by S. D. Thames
“Sorry. Some of us are born that way.” These guys were bringing out the worst in me, and I wanted to see the worst of them. Jimmy was quick to return another jab with his gun. “You hit like a grandmother,” I told him, arching an eyebrow.
“Knock that shit off!” Kiki yelled at Jimmy. Wherever we were going, Kiki wanted me to get there in one piece. This could be fun.
We stopped for a red light at Kennedy. He told me to turn right, and we were headed back in the direction of Westshore. “Let me guess,” I said. “We’re going back to the restaurant?”
“I’ll tell you when to turn,” Kiki grumbled.
I kept driving. The traffic was heavy for a Sunday evening. I guessed Jimmy still didn’t like my driving, as his leg was doing the jitterbug. “You drink a lot of caffeine, or suffer restless leg syndrome?” I asked him.
He realized I was eyeing his leg. He grabbed it, but that did little to ease the trembling. “This kid’s in over his head,” I told Kiki, glancing in the mirror.
“He’s fine. We’re just going for a ride to talk.”
“Where we meeting Mr. Scalzo?” I asked.
“Who said we’re meeting him?” Kiki asked in return.
The trident pin stuck to my dashboard caught Jimmy’s attention. He unpinned it and raised it to get a better look in the glow of the streetlights.
“Don’t touch that,” I snapped.
“This what I think it is?”
“Whatever you think it is, I told you not to touch it.”
He swallowed. “You a SEAL?”
“Do I look like a SEAL?”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, and pinned it back to the dash.
“’Cause, you know, if I was a SEAL, I could probably drive this car off the bridge up here. A SEAL would know how to brace himself for impact and swim to safety.” I glanced at Jimmy. “You got that kind of confidence?”
“Screw you,” Jimmy muttered.
“You asked,” I said. “Do I seem to have that kind of confidence?”
Jimmy looked back to Kiki. “Can we switch places?”
Kiki rolled his eyes.
I waited for him to meet mine in the rearview. “We can all trade whenever you’re ready. You want to drive, Kiki?” I pulled the car to a stop on Kennedy, right there in the middle of the lane. Cars swerved to miss us, and a procession of blaring horns and raised middle fingers passed us by.
Kiki leaned forward, pressed the gun in a few inches. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re a SEAL, a walrus, or a killer whale. Put the damn car in drive, and if you pull another stunt like that, you’ll be shark bait in about an hour. We clear?”
I waited about ten seconds, just long enough for him to dig the barrel as deep as it could go. As the pain spread through my neck, I remembered I had my regular weekly appointment with Dr. J the next morning. If I made it through the night, we were going to have a lot to talk about.
Finally, I put the car back in drive and floored it. Jimmy hit his seat, and Kiki relaxed the gun.
“Don’t worry, Jimmy. After BUD/S training, I dropped out, took a different route. That’s not my pin.”
“Whose is it?”
I shook my head. “It belonged to a kid from Texas. Touch it again, and we’ll have a problem.”
Kiki barked, “Go south on Westshore.”
I obeyed. We were passing through a wealthy neighborhood of large waterfront estates to our right. Traditional Edwardian brick palaces on the left. Fortunately, there was less lighting on this residential street, offering a better opportunity to get to my iPhone. I slid it onto my left leg and lit the screen. Jimmy was staring out his window, as tense as he’d been all night. I hit the call button to pull up my call history.
I glanced down. The most recent number was Pinkerton’s. That would do me no good tonight, or any other night for that matter. I surreptitiously scrolled down. The only number I recognized was Hector’s. I hit the name, hoping it would dial his line, and left the phone sitting on my lap.
The scenery started to light up as we approached a few commercial blocks with restaurants, antique shops, and specialty food stores. “All the way to Gandy?” I asked, loud enough that I could be heard on the phone.
“You got it,” Kiki said.
“We crossing the bridge?” I asked.
“Not quite,” he grunted.
“We meeting Scalzo there?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
“Come on, Kiki, admit it, Scalzo’s pissed that I served him tonight, so you’re taking me out to some place on Gandy to rough me up.”
