“Tsk, tsk. You have both made a big mistake today,” he said.
“Lou,” Fat Sam shouted, panic laced his voice.
“Lou isn’t coming. Neither is the other one. If I let you live, you will find one dead over there, and one dead on that side,” Robert indicated with his head the location.
“Now, you,” he said, pointed the gun at the guy holding the chain. “You are going to help my friend up, you’ve already ruined his shirt.”
I chuckled, although that turned into a wince as I stood. My hands were cut free and despite the pain I felt, I spun around and snatched the knife from the hand of the guy behind me. I plunged it into his throat.
Blood spurted, splashing onto my face, and his hands clasped around his neck, frantically trying to stem the blood as it pumped through his fingers. I watched in fascination as he gurgled, bubbles of bloody saliva foaming from his mouth as he fell to his knees and then flat on his face. He bled out in front of us. A river of blood, bright red in colour against the grey concrete floor, slowly ran to where Fat Sam was kneeling.
Fat Sam tried to scramble backwards, his tears mingling with snot. He held his hands up in surrender - I’m sure he didn’t expect the evening to turn out as it had.
“I know who sent you, but I want to hear it from your fucking mouth,” Robert said, as he crouched before Sam.
Fat Sam shook his head.
“Right now who are you more afraid of? Because it should be me,” he growled.
Looking at Robert right then was like looking at an animal, something deranged, something unnatural. His eyes were black and his features hard. Even I succumbed to a shiver up my spine; fuck knows what was going through Fat Sam’s mind.
We got the confirmation we needed; we learnt that we were to die that night. Robert stood, and with his foot he kicked the guy who was lying face down on the floor onto his back. He pulled the knife from his throat. As he walked back to Fat Sam he gave him a very frightening smile. I watched, my hands holding my stomach to stem the blood, as Robert grabbed Fat Sam’s hair, holding his head still as he drew the knife across his eyebrow.
“Every time you look in the mirror you’ll see that scar and you’ll remember this night, you’ll remember me. I will watch you for the rest of your life and one day, when you least expect it, when you think I have forgotten you, I will be back.”
The sound of bones breaking echoed around the room as Robert stomped as hard as he could on one of Fat Sam’s ankles, he did the same to the other. The high pitched screams hurt my ears as I ground my boot onto his hand, first one then the other, twisting my foot to grind them into the floor, crushing as many bones as I could.
I kicked over and over into his ribs, any part of his body I could, and when I was done a wave of nausea and light headedness washed over me. We left Fat Sam sitting in his own and his friend’s blood.
It was only as we left the warehouse and into the cold air of the night that I collapsed. For most of the evening I had been running on adrenalin. I felt Robert’s arm around my waist as he practically carried me to the car and placed me in the passenger seat. I begged him not to smack my car before I passed out.
The next few hours were a blur. I knew we had arrived at Ted’s and he was forcing whiskey down my throat like it was going out of style. I hated whiskey but it worked. I heard Joe speak, and Paul instructing his wife, Rosa, to help me. I felt nothing as she went to work, stitching my wounds.
I looked at Robert as Rosa wove the needle that closed the slashes, all the time grumbling that we should be in the hospital. As she finished I managed to say the words that had been swirling around in my mind.
“You saved my life, bro.” Then I passed out.
****
I woke the following day, bandaged and aching from sleeping on a sofa. Robert was asleep on a chair; I could see a line of stitches running down his side. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been hurt. I tried to move, wincing as I did. I needed a piss, I needed a drink. My mouth was dry and my head thumped. Robert woke, disturbed by my rustling.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Sure, you?”
He shrugged his shoulders before a smile slowly crept on his face and he shook his head and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You. All you were fucking concerned about was your car. Don’t smack my car,” he mimicked my accent.
I tried to laugh but it hurt too much. Instead, I managed to swing my legs off the sofa so I was at least in a sitting position.
“Fuck off, and did you smack my car?” I asked.
“Yes, totalled it. Coffee?”
“Of course I want coffee,” I replied.
Our conversation brought Ted into the room, holding two steaming coffee mugs and a packet of Advil.
“How you boys doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay, he’s just worried about his car,” Robert answered.
