Two to the Back

by Cam Johns

  “That’s because I’m not getting married.”

  Girls and their love. I look at the young kid in front of me and shake my head, just because I can’t kill him, doesn’t mean I can’t rile him up. “Does your daddy know you’re here?”

  Luca shakes his head, and fucking threatens me. “None of his business.”

  He’s testing my patience. “Isabella, want to tell me why you sent your little boyfriend over to my place to stir shit up?”

  “I hear Robert’s gone legit, Uncle. You helped him, maybe you could help me get my freedom from my father.”

  “Your freedom doesn’t matter to me.”

  She sighs softly. The sound of running water comes from through her end, and I assume she’s in the bathroom, covering up her voice. “What about Beppe’s death? Does that matter to you?”

  I don’t make a sound. This can all be a set up.

  She continues, “He shot Robert in front of me. I held my fingers to his wounds to try to stop the blood. I screamed and cried and prayed for him. Believe me when I tell you, that wasn’t the worst thing he has ever done to me.”

  After a little more and a promise of killing the Don, I finally give in. I tell Luca everything he doesn’t know, and why this whole thing will be very dangerous for everyone.

  However, I know my son would try to help anyone who wants to get out of this lifestyle. Including the young girl he used to love and protect— and kill for—whenever he watched over her. Before being sent off, Isabella and him were inseparable. That is the only reason I will even consider giving up my son’s location. Well, that and the patricide. My son always felt guilty for the things he did in his life and wanted to do things better now. After all, I know I wasn’t the best of fathers … I even left my son and his mother for a time, and of course I was never proud of that moment.

  This could be my last attempt at making amends. Maybe after this, my son wouldn’t hate me as much as he still does.

  Mykel returns from getting rid of Gino’s body, carrying with him a bucket of cleaning supplies. “This stunod is still here?” he says, preparing to clean up the blood that didn’t make it onto the plastic.

  “I was just leaving.” Luca stands and holds out his hand to me.

  I shake his hand. “If something happens to my son ‘cause of this, everyone dies.” I grip Luca’s hand hard, squeezing it tightly as I stare him down.

  “Son?” Mykel whispers, staring curiously at me as Luca heads for the door.

  “Oh, one more thing.” I stop Luca at the doorway. “You might not want to be an ass to my son. He’ll pop you square in da jaw.”

  Luca waves him off, obviously not heeding his advice.

  “Have a seat, we need to talk,” I say to Mykel, who is not looking forward to competing with someone else for my loyalty.

  3

  Knocks At the Door

  The loudness of the raindrops hitting the bedroom window awakens me earlier than I wanted, even though it’s Monday. It’s my day off. However, a smirk comes over my face, as I stare at my beautiful wife Madelynn, while she smiles in her sleep. I softly slide away the loose brunette tendrils that fell in front of her face as she slept. I admire her pale, soft skin as her shoulders protrude from beneath the sheets, then kiss her cheek gently, as to not wake her. I enjoy watching her sleep soundly beside me. I’m overjoyed, knowing she feels so loved and protected and has no worries … no concerns … and no guilt.

  There once was a time when I didn’t feel I deserved to have such happiness in my life. A time when I did everything possible to stay in trouble—to prove my worth. A worth to those who did everything they could to make me feel worthless. And I believed that shit, too. I mean, who was I?

  My father left when I was two because he couldn’t handle my poor, drunk mother, or a son that could possibly not even be his. What can I say? She was a fucking whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed. At least, that’s what the neighborhood “fathers” would say. Come to think of it, once my father reentered my life, he had the same bullshit to say.

  But that’s what I had to look up to. Grown ass Italian men who ran my city, at the time anyway. Men who made me feel like shit and on top of the world all at the same time.

  However, Chicago was a long time ago. I’m on the other side of the country now, proud to have a new life, far from the drama of my teenage years. I thank God every day. I have one person in my life that looked out for me and got me here. Even though he’s gone now, I’m sure to live my life as he would expect me to.

