We couldn’t ask for better conditions.
I put out feelers when I heard about the dogfighting rumors, calling a few friends of friends who owed me favors. And in this business, a good tip is as good as money.
My hunch was right. There’s a junkyard on the southeast side of town, right on the border of the territory the Cleaners are trying to make their own. If the word from my contact is good—and this guy doesn’t disappoint—there’s something going down there tonight.
We won’t tolerate it. Not on our turf.
At least, that’s what the bosses said. When I told them what I’d found out, I expected to be going in hot with a half-dozen men and a lot more firepower.
The bosses decided I could handle it with these two. Tony stays in the car, we’ll need a quick getaway. I’d almost rather go in on my own.
“So, remind me what we know about these guys besides that we’re gonna go fuck up anything they got goin’ on,” Mike says as he straps the gun to his side. They’re are packed like sardines back there, but we’re all used to getting ready in tight conditions.
“Not as much as I’d like,” Paul grumbles.
“Shit, you’re tellin’ me,” Mike says, his hand reaching for a cigarette he doesn’t have. “Ever get the impression your boss is tryin’ to kill you?”
Tony doesn’t say anything. He never does.
“It’s a low-stakes job,” says Paul. “All the bosses need is to make a statement with a few good mooks and a lotta bullets—that’s us. Not like we got bright futures ahead of us or nothin’.”
Mike gives a rueful laugh. “What, Paulie, you don’t think I’m a model citizen? Look at me, I take a few more bullets for the family and I’ll have a pension, just you watch.”
“You take a few more bullets and the lead will be worth more than your pension,” Paul chuckles.
The boys rib each other, laughing. Even I crack a smile. Joking about it helps, because the reality of everyday life for us is pretty goddamn grim.
“Nah, if the capo cared that much, we’d have a lot more people out here to take on Cleaners,” says Mike.
“Bruno’s fought with ‘em before, and he’s here,” Paul says. “Besides, Bruno, you’ve got all that special-whatever training your crazy uncle gave you. You call the shots tonight, how ‘bout that?”
“Think I’d leave you high and dry?” I say, raising an eyebrow into the mirror. “Don’t bother thinking about the big men in the cushy chairs back home, we rely on each other while we’re out here. But don’t go saying stupid shit like that, either,” I add with a warning glance. “We’re soldiers. We’re all on equal ground.”
“One more block and I’m stopping,” Tony says, giving us a heads-up. I nod before I look back to the two men. I feel like I’m obligated to give some kind of pep talk. These are good men, but they know as well as I do when we’ve been given a shit hand.
“Should be a small crowd tonight betting on a few dogs. We’re coming in about ten minutes early, so I want us to be in there before the fuckers take the dogs out of their cages. Paul, you’ve got a pit bull, I don’t have to tell you to watch your shot.”
Paul nods with a hardened face. He’s got a special hatred for fights like these. There’s nothing about them that isn’t monstrous.
“Cleaners don’t have numbers on their side, but they’re vicious,” I say. “They don’t pull punches, and neither should you. We’ve all been to this junkyard before, so no surprises. Hit them hard and fast, don’t give them a second to organize. The gamblers are going to scatter, but unless one of them pulls a gun, let ‘em go—the more people hear about tonight, the better.” I glance between the two of them. “If I didn’t trust the two of you, I wouldn’t be bothering with this shit, alright? Let’s show these assholes who runs the Bronx.”
The men give me resolute nods just as we come to a stop on the outside of a fence with barbed wire running along the top. Tony turned the headlights off a while ago. All four of us climb out of the sedan, and Tony moves around to the trunk to take out a big, thick carpet.
As we make our way to the fence, Tony hands me the rug. I open my mouth to tell him we’d see him later, but he says, “Let me come with. Got a bad feeling about tonight.”
I’m surprised, but after a quick glance to Mike and Paul, I give Tony a curt nod. “Lock the car. You carrying?”
Tony pulls his jacket to the side to show off a pair of glocks strapped to his chest. I smile. Tony’s from the old country, like me. We don’t fuck around with business like this.
