so even though I worry about you, I know you’ll do what’s right for you. But promise me one thing: if it gets too intense, you’ll get out, regardless of how good the good is.”
I immediately reply, “I promise.”
And then I wonder why I just lied to my best friend’s face.
The kid’s got another five minutes to get here or he’s fucking fired.
And that would be a shitty way to start your first day.
He hasn’t called, even though he’s running late, and I’m officially pissed off. If he doesn’t know he’s in deep shit, he’ll soon find out when he gets here.
Suddenly my phone chirps.
Lexi: How’s Michael’s first day going? Please be nice to him. He’s a good kid, Twitch.
My anger fizzles marginally.
I don’t know how she does it, but she just does. My own form of anger management.
And she’s afraid of you.
That sudden unwelcome thought pulls a furrow from my brow.
Me: I would tell you if he showed up.
Her reply is immediate.
Lexi: Please don’t do anything rash. I’m on it.
Just as I hit reply, my office door opens and in comes Michael, head down, trudging into my office.
I quickly type to Lexi.
Me: He’s here. Stand down, mama bear.
Standing, I tell him, “Nice of you to finally sho—” My words cut off mid-speak when he walks closer to me and I notice the fat lip. Standing, I meet him halfway; my brow bunches as I use my fingers to gently lift his chin. Steeling his jaw, he closes his eyes tightly and allows me to inspect him.
One black eye, a broken nose, and a busted lip.
Shit.
Someone took their fists to him. They knocked him around good. I wonder how bad his body looks right now, but I won’t ask. I’ll leave him with what he has left of his dignity. The kid has done what I asked and bought himself new clothes and got a neat, short haircut. The new jeans are ripped, his new sneakers scuffed, and his bright white polo shirt is blood-stained and filthy.
Letting his chin go, I place my hands on my hips and sigh, “What happened, boy?”
He speaks without emotion, “I was told to give you this.”
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper, smeared with droplets of blood. I take the paper and search his face. Blood trickles down his broken nose and drips onto the Persian rug in my office. As soon as he feels it, he places his hand under his nose, catching the blood, and he whispers fearfully, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Walking over to my desk, I pull a handful of tissue out of the box and hand it to him. He takes it with a shaking hand and I ask, truly confused, “You scared of me?”
Placing the bunched tissue on his nose, he answers, “Should I be?”
Honesty. “Yes.”
Nodding, he looks me in the eyes. “Okay. That’s good then. I am scared of you.”
I like this kid. His smart mouth would normally annoy me. But with him, it doesn’t. Unfolding the note, I look down and read.
You want a war, you got one.
I know the answer before I ask, but I feel I have to confirm this. War is a big deal. To some.
“This from Hamid or Frank?”
Frank’s a pussy. He would never do something like this. His power was handed down from his father. I know for a fact he doesn’t want the position he was given. I mean, he is a mob prince. He’s an Italian mob prince who’s in love with a Russian mob princess. If I were him, I’d fucking shoot myself.