  “What are you thinking about?” she whispers, rescuing me from my thoughts.“Matteo,” I say, pulling her in close.She smiles, running her fingers across my forehead. “I wish I could’ve met him, sweetie.” She kisses me softly on the lips. “After all, he gave me two of my three loves.”“He did.” I smile, remembering the last time I saw Matteo, just five years ago.“It’s okay to be sad sometimes,” she says, leaning on her elbow to face me. “You don’t always have to be the strong one. I think I’m pretty tough.” She giggles, raising her left arm to flex her tiny triceps.I laugh out loud and throw her onto her back. “You’re the strongest woman I know, my little Mighty Mouse.”She giggles. “Oh, I’ll show you Mighty Mouse.” She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling my lips to hers. We kiss frantically, both of us hoping to get a quickie in before we’re interrupted.

  Knock. Knock.

  Seriously?

  “Dad.”

  “Is that my name?” I whisper to Madelynn.

  She giggles. “Oh, that’s definitely your name.” She kisses me quickly, before pushing me off of her.

  “Come in, Jax.”

  “We need pancakes, Dad.” Jackson jogs in our room and leans on the bed beside me.

  “Why do I have to make them? Can’t I sleep in for once on my day off?”

  “I think Mommy can sleep in,” Jackson smiles at Lynn, as if they’ve had a plan all along, unbeknownst to me.

  “Ummm … what was that?” I ask her.

  “Nothing at all, honey. You better get moving though,” She giggles, batting her lashes before she lies back down and covers half her face with the blanket.

  “Fine,” I sit up as Jackson begins to run out of the bedroom, but I don’t think I want to let my sneaky wife off the hook that easily. “Tell your brother to give me ten minutes,” I tell Jackson just as he hits the door, calling his brother’s name before shutting it. I turn my torso to see my wife still hiding beneath the covers. “You think you’re slick?” I ask, yanking the covers back to find her sporting a mischievous grin.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She smiles before turning her back to me. “You should get a move on, babe. You have two hungry boys and a wife to feed.”

  My eyes roam the crook of her neck, as the softness of her skin calls for me to kiss her. To taste what I already know well, and desire builds as if it were the first time. I lean my body in closer, quickly grabbing at her waist so that she doesn’t try to stop me. She jolts at the connection, giggling as if she thinks I’m playing around.

  Oh, but I’m not.

  I told Jackson ten minutes for a reason. I know just how long it’ll take my beloved to come.

  “What are you—,” she begins, but stops when I softly bite into her neck. A feeling that always sends her reeling.

  I pull her against my now solid dick, as my craving for her has completely possessed me. She begins to turn around and face me, but I hold her in place, suckling at her neck. Her tantalizing moans radiate through my hungry loins, singing to my dick as if it could be awakened any further. She lifts her right arm behind my head, grappling at my hair and pulling my lips against her neck, silently begging me not to stop. Her breast almost fully exposed, protruding from her tight, low-cut T-shirt. I fight the urge to spin her on her back, and pull them into my mouth, knowing I’ve only got a few minutes before there’s another interruption at the door. Right now, there’s only one thing I want.

  I slide her right leg
onto mine, and quickly dip my finger inside her soaked panties in search of what I’m looking for. Her body writhes with the touch of my fingers, avidly caressing her warmth, and she impulsively lets out an impassioned moan.

  “Shhh!” I command her silence, then stick my tongue in her ear and use my tongue to torture her. “Let’s go. Gimme what I want,” I whisper, as I vigorously rub her middle. After all, it’s her fault we have to rush.

  She grinds her plump ass against me, pissing me off, considering I won’t get to fuck my wife now. I feel her body begin to pulsate, and I know what’s ahead. She brings her hands to her mouth to muffle her screams as she finally releases. Something she never could control with me.