Kiki leaned forward. “What the hell are you doin’?” He smacked Jimmy’s head. Jimmy still didn’t get it. I lowered my left leg and let the phone slide onto the floorboard. I had no idea if the call was still connected, and what, if anything, Hector might have heard.
Kiki gave me more directions. I knew the area we were going to and I didn’t like it. Next thing I knew, we were turning onto a gravel road off an island. He pointed to a storage garage facility. I knew the place, but couldn’t quite put my finger on how I knew it.
Once we were inside the facility, it hit me. Sal Barton had a garage at this place. Sal liked to buy old cars, restore them, and sell them. He usually lost money doing it, but it was a hobby nonetheless. I slowed as we passed Sal’s garage. “Keep driving,” Kiki said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
I obeyed. Just then, my phone started ringing.
“What’s that?” Jimmy yelped.
“What’s it sound like? It’s my phone.”
“Where is it?” Kiki asked.
“I’m not sure. I think on the floor.”
Kiki slapped Jimmy. Jimmy got the drift, bent over, and picked up my phone. I saw Hector’s name displayed on the caller ID. And for the life of me, it looked like Jimmy had accidentally hit the answer button.
I listened for Hector’s voice, but all I heard was Kiki barking in the backseat, telling Jimmy to turn off the phone, oblivious that his understudy might have actually answered the call.
“Find my phone,” I said as clearly and loudly as I could without yelling. “Find my phone.”
“What the hell you talking about?” Jimmy asked. “It’s right here.” He thumbed it clumsily, rolled down the window, and threw my phone out. I could only hope Hector got the message. He had showed me the Find Your Friend app a few months earlier, and we’d agreed to follow each other in the unlikely chance that something like this happened one day.
“Enough of this already,” Kiki said. “Drive around there.”
He directed me farther into the complex, to the last row of garages.
The only sign of life was a Porsche. I imagined it being Mattie’s, and wondered for a brief moment whether he could somehow be behind this, setting me up. But as we got closer, I saw that the Porsche was black, not red, and its license plate read SCALZ0.
Once I parked, Jimmy looked to Kiki for instructions.
“Kill the engine,” Kiki said. Then he nodded to Jimmy. Jimmy got it and raised his gun toward me. Kiki’s barrel was tickling me again, too. “Now get out, nice and steady.”
So I got out quick and mean. Kiki was on me. He had nice moves for a guy his size. Jimmy was running around the front of my car, his gun pointing every which way but at me. He paused for a moment when he got a good look at me standing up. I suppose I had a good six inches on him. He took a deep breath and let Kiki take the lead.
Kiki led me into the garage with his gun in the small of my back. I kept it nice and arched, like I was getting ready to pull some weight off the floor.
A flashbulb glowed in the center of the room. That was all I could see until I caught a quick glimpse of brass flying toward my face. It was a good hit. Might have knocked me down or out had it been a split second sooner.
I caught my balance, wiped my lip, but saw just a little blood. I braced for the next blow. It didn’t come. Just a question: “Who the hell do you work for?”
Scalzo emerge
d from the darkness of the room. He smoked a cigarette and had lost most the layers he’d worn earlier that night: now he had on just a white V-neck and the same black jeans.
“I said,” he started to say, but stopped when I shed Kiki and connected a roundhouse to his chest. I couldn’t see the contact, but it sounded like it sent him flying back against the far wall. It also felt like I’d pulled something in my groin.
“You son of a bitch,” he moaned from the floor.
Kiki drove the gun into my side and pushed me to the ground. Jimmy kicked me from the front. I felt all his frustration and anger from the night explode on my face. “Well done,” I had to tell him.
Kiki drove the gun barrel into my temple now. The garage floor was cold and surprisingly comfortable.
Scalzo returned, catching his breath. He stood over me, pulled my neck back like a crane. “Answer me, scumbag. Who the hell hired you?”
“Mattie Wilcox. The attorney for your old employer.”
“Pilka?”