I take the lead, climbing the fence up to the wire. With a quick motion, I toss the thick rug over it and use that as padding to climb over. This isn’t exactly a high-security lot. They might as well have left out a welcome mat for anyone wanting to do what the Cleaners are doing tonight.
Once inside, the four of us start making our way through the shadows of the junkyard. Rain patters on crumpled, rusted metal all around us. The half-smashed, ruined cars and machines piled up all around us are like ridges of a mountain. I hear a rat scuttle away every thirty paces or so.
It doesn’t take long for us to start hearing voices. I glance back at my men to make sure everyone’s still good. I draw my weapon, and they do the same, triple-checking that they’re loaded and ready to go.
As we get closer to the sounds, it’s clear where the group is set up. There’s an encircled dirt clearing not far from the center of the junkyard that’s protected by a ring of stacked cars and warped metal. Perfect for things like this. Only a few ways out, but plenty of cover. You can’t hear anything going on in there from outside the junkyard.
I know, because I killed a man here a year ago. He was a loan shark who’d crossed the wrong people—I don’t regret it.
I look back to nod to Paul and Tony, gesturing for them to circle around to another entryway. There’s one almost directly across from the one I’m taking Mike toward. We should be able to see each other with no problem.
“What’s the signal?” Paul asks in a low whisper.
“You’ll know,” I say simply. Paul gives me a look, but he knows better than to question me. He nods, and the two of them disappear, hugging the shadow of a semi-truck as they slide around to their position.
Me and Mike make it to a small outcropping made of what looks like the remains of a Volvo and a stack of tires, where we crouch down. Through the smashed-out window, we have a clear sight of the scene.
There’s a makeshift ring set up in the middle of the clearing, set up from rebar, heavy metal barrels, and a few other odds and ends the ringleaders must have thrown together. A few people are leaning on the edges, beers in hand, while others crowd around a man standing on top of a small platform, taking bets. Next to him is a big burly guy with a scar across his face, bulging arms crossed.
That’s one guard. I spot a second one walk by the opening between two stacks of metal, a third and a fourth by the ring. I always assume there’s at least one more that I can’t see.
“Something look off to you, Mike?” I murmur, narrowing my eyes at the scene.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Where’s the dogs?”
I notice the man taking bets checking his watch periodically. His brow is knit, and he’s looking red-faced. He shouts at the guard every now and then, who looks unmoved.
“Must be running late,” I say. “All the better. No risk of hurting anyone who doesn’t have it coming.” I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the little glass bottle I stashed in there on the ride over.
It’s filled with alcohol and a little rag. The Americans call it a Molotov cocktail.
“That’s your signal, huh?” Mike says through a smirk.
“Told you I was going in hot,” I say with a wink before I see the patrol disappear behind the cars again and dart to the edge of the entrance. Crouching low, Mike follows behind me. I glance around the corner long enough to see Paul’s face in the shadows on the other side.
I take out a lighter and set the tip
of my Molotov ablaze. I give myself a half-second to take aim at the edge of the ring where two of the guards are standing, and I hurl it.
Chaos erupts.
The firebomb goes off with a crash, and the two men scream as they stagger back, flames on their clothes keeping them from fumbling for their weapons. Like clockwork, I see Paul pop out of cover and fire at the big guy with the scar, who takes two to the chest and goes down. Immediately, the crowd scatters. Cursing fills the air as the gambling men run for the exitways, and a few people who spot us just start crawling out over the piles of cars.
The man taking bets pulls out a pistol and fires back at Paul, but I come out of cover with mine raised and put a bullet in his head before he can get off more than a couple shots that ricochet off the metal.
The two guards by the ring are burned badly, but they’re getting to their feet and getting their weapons out, so Mike and I move in.
Mike fires at them, but I haven’t forgotten the other guard just beyond the entryway. I blind-fire around the corner and hear a curse, and the first guard lunges at me from behind cover, closing the distance before I can aim a shot at him. But I’m ready.