  I wait for her body to relax before removing my hands, and quickly leave her euphoria, so I can wash my hands and think of baseball before Jackson returns. As I walk out of the bathroom, I stare at my wife, who lays beautifully relaxed on the bed. I contemplate whether I have time to assail her. She eyes me innocently, just as Jackson knocks softly on the door and then I hear his feet patter down the hall.

  My son is so damn impatient.

  “Just so you know, I’m going to destroy your pussy later,” I whisper.

  She pulls the cover up to just below her eyes, hiding her amusement as I put on my daddy hat and leave the room.

  As I walk out of our room and down the long hall that’s adorned with family photos, I hear laughter coming from the family room. I stand at the entrance, watching Jackson and Jonathan playing with their monster trucks. It seems like only yesterday that I brought Jackson here, shy and confused. It took two years of counseling and constant reassurance before he was this comfortable.

  Even though I lost a good friend that day, I’ll always respect his last good deed. Giving me another son, when my wife and I thought we would have none. Although Jonathan is twelve and maturing faster than most boys, he makes it a point to give Jackson the attention he needs, no matter what. Jonathan is far from who I was at that age. I mean, he hasn’t even been arrested.

  “Dad! Pancakes!” Jonathan shouts, pulling on my hand to lead me into the kitchen.

  “All right, all right.”

  As per usual, Jonathan gathers what I need for breakfast from both the refrigerator and pantry as I wash my hands. Jackson quickly sets the table before going back to the family room to play.

  Jonathan follows behind him but stops at the door. “Dad, what made you wanna be a cop?”

  Where in the hell did that shit come from?

  I’m really not sure how to answer that. I could tell him the truth and say I was a freaking enforcer for the mob, and I needed to get out before another attempt on my life was made. Or I wanted to be better. Do better. But then that would lead to more questions, like ‘better than what?’ and I can’t give him the answers. So, I’ll just have to be evasive … then lie—somewhat.

  Shit.

  “I just wanted to do better,” I respond, as I flip the pancakes in the extra-long griddle, the turkey bacon popping in the pan.

  “Do better than what?” Jonathan asks, as expected.

  “Than the other people around me, son. That’s why I always tell you to choose your friends wisely.” I hope my statement sends him running, instead of hearing another one of my lectures.

  I wait quietly for a response or further interrogation, but instead, a look of satisfaction appears on his face before leaving the kitchen.

  Perfect. I constantly dread the day my sons will have questions about my childhood, or why they only see my wife’s parents. Granted, I don’t know what my father is up to, and my mother is an alcoholic who has no idea where I am or how my life has turned out. However, I do know exactly where my father is, and I don’t want him anywhere near my family.

  Ever.

  It’s just better this way. One day, they’ll know the truth, and hopefully, that truth won’t compare to the man I’ve become.

  As I place the breakfast on the table, Lynn and the kids join me in the kitchen.

  “Smells good, honey. Thanks.” She kisses me on the cheek before sitting beside me at the table in our breakfast nook. My eyes stare too long at what I know will be mine underneath that robe.

  I enjoy family time, considering my career keeps me away from them constantly. More so now that I’m finally a homicide detective—my true calling. Finding out the bad guy has never been difficult for me, because I used to be one of them. Nonetheless, because my numbers are damn near perfect, my name seems to be in constant rotation. So, even though today may be my scheduled day off, homicide knows no time. Ambition is something I’ve always had, but this time it’s geared toward a more prominent, fulfilling career. Doing what I’m doing now will only accelerate that plan further.

  Just as we’re finishing up breakfast, there’s a knock at the door.

  “Jeez. Tell Sanchez it’s your day off,” my wife says, annoyed that it may be my partner. This is the only thing she hates about being a cop’s wife. I’m never home, and when I am, we’re consistently interrupted.

  “Maybe he smelled breakfast from his home,” I say, getting up to answer the door.

  But it’s not Sanchez.

  I stand there with the door ajar, not saying a word. My silence and shocked appearance bring Lynn to the door.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” she asks the strangers.

