by Nova Rain
“I should go over there and smack him upside the head,” I told him, watching as our friend shook hands with an old man in a tuxedo. “He doesn’t belong here any more than we do.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Bryan confessed. “You’re right. We don’t belong here, but he chose this, so, let’s play along.”
“For his birthday, I think I’m going to buy him a belt and a couple of those,” I pointed at the stand of golf balls in the corner. “Maybe strapping on a pair will remind him of who he was.”
“Forget the old Joe, Donny,” Bryan advised, lowering his voice. “He got civilized. Come on; let’s mingle. There are a lot of prospects in here.”
I had to admit, he had a point. Joe and Michelle had invited some very attractive ladies. Just behind the heiress, Helena, the tall redhead and Ava, the hot brunette were scanning the big hall. It was nice to see the doctor. I would have bled out that night in North Haven if it wasn’t for her. Ava? Not really. The only time I enjoyed being around strippers were during lap dances. If a woman had no problem taking her clothes off for a few bucks, there was no telling what she would do for the right amount. Worse still, Ava hadn’t exactly been good to Joe. Once she’d found out the truth about him, she went to her friend and told her everything, even though it was over between Michelle and Joe.
“Hey…” He spoke in his usual, deep voice, winking at me. “How’s it going? Do you like the place?”
“Not bad,” I smiled. “I really like the ‘balls’ section. It’s…”
“Great,” Bryan interjected, not allowing me to finish my phrase. “Baseballs, footballs, basketballs, you’ve got everything around here.”
“I didn’t know henchmen were interested in sports,” Ava commented in ironic tones, stepping up beside Michelle. “How have you been, boys? It’s been a while.”
“Ava, knock it off, will you?” Michelle groaned, glaring at her. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I for one love sports,” I stated, fixing my gaze on Ava. “It’s strippers I don’t like. Bitches who somehow think they’re better than me. I’ll see you guys later.”
I turned away from the small group, blood pumping faster through my veins. Things would get tense between me and her. I wouldn’t mind blurting out some more insults, but she would do the same to me. I just didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
I headed to a basketball hamper to my right, hoping to have a word with Joe in private. I couldn’t say what I had in mind in front of Michelle, let alone that self-righteous brunette. Halting inches from the hamper, something caught my eye. Buried deep under numerous balls, the color of one of them stood out. Instead of being vibrant orange, it seemed faded, like someone had been bouncing it on a dusty court. I shoved my hand through the gaps, using my free hand to slide away the balls. I yanked out the pinkish ball and rolled it in my grasp. It was a “Molten,” just like the others. Its bumps were no different, either. I bounced it once, and then lifted it up to my face. Right after that however, a strange sound coming from within the ball made slivers of fear slice through my stomach. It was faint at first but grew in volume as I held it to my ear. Ticking…
“Bomb!” I cried out, throwing it back in the hamper. “Bomb! Everybody out!”
A sea of screams and shouts roared across the entire floor, Joe and Michelle stared at me in disbelief. I hurtled towards them, the ambient noise rising above the sound of my footsteps. To my satisfaction, Bryan grabbed Joe by the arm and dragged him out for a moment, until our friend spun around himself. With Michelle right behind him, he got out as the crowd approached the two exits. I stormed outside, shots of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Bypassing the curb, I heard tires screeching, along with honking. A black van squealed to a halt, just inches from me. Its driver slammed the horn for a moment as a deafening bang rocked the neighborhood.
Thousands of shards of glass were thrown past the curb, the blast wave sending me flying over a red Ford. Car windows shattered into pieces, chunks of concrete slammed into the sides of vehicles. A larger piece landed on the hood of an oncoming pickup truck, forming a big dent in the middle before rolling off the vehicle. I brought my arms forward to shield myself and closed my eyes, the side of a building getting closer. I hit the solid surface hard, letting out a grunt of pain. Tumbling to the ground, I rolled across the curb until I fell into the road. Before I could move a muscle, I felt a huge amount of pressure on my stomach. I jolted forward, catching tufts of black hair out of the corner of my eye. It had just been minutes since the last time I’d seen those dark-brown eyes. Ava...
