by Nova Rain
But there’s something else I can’t doubt, something that makes Bryan’s idea sound all the more tempting: the millions of dollars in that vault. Even ten would be enough for everyone, and there was bound to be more. We could split the amount by four, and then… Real Life would begin with vacations in the tropics, surrounded by sexy ladies; nice clothes; expensive suits; high-end, fast cars; maybe a yacht. Damn it, I’m getting ahead of myself. I should be focusing on the job, not what I could do with the money. But how can I not dream about all that stuff? For eleven years, I’ve kept seeing Eric and his family enjoy these luxuries. My mouth waters, every time I’m within fifteen feet of his flash-red Ferrari. I have to force restraint to avoid jumping into that baby. I’d love to take it for a spin, hear the grumble of those eight cylinders, and feel the power under the hood. And that son of a bitch doesn’t make it any easier for me. Whenever I see him opening the driver’s door, a smug smile is painted on his face. It’s like he’s saying: “I get to drive a supercar. You drive a twenty-seven year old Camaro. So long, sucker.”
When I pick Bryan and Donny up that night, my first thought is discussing expensive cars. North Haven is more than eighty miles away from the city. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about my favorite topic. Sadly however, I have to keep my mouth shut. Just mentioning certain brands like Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, and Mercedes meakes me yearn yet again. Yes, they are my passion; I grew up with their posters in my bedroom, but bringing them up will just remind me of what I don’t have. It will also tell me that I have to put my life on the line in order to make that dream come true.
More than an hour later, we are parked behind a big, white van on the right side of the road, staring at the Citibank branch on the corner. A green light on the ATM is blinking, just below the white-and-blue sign. A dog is barking in the distance as I plan out the quickest possible escape route.
“Montague Drive leads further into town, so, no,” I murmur, catching a glimpse of an oncoming car in the rearview mirror. “Washington, then right onto Bennett, then left onto Patton, then…” I heave a sigh of exasperation. “This place is like a goddamn maze.”
“I prefer a maze over a jammed Fifth Avenue,” Bryan declares, turning his head left to face me. “Anyway, we still haven’t thought of the getaway car. Obviously, we can’t use ours.”
“We might need your cousin for this one, too,” I claim, shifting my attention to him. “We’re going to need a fast car. North Haven is packed with those, but they’re way too sophisticated. Jimmy will have to disable any onboard anti-theft mechanisms. Has he done that before?”
“Trust me,” Bryan gives a short chuckle. “Jimmy’s damn good at that crap. The only thing he can’t hack into is a girl’s pants.”
“He’s a virgin?” Donny asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yep,” Bryan affirms with a sad nod. “He’s never even seen what a pair of tits looks like. I keep trying to take that nerd to a strip club, but my sister won’t let him go. She thinks everyone who goes to strip clubs will burn in hell or something.”
The bright lights in the rearview mirror force me to take my gaze off him and focus on their reflection. The car I’d seen earlier is right behind my Camaro. I lean forward, willing to get a closer look at it. It’s a green Ford Focus. Its driver turns off the lights and steps outside. It may be dark, but I recognize his skinny figure in a heartbeat. I’ve seen him too many times to be wrong. It’s Sean Decker, one of Peter Maltese’s lapdogs. He spins around and starts running back in the opposite direction, my heart skipping a beat as he does.
“Get down!” I scream at the top of my lungs, bending down under the steering wheel, my head between my arms. A tremendous explosion rocks the quiet neighborhood. A huge fireball shoots up into the air as thousands of shards of glass are thrown all over the road. The shockwave jerks my entire car forward, shattering windows and windshields to tiny little pieces. I can even feel a few of them rolling down my back. My heart thumps against my ribcage. I look over the steering wheel, only to realize that the blast has bent my hood in the middle, and mangled the back of the van as well.
“Son of a bitch…” I sigh, breathing in pants as the annoying sound of the bank alarm fills the atmosphere.
“Fuck!” Bryan cries out, rolling around in his seat. A huge wave of cold sweat washes over me as I whip my head around. A large chunk of glass has been lodged into Donny’s throat. Blood is flowing freely down his neck, soaking his blue t-shirt. “Drive!” Bryan yells, reaching over towards our friend. “Get us the fuck out of here!”