I crouch down and brace for his impact, throwing him over my shoulder when he rushes in. Almost as soon as he’s on the ground, I’m on top of him. I drop my knee down onto his throat with all my weight, crushing his neck instantly.
“Shit!” I hear Mike curse, and I look back to see him taking cover, holding his arm. He’s been hit.
“Get down!” I shout, and I provide covering fire for him, hitting one of the two burned guards in the stomach. He crumples, and I see Paul and Tony moving in from behind the other side, guns out.
That’s when I hear the sound of an engine.
I watch Paul and Tony’s attention turn to their right from across the ring, and Tony cries out, pushing Paul out of the way as a truck comes barreling out of nowhere. It pulls a hard right as it flies toward the two, and I shout as Tony gets slammed by the side of the truck going God-knows-how fast.
His body goes rolling to the side as Paul scrambles to cover, and bullets are already flying from the truck. The truck flips its brights on, blinding me and Mike, and we’re forced to cover, firing at it from behind the ruins of a car.
My adrenaline is racing, because I caught a glimpse of what’s in the bed of that truck: about four more men, and the sound of those bullets told me they’ve got automatic weapons. Uzis, if I were a betting man.
“It’s a fucking trap!” I shout, “Paul, get out of there!”
But there are already gunshots ringing out, and I can’t see Paul. I grab Mike and pull him close to me. “I’ll draw their fire, get Paul and get the fuck out of here!”
“What?!” he hisses, “I’m not leaving you, Bruno!”
We both duck on reflex as bullets pelt the car, and I know I have to move fast. Then I hear his voice.
“Bruno, you still alive?” calls Lorenzo from the truck, a mocking edge to his voice. “Think we have some unsettled business! My boys here have been dying to meet you, why don’t you come say hi?”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Mike, I’m not fucking around, when I move, you move opposite me.” I don’t give him a moment to respond. Blind-firing to cover myself, I dart out from behind the car, crossing through plain sight. Bullets start peppering the ground around me, but adrenaline is pumping through my body now. I don’t look back to see whether Mike listened to me, but in what feels like a second, I’m back into the labyrinth of shadows and cars, away from the ring.
If I want to survive tonight, I need to draw them into my territory.
I get low and reload my gun, making a wide circle to their position. I know they’ll either be tailing me, trying to head me off, or both, depending on their numbers. I need to be ready for that.
“Your pal here left a dent in my truck, Bruno,” Lorenzo calls. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep your death nice and clean. Cleaner than this shmuck, anyway.” His words come with the sound of a single shot as he puts Tony down for good.
I grit my teeth.
They’ll pay for tonight.
I hear footsteps up ahead of me. They’re moving quietly, but my ears are sharper. Without having to think, I move to the wall of cars and climb into the nearest gap I can find, pressing myself flat against it. I can hear my heart pounding. I never liked skulking through the shadows, but they’ll be my ally tonight. Pistol still in one hand, I draw my knife.
In the blink of an eye, I watch two figures pass by me. I seize my chance. Like a specter, I lunge out from the darkness. My gun-hand wraps around the mouth of one while I drive the knife into the base of his skull with all the force I need.
His body hasn’t hit the ground twitching before his comrade turns, wide-eyed, and fires blindly at me as I dive for him too. I feel the sting of at least two bullets in my shoulder, but that doesn’t stop me from driving the knife into his throat.
Shit. I used the knife because I wanted to keep from making too much sound, but the man has given me away. As he crumples to the ground, I stow my knife and pistol to collect the Uzis from the men. Their blood is sticky on the handles.
The others must have been close, because no sooner have I picked up the guns than I hear the rush of running footsteps behind me. I whirl around in time to see another two of the thugs running my way, but they stagger to a halt as they see me and my guns.
On reflex, they fire off at me, and I dive for cover as I shoot back. There’s a sting in my thigh, and I know I’m hit, but I see one of them hit the ground, dead, and the other groans. I think I hit him in the gut.