  “Mrs. Turner, my name is Luca Cabrali. I believe you know this guy already,” the man I didn’t know says.

  “I’m sorry I don’t,” she responds before looking up at me.

  Jackson runs up beside me and leans against me, as if he’s still that five-year-old boy sensing a problem.

  My friend of many years stoops down in front of my son. “Remember me, Jackson?”

  “Hi, Mr. Rossi,” Jackson whispers. I’m honestly surprised he even remembers his full name. Then again, that whole situation was a traumatizing time for him, and I’m sure he remembers it completely, regardless of how much he denies it.

  My wife gasps. “Matteo?”

  4

  Gut Punched

  My wife stares at me, waiting for some sort of response, but I am motionless … stunned … confused … angry even.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Ummm… Jackson, come with me please,” Lynn says.

  I’m not sure if she senses my impending explosion or not, but I hear her hurriedly rush our children to the back of the house and shut the door.

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” I shout, balling my fists. I’m two seconds away from pounding his face in, friend or not.

  I grieved his loss. I thought he was dead. Murdered.

  And this asshole just knocks on my door one day and expects me to be cool. I may have to remind him of who I was. Clearly, he has forgotten.

  “Mr. Turner… that’s what you’re calling yourself these days, right? Stay cool. I’m sure you don’t want your neighbors witnessing anything,” this Luca kid, who I don’t know, tries to remind me.

  I look around to see my normally quiet block suddenly full of people, walking around and being nosey. So, I back away from the door, letting the two men enter. Clearly, Luca thinks he’s God’s gift as he confidently glides inside my home with his high-priced clothes and model-like features. I have no idea who this clown is, but I feel I may need to punch his lights out by the end of this … and Matteo’s too, for that matter.

  “Obviously, we’re disturbing your family meal, so we’ll make this quick,” Luca announces as I stare at Matteo, waiting for him to speak.

  The arrogance of this Cabrali asshole grabs my attention, however. Who the hell does he think he is? The moment he stepped into my house, he lost all control. I guess I’ll have to teach him how to respect his elders, even though I’m not much older than he is.

  “You might want to sit the fuck down and shut up,” I snap.

  Luca smirks at me, as if a threat from me meant little to him, which makes me think he’s in the life and high up the chain. “Who the
fuck is this kid, Matteo?”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Matteo warns him.

  Luca goes to the kitchen table to help himself to the leftover food, which only pisses me off further. Matteo stands directly in front of me, as if he is waiting for me to hit or berate him. But how could I? He has been my only true friend since I was seven, and I thought he was gone. But he’s not. He’s here, in my home, in front of me with his way-too-tight jeans and even tighter V-neck shirt, as if nothing happened.

  So, instead of doing what’s expected of me, I grab and hug him as if I’ll never see him again. Something I should have done when he gave me Jackson.

  “I’m sure you have questions,” Matteo says, sitting on the couch behind him.

  “To say the least.” I sit on the wooden table in front of him.

  “I can’t really get into the details right now, man. I’m sorry about this.” He puts his head down. “I truly thought I was doing the right thing … for all of us,” he finishes and glances up at me. His eyes lock on the family photo on the wall beside us. “Jackson is doing well?” He smiles, elated he did something right, I’m sure.

  “He’s doing well … now.”

  Matteo stares quizzically at me, wanting to delve deeper, but doesn’t want to waste any more time. “Rob, Luca and I are here because my fail-proof plan wasn’t so ironclad.”

  “Which plan are you referring to, Matteo? Faking your death … or faking mine?” I ask, worried everything I’ve worked so hard for is about to go to shit.

  “Jackson,” he whispers. “Santini knows about him.”

  “Jackson!” I shout almost too loud, standing to my feet. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I lower my voice. Santini, for sure, thinks I’m dead. After all, he shot me. But Matteo told me Santini didn’t even know Jackson existed.

  “I’m gonna need you to sit and try to calm down.”

  Oh, he’s lost his damn mind.