I turn the key in the ignition, hoping that the blast didn’t damage the engine. I sigh in relief when it roars to life. Still, I can’t enjoy it. I put my foot down hard on the accelerator, adjusting the rearview mirror. Donny’s right hand is on his neck, a drop of blood rolling off his hand as he struggles to suck air into his lungs. My rear tires squeal, tossing gravel across the road. I turn my car left, noticing smoke rising from them in the driver’s rearview mirror. Completing a U-turn, I begin speeding back in the direction we had come from.
“Hang in there, Donny,” I utter, gripping the steering wheel harder. Drops of sweat are forming all over my forehead. Adrenaline is shooting through my veins like electric currents. Fear is overwhelming my senses, threatening to consume me. Everything on the road has somehow turned into an obstacle that I have to overcome, so that I can save Donny’s life. Without lifting my foot off the gas, I scan the area. More cars are parked on either side of the road. I steal a glance up in the rearview mirror, but regret it in a second. My friend has tipped his head back, resting his bloody hand on the backseat. The noise of the engine doesn’t allow me to hear if he’s breathing anymore.
“Where’s the nearest hospital?” I ask, my shaking voice coming out too fast.
“Forget the hospital. He doesn’t have much time,” Bryan rejects my idea. “We’re losing him, man.”
In my panic, I bring my attention back to the road up ahead. I spot a fancy home to the right. Two women are on a pathway in the middle of a huge lawn, striding away from the house. I don’t think twice. All four tires squeak as I hit the brakes hard. Lunging from the driver’s seat, I run around the car and yank the door open.
“Leave him to me,” I tell Bryan, bending down. I place my hands under Donny’s armpits, the blood on his neck wetting my chin. Taking a deep breath, I drag him out of the car. His heavy body is leaving a trail on the grass, when I hear a sweet, feminine voice.
“What is he doing?”
“He needs help,” That’s all I can give her for now. I pass by a tall, gorgeous redhead, and then a shorter, beautiful brunette. I’ve seen that curly, black hair before. Five feet, six inches, a golden complexion and curves that could turn a few heads: It’s Michelle Garner. I slow down, easing my grip on Donny.
“Joe?” She squints down at me, her face falling in surprise. “Is that…?”
“Donny,” I finish her sentence. “I take it you heard the explosion.”
“Yeah, we did,” she replies while her friend approaches me. “What happened out there?”
“A car blew to smithereens,” I inform them. “We happened to be close by.”
“I’m a doctor,” the redhead claims, her gaze fixed on Donny’s neck. “Get him inside.”
“Okay,” I nod, her statement somewhat appeasing me. My friend’s caught a lucky break, or that’s what I think. Even so, I can’t be sure if he’s going to make it or not. His t-shirt’s been drenched in his blood, his face has turned blue, and he’s passed out, too. All I can do now is leave him to this doctor, hoping that she will do everything she can to keep him alive.
Chapter Forty-Six
Michelle
It’s been more than thirty minutes since I crossed paths with Joe Mancini and his friends, and I still can’t wrap my head around it. What are they doing, eighty miles away from home, so late at night? I suspect the reason, but I don’t want to believe it. They are all good-looking, single and always together. If what I think
is true, they will be another bunch of wasted hotness. I am tempted to ask him, but I stay silent. He’s quiet as usual, pacing up and down Helena’s living room, with his hands on his waist. Joe is worried sick about his friend. Any personal questions would be a sign of disrespect. I can’t do that to the man who saved my skin just last night. He’ll probably snap at me, and he’ll have every right to do so.
Leaving him and Bryan in the house, I go outside, unable to shake the feeling that there’s something off with his narrative. We’re in America, not in Afghanistan, where cars blow up every five minutes. However, once I examine his car, it occurs to me that it’s entirely plausible. I’m not a forensic scientist, but I don’t have to be one to recognize the smell of gas on his trunk. Fuel has left trails down his broken, right taillight. I doubt Joe will ever know how close he got to getting blown up. All the fire needed to engulf his vehicle was a spark. The red bumper of his car has also cracked and blackened.