I can hear Uncle Carlo in the back of my mind, chiding me for being so imprecise. You’re the one who taught me how to defend myself in the first place, you crazy bastard.
To my right, I see light filtering through the cars. I realize the light is coming from the headlights—there’s a crack in the rusted machines just big enough to slip through and get back into the clearing where the ring is. And I wouldn’t care to do so, except that I see a familiar figure walking nearby in that light.
Lorenzo.
There’s a guard with him, though. I have to make this count. I draw my pistol again. I need to be precise. I move up carefully, as silently as I can be. My heart sinks as I see Paul on the ground, across from them, not moving. I get up just close enough to where I can make the shot, and Lorenzo’s back is to me.
Broken glass crunches under my boot. The guard’s gaze darts to me. I have to act now.
As he raises his gun to fill me with lead, I lunge forward and seize Lorenzo from behind, arm around his neck and pistol to his head. The guard has his gun trained on me, his face twisted into a grimace, but he freezes, and Lorenzo tenses up.
“You’re a ballsy cock-sucker, you know that?” Lorenzo growls, struggling a moment against my grip. Our faces are so close I can hear his breathing. It’s closer than I’d like to be to this piece of shit, but if my head isn’t close enough to Lorenzo’s to be a risk, I know that guard will take the shot.
“You’re one to talk,” I hiss back, “you’ve got guts, coming out here to die in a junkyard.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lorenzo says as I keep my eyes locked with his guard, standing off with me uneasily. “I can feel the blood spilling out your wounds. My boys got you good.”
“If you think this is bad, you’re more spoiled than I thought,” I chuckle.
“Tough talk. Serena’s made you soft, Bruno,” he says in a taunting, almost singsong voice, “but she can get me hard, if you know what I mean.”
I’m about ready to throw caution to the wind and pull the trigger when a hint of movement catches my eye.
Paul.
His firing-arm lifts up and aims at the guard from behind. I see it at the same time as Lorenzo. But just as Paul fires, Lorenzo throws his elbow into my side and twists away. He tries to get a hold of my wrist and take that with him. I wrench myself free, but I have to let my weapon fall out of my hands to
do so. It falls to the dust as Lorenzo pulls himself away and turns to flee.
I hear the guard cry out in pain and fall to his knees, but I’m already chasing after Lorenzo, who’s racing for the truck. My body is a better-tuned machine, though, and I catch up to him, diving into a tackle that brings him to the ground with a hard thud. The next moment, we’re locked in each other’s arms.
My legs twist to try to get a hold of him, but he’s more careful than to let me have that. He throws a punch that catches me in the eye, but I push through the ringing in my ears to return the blow, then work my way around him to try to get him in a sleeper hold.
But before I can do that, he rolls away and pushes himself up onto his feet. I do the same, and he draws a knife, a trickle of blood running down his nose and out his mouth. His eyes are wide.
I smile. That’s fear in his eyes. “Let’s settle this like men, codardo!”
Lorenzo’s eyes dart to his guard...but the man is dead, breathing his last on the ground. My jaw tightens as I realize Paul is gone, too. He used the last of his strength to give me a chance. My grip on my knife tightens as I ready to lunge at Lorenzo.
But as I move my leg, I feel a sharp pain shoot through my body, and I suppress a grunt of pain. I look down at my leg and realize that the entire side of my pants are soaked in red. My dizziness is catching up to my adrenaline.
For a moment, Lorenzo looks as if he’s going to take me on, but he proves himself even more of a coward than I thought. He takes his chance and runs, hopping into his truck.
I run for my gun on the ground and pick it up to shoot at the vehicle, but he’s already turned the ignition on and started roaring away. I fire my weapon and watch the sparks as it hits the back, but it just blazes on, tearing out of the junkyard.
I swear under my breath in my mother tongue. I have to go after him. I look around, and my gaze falls on Tony’s broken body. Cursing, I stoop down beside him, fighting off the fuzziness of my vision. I say a quick prayer I remember from my youth as I reach into my dead friend’s jacket to get the keys.
Bound for Life (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 1) Page 12