“I guess that’s his name. Hell, I don’t know.”
Scalzo grunted. It turned into a laugh. “Give me a break. Give me a fucking break. My attorney’s going to be in the courthouse first thing tomorrow morning to take care of that subpoena. What do you think about that?”
“I could care less, friend. I just get paid to serve ’em.”
“Don’t call me friend, you piece of shit.” He tried kicking me with all his body weight, but the angle wasn’t right and it felt more like a leg push.
I might have chuckled. Whatever I did, it compelled Scalzo to lob a few blows. I turned with each one to minimize their impact, but my head still stung.
Scalzo took a break with his hands on his knees. Catching his breath, he asked, “So what does this Wilcox want with me?”
I got to my feet. “Why don’t you ask him? I think you overestimate my role in this.”
“You’re saying he just hired you to serve me without saying nothing?”
I nodded. “Yes, Sherlock. That’s exactly what happened.”
“What else did he say?”
“Just that he needed you served ASAP.”
“Why?” His tone predicted progress. “Why!”
I thought I’d throw him a bone. “He knew you were going out of town and wanted you served before you left.”
Scalzo glared at Kiki, as though to make sure he’d heard that, too. Kiki nodded.
Then Scalzo returned his glare on me. “Listen to me, you sorry-ass fuck. I’m going to ask you this question once and only once, and you’re going to answer me. Are we clear?”
“You better ask the question first, eh?”
I guess that was out of line, because he responded with an uppercut to the gut. Fortunately, I’d seen it coming and had time to brace. Judging by the way he winced and squeezed his fist, I think the blow hurt Scalzo more than me.
“I said are we clear?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Now what’s the question?”
“Don Alexi?” He was panting now.
“That’s a question?”
This uppercut was quicker, so I had less time to brace. My stomach was getting sore, and my lower back was feeling really tight, like it could go at any moment. I made a note never to accept a dangerous job the day after a powerlifting meet.
“Do you know him?” he hissed.
“Who?” I’d honestly forgotten the name already.
“Don Alexi!”
“Never heard of him.”
I braced. He’d already wound up, but he stopped short of hitting me. Instead, he was searching my eyes for the truth. I had nothing to hide, so I gave him the most honest look I could muster.
“You don’t know Don Alexi?”
“On my mother’s grave, I never heard his name before just now.”
Scalzo retreated and rejoined Kiki. They whispered for a long minute and then seemed to be nodding in agreement.
I raised my hand. “So, you guys done with me?” It didn’t hurt to ask.
Kiki shrugged, as though to ask what Scalzo wanted done. They moved in my direction, but Scalzo stopped them again, and they huddled a few feet away. I could hear some of their murmuring this time. Kiki mumbled something about picking me up at Mons and having no real problems en route. One of them opined something about me telling the truth. I was pretty sure Scalzo told them to have some fun but to cause no lasting damage.
Scalzo returned to me. “I want to tell you something. If I ever see your face again, I don’t care if it’s in court, the grocery store, or at Mass—I see you again and I’m going to rip your fucking throat out. We straight on that?”
I looked at him blankly.
“You got that?”
I coughed but said nothing.
“You better say something, you scraggly-assed punk.”
I shrugged and said, “We’ll see.”
“You got some kind of death wish, friend?” Scalzo studied my eyes.
I thought of Dr. J and how she might answer that question. Then, without warning or contemplation, I spit blood. I really didn’t mean to, or so I thought, and it traveled farther than I intended, if I even intended it at all.
But judging by his reaction, the bloody goober must have hit Scalzo. I didn’t necessarily mean for that to happen, either, though I didn’t exactly regret it when Scalzo’s face twisted with anger. He wiped his face and turned to Kiki. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go with Plan B.”
“Plan B?” Kiki said. “You sure about that?”
“You heard him,” I said. “Plan B.”
Scalzo got a good jab on my nape. I went to the ground to make him feel good.
“Good knowing you, pal,” Scalzo said on his way out. He told Kiki to clean up and call him when it was done.