They were closer to the blast than he wants to admit.
Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Perhaps my hunch about his sexual preferences is driving me to believe that he’s bad news. It will be easier for me to accept a sad truth if he’s just a common thug. At any rate, I can’t spend any more time coming up with theories. Regardless of what Joe is, his friend is fighting for his life in Helena’s bedroom. So, I get back inside, eager to learn some news about him. He and Bryan are in the middle of a conversation, but, as soon as I walk back in, they stop talking altogether. Their reaction intensifies my suspicion. I part my lips, ready to confront them, but just then, the door to Helena’s bedroom clicks open.
“I was able to stop the bleeding,” She announces with a polite smile, easing her latex glove off her hand. “Your friend was in luck. Another five minutes and he would have bled out.”
“Yes!” Joe cheers, raising his fist up to his face. “Thanks a lot, doc. Can we go see him?”
“You can, but don’t expect to get much word out of him,” Helena warns, making her way towards me. “He’s still in quite a lot of pain. I’ve given him a painkiller, but it will be a few minutes before it takes effect.”
“If this isn’t weird, I don’t know what is,” I whisper to her, watching those two enter the bedroom. “You should go take a look at Joe’s car. It’s like it’s been through a warzone.”
“Is this the same, hot Joe who frequents the bar?” Helena inquires, keeping her voice down.
“The very same,” I respond, gazing deep into her eyes. “I should call those three ‘the inseparable trio.’ God knows what they were doing up here.”
“You think they’re…”
“Gay?” I complete her question. “Well, yeah. Girl, they’ve been coming to the bar for more than a year, and they’ve never, ever brought a date. Most customers flirt with me, but they don’t. It’s like I’m invisible to them.”
“I can’t explain that, but, uh…” Helena falters. “Donny got delirious back there. He said something like: ‘That prick blew us up.’”
“I don’t know what to make of that,” I shrug my shoulders. “They must be escorts. There are dozens of rich homosexuals in North Haven. One of them must have invited them over for a little party.”
“Okay, that’s disgusting,” she cringes, tearing her gaze away from me.
“You were right, doc,” Joe interjects, stepping back out into the living room. “Donny can’t utter a word. Look, can I borrow your friend for a second?”
“By all means,” Helena accepts with a smile, putting me in a dilemma. Do I want to find out the truth about him? Of course I do. Is the timing right? I don’t have a clue. It’s been a tense night for him, but his friend has just cheated death.
“Listen, I’m sorry we put you through all this trouble,” Joe starts, his voice dropping two octaves down. “I wouldn’t have pulled over if I had any other choice.”
“Hey, your friend was dying in your backseat,” I remind him, a touch of annoyance in my tone. “What else could you have done?”
“It was pretty weird to run into you,” he confesses, leaning over towards me. “Are you spending the weekend here?”
“No such luck,” I say, a smile of bitterness spreading across my face. “I’m spending tonight here, it’s my night off. I have to go to work tomorrow. Hey, you didn’t by any chance notice the house next door, did you?”
“I was too upset for that,” Joe retorts, taking a step back. “Why?”
“It’s mine,” I inform him, my tone weakening. “The word, ‘house’, flatters it, though. ‘Wreck’ would suit it better. It’s very old. It hasn’t been used in decades.”
“Then why don’t you sell it?” He poses the question, rolling his shoulders. “I know a few folks who’d pay top dollar for prime property like this.”
“I’d like a drink before I answer that,” I murmur, trotting off to the bar on my right. “Can I get you anything?”
“Scotch. Neat,” Joe’s reply is sharp, as if he anticipated the question.
“That place belonged to my grandmother,” I tell him, setting two glasses down on the counter. “She left it to my mother after she passed, but it was already in a poor state. My mom couldn’t afford any repairs. So, when I lost her, she bequeathed it to me.”
“It’s got sentimental value to you,” he concludes as I hand him over a tall glass of whiskey.