“Donny?” She squinted up at me, a nasty buzz torturing my ears.
“Get off of me,” I groaned as I gazed upon what used to be Joe and Michelle’s new mall. The pillar between the two entrances was gone. Only a handful of bricks was still in place. Flames were leaping out of the top of the building. The distance between them just blew my mind. Fire was licking the sidewall of the adjacent building. It had to be at least a hundred feet from the flames on the other side. I wasn’t a bombs expert, but this was very weird. How could a device small enough to fit in a basketball cause so much destruction?
Nevertheless, this was the least of my worries. The entire area looked like a warzone. People had been scattered all over the road amongst shards of glass and bits of concrete. Some of them were screaming, while some of the women had burst into tears. Traffic was at a standstill. Drivers had gotten out of their cars and stared at the devastation, some of them heading to the wounded. My head still buzzing, I swept the area for Bryan and Joe. A weight was lifted off my shoulders when I spotted them some yards to my left. Both of them were standing, shouting to one another, with Michelle shivering in Joe’s arms.
“Hey!” I yelled, rising back up to my feet. “Are you guys okay?”
“Yeah,” Bryan replied, whipping his head in my direction. “What about you?”
“I’m fine,” I assured, striding towards their spot. “Man, what the hell happened in there?”
“You tell me,” Joe urged, his voice bass-deep. “How did you find that bomb? Where was it?”
“In a basketball,” my response was sharp. “I found it because its color was funny. Believe it or not, it was pink. Bryan…” I paused and shifted my attention to our friend. “You know a lot about bombs. Is it even possible for such a small device to do so much damage?”
“Yeah, it is,” he nodded, his gaze on the raging fire. “That’s not what confuses me, though. Look at that.” He pointed over at a pile of burning golf clubs, to the right of the pillar. “Golf clubs are made of metal. You can hold a blowtorch to them for hours, and they still won’t catch fire.”
At that point, the sounds of sirens tore through the night, overshadowing weeping and cries alike. I noticed their red and blue colors flashing in the distance, realizing that our troubles had only just begun. Three henchmen were at the scene of a huge explosion. One of them had quit, but would that matter to the cops? No. In their mind, we would all be suspects. They wouldn’t hesitate to accuse the quitter, although it was his store that had just blown up.
Chapter Two
Ava
“This is ‘90’s rocks’ all over again.”
Michelle’s sentence reminded me of what had happened at her old workplace. I wasn’t there, but her vivid descriptions had stayed with me. A man had been blown to pieces. Paramedics had spent hours collecting body parts.
This situation was very similar, with a few, major differences. First of all, there was a single casualty in that bombing. By the time the police arrived, two people had been declared “deceased.” As for the wounded? The five ambulances that showed up were nowhere near enough. Most of Michelle’s guests had minor injuries, like scratches and cuts on their arms and legs, but all of them—including me—were in a state of shock.
Only three men were in pretty good shape, acting like everything was normal.
Donny, Joe and Bryan.
No surprises there. T
hose guys had been criminals for most of their adult lives. I was sure they had witnessed dozens of explosions. In any case, one of them had saved my life. Out of sheer chance, Donny’s body had been in the right place, at the right time. Had it not been for him, I would have died on the spot.
I never liked him or his buddies, but I wasn’t ungrateful. I meant to thank him for what he had done for me. Yet, the arrival of the police complicated things. The two detectives on the scene recognized the trio immediately. I stood aside, hoping that their conversations wouldn’t last too long.
“Mancini, Falcone and Genovese,” the taller detective smirked. “And you thought tonight would be boring, partner.”
“I’m Detective Faulkner, this is Detective Hall,” he introduced himself and his colleague. “Explain to me what you’d been doing here, gentlemen.”
“I own that mall,” Joe emphasized, stepping ahead of his friends. “Tonight was its official opening. If you came here to accuse me and my boys, take a hike. I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”
Faulkner puffed air out of his cheeks. “I didn’t know that.”