Kiki took a few steps away from me, his gun pointed at me. He conferred with Jimmy. As far as I could tell, he was telling Jimmy to calm the hell down. Jimmy didn’t like the plan. He made a point about how obvious it was—the same night I served their boss, I’d disappear, and there were probably cameras in the parking lot at the Mons.
“The decision’s over your pay grade,” Kiki told him.
Just then, I heard the whiny rev of the Porsche. Scalzo shed some rubber on his way out, like a good little prick.
I looked up. The garage was poorly lit—still only the one dangling light bulb, but there were trusses overhead, open rafters, that looked to be about ten feet off the ground.
Kiki was finalizing his plan, calming down the kid; meanwhile, I was finalizing mine. It didn’t take long.
A moment later, Kiki returned to me, gun in tow. “Up,” he said.
“We doing this here?” I started getting to my feet. He wasn’t aiming yet, and he’d need to take his time in this lighting. Little did he know, the lighting was about to get worse.
As I pivoted to my feet, I gave Kiki an uppercut to the groin and smacked the hand holding the gun. It slid from his grip like a buttered ear of corn.
I took my time with Jimmy, spinning him around before I gave him a quick little choke, making sure to give the old windpipe some extra attention with my nubby thumbs. Not nearly enough to knock him out. I was just going for a good, solid disorientation.
Kiki moved slowly, but he was struggling to get up while scrambling for the gun.
I leapt for the dangling light and swung it up as hard as I could. It shattered against the truss overhead, an effervescent explosion that flashed like a prism and then faded to black. By then, I was swinging from the same rafter, peering through the dark.
I dropped from the beam and caught Jimmy. His gun fired, but not before I was behind him, steering him like a puppet. “Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I screamed, plowing him toward the spot I had seen Kiki last. Then I shed Jimmy and veered to the far right. More shots were fired.
“I think I got him!” Kiki said. He grunted, gasping for his breath. “Jimmy?”
Jimmy was screaming, and by the sound of it had regressed to a prepube
scent pitch.
I had to be quick now. Kiki lit a match. Just as he glanced down at his partner moaning and writhing in pain, I knocked Kiki back with a left-right combo. Then I grabbed his neck.
This choke would knock him out. It took less than five seconds, but who was counting? You can feel the loss of consciousness once it occurs. You can also fake it if you’re on the other end of the choke and know what you’re doing. I didn’t have to worry about Kiki faking it. He was out. Cold.
I held his body and eased him onto the ground. It was the least I could do. Once he was prostrate, I found the main light switch and turned it on with my shoe. Fluorescent lights warmed up and revealed my handiwork. Jimmy’s thigh was bleeding, apparently from the last shot Kiki had fired, and I was pretty sure the kid was shedding some tears too. I was relieved that he hadn’t taken one in the gut. He’d live, but he’d be slow for a while. Maybe the time off would do him good, allow him to reconsider his calling in life.
I figured Kiki would be fine, too. He’d come to in a matter of minutes. He’d probably be a little disoriented, and he could expect a throbbing in his head and neck for a few days. But overall, it was nothing a good breakfast and massage tomorrow wouldn’t take care of.
I opened the door with my shirt wrapped around my hand, to keep my prints off the doorknob. Once outside, I made a run for the Volvo.
On the way out, I was blinded by the lights of a van. I was relieved not to see the lights of sirens—it was just Hector rolling his window down.
“What took you so long?” I said.
“I got here as fast as I could.”
“Let’s go.” I looked in every direction and made sure we were alone. “And don’t tell anyone you saw me here.”
Hector grimaced like a dad who’d just caught his son taking the family wagon out for a spin. “Let me guess—you took the Scalzo job.”
I shrugged. “Too much to explain right now.”
“You can explain it while we work.”
“Work?”
“Yeah, we’re supposed to bottle tonight.”
“That will have to wait, but I’ll treat you to a beer for checking in on me.”
I told him we needed to make a pit stop, and then I slowed down where Jimmy had thrown out my phone. I finally found it and picked it up. The screen was shattered, as were the phone’s guts.