“Exactly,” I affirm, reaching my own glass towards his. Yet, Joe doesn’t give the courtesy of a clink. Instead, he downs his drink, tipping his head almost all the way back.
“Let’s go see it,” he suggests, placing the glass down on the counter.
“Follow me,” I say, my discomfort darkening my voice. The guy should look up the term “manners,” He doesn’t have any. I wouldn’t mind if I had witnessed similar behavior in the bar, but I haven’t. On the contrary, Joe and his buddies always clink their glasses together. Still, those guys must mean a lot to each other, otherwise he and Bryan wouldn’t have freaked out when they brought Donny over. Who am I to him? Well, nobody. I’m just the bartender at his favorite bar.
The ample moonlight is beaming down from the summer sky as I stroll outside. The wonderful scents from Helena’s rose garden intoxicate my senses. Unfortunately, Joe’s rudeness overshadows the beauty of the scenery. Just twenty-four hours earlier, I would have loved to be walking alongside him out here. That bastard is hands down the hunkiest guy I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Now, however, I can’t wait for him and his buddies to leave.
Pushing the creaky front door open, I enter my grandmother’s property. Beams of moonlight are peeking through the broken window in the living room, revealing cracked floor planks and flaky walls. Large chunks of wood are missing, and there are short piles of flakes along the baseboards. What used to be the sink, to the left, is now a pile of rubble. The faucet itself is still there, covered in rust. Joe is making his way towards the window, keeping his head down. Planks creak underneath his feet, but that doesn’t discourage him. Upon reaching his destination, he folds his arms across his chest, the bright light painting his hair a lighter shade of brown.
“How long’s it been since your mother died?” He asks me, his voice bass-deep.
“A little over four years,” I reply in a slow and low tone, my unhurried footsteps leading me closer to him. “Leukemia; the doctors gave her six months. She lasted three-and-a-half years. She was desperate to see me graduate law school.”
“Law school?” surprise sends his voice up an octave as he turns to me.
“Yes, sir,” I give a slow nod. “She passed away two weeks later.”
“Well, at least you met your mother,” Joe utters, lowering his tone. “I never met mine; or my father.”
“Oh, my God…” I whisper, my eyes widening with surprise. “You grew up in the system?”
“St. Francis’ orphanage, down in Brooklyn,” he states, unfurling his arms. “They released me when I turned eighteen.”
“Wow, I, uh…” I falter. “I had no idea.
I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” he urges, shaking his head once. “You lost your mom when you were what, twenty-two? You were young, sure, but at least she gave you something tangible so you could remember her. And I don’t mean this dump. I mean memories.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Mr. Quiet can actually talk, and talk straight from the heart. These are by far the most words I’ve gotten out of him. And his short speech explains a lot. I’m not dealing with an academic. I’m dealing with a guy who’s grown up on his own, and has never known the feeling of being part of a family. His words change my opinion about him in the blink of an eye. An urge to find out more about him sweeps through me, along with a desire to taste his full lips. However, I have to hold back, for the same reasons that I didn’t ask him anything private back in Helena’s house.
“Mr. Mancini has a sensitive side,” I remark, my lips curling into a polite smile. “Who would have thought?”
“It’s not about sensitivity, darling,” he counters, dragging his gaze away from mine. “It’s about reality. I just stated facts.”
With a short step closer, I find myself inches away from him. I reach up and cup his clean-shaven jaw, locking my gaze with his. His eyes are gray in the dim illumination. Trailing my fingers up his cheeks, I tilt my head up. I can feel his strong hands on my hips, pulling me closer to him. Joe’s lips lock with my mouth, his masculine scent flowing through my nostrils. His palms slip under my shirt as I feel his soft hair on my fingertips. I throw my free arm around his neck, the feel of his warm touch on my skin tantalizing me. I let out a deep whimper when he presses his crotch against mine. His cock is already hardening through his pants, ripping my earlier theory to shreds. I’m glad I saved myself the embarrassment of having to ask him. Joe is all man, in my arms, showing his affection to me. His tongue slides between my lips, his fingers reaching my upper back. I swirl the tip of my tongue around his, but before I know it, he winces back out of my hold, pulling his arms away from my body.