“I read about Mancini’s girlfriend from the paper,” Hall confessed with a smile of irony. “You boys must be very jealous of him. He’s dating a millionaire; he’s trying to do something meaningful with his life. What do you do? You run errands for a scumbag like Maltese.”
“Keep talking, fucker,” Donny growled, his face tightening. “Say more bullshit like that, and one of those ambulances will be picking you up next.”
“Let’s go talk to the other victims,” Faulkner suggested and then pushed his partner away.
Heaving a deep sigh, Donny scratched his chin. “Stupid sons of bitches. They’d rather piss us off than do their goddamn job.”
“Joe, Bryan, can I have a word with your friend?” I requested, closing in on them.
“Sure,” Joe nodded in agreement, patting Bryan on the wrist.
“You did a good thing tonight,” I remarked, sauntering towards Donny. “I know you probably didn’t mean it, but still, I’m alive because of you. Thank you.”
“You’re right. I didn’t mean it,” he admitted. “You just got lucky. I’m going to get out of here before you start spouting out any more crap about me. I’ll see you around, stripper.”
I gave off a sharp noise. “Wrong guess. Would you like to go for double jeopardy? I’ll give you really good odds.”
“You’re not a stripper?” he squinted down at me. “Then who the hell was that ‘Peaches’ chick back in Santone’s mansion? She looked just like you.”
“That was me,” I admitted with a nod. “I’m not a stripper anymore, though. I’m Michelle’s personal advisor. Didn’t Joe tell you anything about it?”
“No. We don’t see each other much these days,” Donny said, a smile of bitterness forming on his face. “He’s busy helping out Michelle with the mess she inherited.”
His reaction sent waves of surprise washing over me. Donny Falcone, the hitman, was actually capable of feeling emotions? Because that was what he had demonstrated. He missed his buddy. I felt the desire to hear him out. Perhaps by doing so, I’d understand better why he seemed so sad. All the same, this wasn’t the place or the time for a conversation. Ambulances were still roaring in and rushing out of the scene. Firefighters hadn’t managed to contain the fire yet, the noise from their hoses and their vehicles hurting my ears.
“Why don’t you drop by Santone’s mansion for a drink this Thursday? Oh…” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. “Sorry. I forgot to mention I’ve been living there for a month.”
“Wow…” he snorted in amusement. “I wasn’t expecting that. Okay. How’s eight sound?”
“It’s good,” I chirped. “Goodnight, Donny.”
I passed him by, wondering what he had to say about his relationship with Joe and Bryan. Whatever it was, I was glad that he had decided to meet with me. Yes, I didn’t like his lifestyle. I found it stupid of him to risk his life every single day. Even so, Donny was a handsome guy. Eight inches taller than me, with blond hair, light-brown eyes and a hint of a beard. I would much rather spend a night talking with him, than Michelle’s accountants.
Chapter Three
Donny
Peter Maltese’s phone call on Wednesday morning didn’t surprise me. The old man wanted to know firsthand what had happened the night before. Who wouldn’t? That bombing had made headlines in pretty much every mainstream and online media, for good reason. Two people had died in “JM’s Sports Factory” and forty-seven had been wounded. To me, there was one more casualty in the rubble of that mall.
Joe’s pride.
I knew him too well to figure out that it’d taken a huge blow. Because of that, I laughed when I read some of the press’s theories.
“Terrorist attack.”
“Jihadi’s are trying to take over America.”
“Muslim hate for westerners behind mall bombing.”
Blah, blah, blah… If any one of those morons bothered doing some research on the guy who owned that place, they wouldn’t imply anything like that. Instead, they would find out some details about Joe’s past. The answer they had been looking for was in there. This wasn’t some Arab organization; there was no doubt about it in my mind. Joe, Bryan, and I had stepped on a lot of toes. Hell, we were still doing that. We were a man down, sure, but in the years we had been working for the Mob, we’d hurt lots of people. At least one of them was bound to retaliate. The question was “who” was it.
To find out, the three of us had to think long and hard. We had to assess the situation and study the bomber’s M.O. And this was exactly the reason why discovering who it was, would take a while. Bryan and I saw each other almost every day. Discussing it with him would be a piece of cake. Things were very different with Joe. We met once or twice a month, went to a racetrack, had a cup of coffee a few races later, and that was it. Afterwards, we had to forget about him for two weeks or even more.
My old Cadillac skidded through Maltese’s wet driveway, its tires spreading gravel and dirt over the concrete. Unlike most of my other visits where I had to wait for his maid to open the door, I spotted him out on his doorstep. With Bryan behind him, he had focused on his tablet, concern written all over his face.
“Have you seen this?” he asked, flipping the device around. It was a report from the scene of the bombing, titled:
“Fire too hot for firefighters”
“The first responders to the fire on 8th street last night were baffled when the fire grew more intense. Despite their best efforts to put it out, the temperature in the ruins of ‘JM’s Sports Factory’ rose so much that they had no choice but to leave the site.”
“There’s something else, too.” Bryan interjected, moving around the Don. He scrolled down, revealing a large picture of the blown-out entrance. A steel girder sticking out from the pillar was bent, its edge glowing orange in the dark. Part of it had melted and was dripping down to the floor. “I was just saying to Don Maltese what can cause this. Thermite.”
“What about the fire? Why did it get so hot in there?” I wondered, lifting my gaze up to his.
“Again, because of the thermite,” he stated, the confidence in his tone not leaving much room for doubt. “It contains its own supply of oxygen. Those firefighters had to work in unbelievable heat. The melting point of steel is two and-a-half thousand degrees. I’m not saying it got that hot in there, but you get my point.”
“So, that fire is still burning?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Yep.” Bryan’s answer came fast. “It won’t stop until all the oxygen’s burnt off.”
“Someone’s very pissed at Mancini,” Maltese concluded, easing the tablet away. “They knew the bomb could fail in getting him and they planned for it. How long will it take for that oxygen to burn off?”
“Four, maybe five days,” Bryan’s words made my jaw drop. “It’s a good thing the bomb was small. Otherwise, it would take a lot long
er.”
“Right,” Maltese added, pursing his lips. “It will take the cops another two to three days to go over the rubble and find what’s left of the bomb. In the meantime, rain will ruin any evidence left at the scene.”
“They’re covering their tracks and they’re stalling him,” I spoke in a firm voice. “He won’t be able to rebuild for a while.”
“Exactly,” the Don agreed. “If I was going to hit someone, I wouldn’t change a thing in that plan. It’s thorough. Ruthless. It covers all the bases, and it’s got a certain whiff of the organization. Did Santone have any relatives?”
“Not that I know of,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Even if he did, they don’t know who whacked him. Boss, it’s got to be someone else from back in Joe’s days in the organization. We used to rough up a lot of people together. That Matheson guy was scared shitless every time we paid him a visit.”
“That old fart couldn’t have done this, and you know it,” Bryan spoke his mind. “Don Maltese is correct. This bombing’s got ‘Mob’ written all over it.”
“Boys, I’ve got a big shipment coming in from China tonight,” Maltese announced, his voice gaining in volume and nerve. “The ship’s name is ‘Angelica.’ It’s under the Panamanian flag. I want you to head to the docks. Make sure everything’s copacetic. If there’s a problem, you know where to find me.”
“You got it, boss,” I said, recalling what was in the containers the last time he had given us this sort of assignment. I loved that stuff. In fact, I liked it so much that I was tempted to steal some pieces for myself. But, unless you have a death wish, you don’t steal from a Don, especially from someone who’d been nice to me and Bryan. Maltese was one arrogant bastard, but, other than that, he was okay. He paid us more than twice the pittance Santone had, including task bonuses. The next day, Bryan and I would get at least five hundred bucks each for a three-hour job. Betraying that generosity just didn’t feel right.