“The car’s totalled and Mack’s going to organise a clean up,” Ted said. I hoped to hell he was teasing. Robert nodded.
Someone would have to go and remove the bodies, and Fat Sam, assuming he was still there. In the meantime Robert and I needed somewhere to stay. We couldn’t go back to Joe’s; we didn’t want to alert Joey that his hit had failed. Robert told me that he’d spoken to Joe and had a set of keys for an apartment in Columbia Heights; we would stay there until we healed completely. It went without saying that Joey would be shown the error of his ways, and he would pay for what he’d done.
****
While we were recovering I got to know more about what brought Robert to DC.
“Trav, there’s something I need to do and I don’t want to involve you in this,” Robert said.
We had been sitting in the living room after a gentle session at the gym, just exercising.
“Bro, everything you do involves me,” I replied, looking at him.
He sat forward on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, with his chin in his hands. The look on his face was one of sadness, something I hadn’t seen that often in Robert. Looking back over the past couple of days, it was clear something had been on his mind. Quietly at first, he told me of his life in Sterling, the abuse from his aunt, the priest at his school, and how he had lost his best friend, Cara. She had been killed by her father after spending years being abused by him. He also told me that he had confided in Joe because he wanted advice. He wanted to know if he could be charged with his aunt’s murder.
At first, knowing that Joe knew Robert’s story and I didn’t stung a little. But then I had to remember that I’d never confided in him, either. It seemed strange that we were brothers, we were closer than family, and yet we both had a dark past we couldn’t speak about until then. It could have been my opportunity to tell him about Padriac, but I didn’t and I never really knew why. I felt something in my gut, though, a surge of anger that not only had this happened to him, but memories of my childhood and the abuse I’d suffered came flooding back.
I stood, picked up my coat and the car keys, and smiled. I was up for revenge. I was up for a little payback and I would take great pleasure in dishing out that punishment. Robert looked at me; a slow smile crept across his face as he stood up beside me. Silently we made our way to the car and headed to the freeway. The journey to Sterling took a little under three hours.
“Tell me about Cara,” I said.
“We were kids but she was my only friend. The only person who spoke to me, well, I say the only one. Some of the other kids would try and taunt me but they backed off pretty quick,” he replied.
“It’s your fucking devil eyes that probably scared the shit out of them,” I said with a chuckle.
He laughed. “My aunt would beat me, trying to drive out the devil as she said, and the more she beat me, the more I smiled back her. It drove her fucking nuts. You know, after a while it just didn’t hurt anymore. I felt nothing, not one blow from her fucking belt. She would preach to me from her Bible and I’d see her mouth m
oving, but I couldn’t tell you what she said, I heard nothing.”
“How do you want to play this?” I asked.
“Head for the house, or what’s left of it, first. I had a camp in the woods, it’s where I used to hide out. If Cara could get away from home she’d meet me there. I’d like to see if it’s still there.”
“You must own the land then?” I said.
“Probably, and if there is a building still there, I’ll have it razed to the fucking ground.”
We continued our journey in silence. I saw an involuntary shiver run over Robert as we passed a wooden sign announcing we had arrived in the wonderful town of Sterling. It should have been called Hicksville. Having come from New York, this town was totally backward to me; it was like something from a TV show. One road led through the town and there were wooden houses on either side. Most had either burnt-out cars or trucks without wheels in the dusty front yards. Dogs roamed free as did the kids. It looked as though they didn’t get visitors too often in Sterling; the kids stopped their play and watched as we drove slowly past.
We arrived at a patch of ground that contained what was obviously the remains of a house. Over the years the burnt wood that lay there had been covered with weeds and ivy, the ground bare of grass. We climbed out of the car and walked past the ruins, skirting around towards the woods behind. Robert knew exactly where he was going and it wasn’t long before we came to a small clearing. There was a wooden frame nailed to two trees, and a tattered piece or tarpaulin strung across the top. He walked straight to one of the trees, and I watched silently as he ran his fingers across a carving. There were two initials carved into the bark, and although now green with moss, I could still clearly see the R + C.
“I used to beg her to run away with me,” Robert said quietly.
“Maybe she was just too scared,” I replied, thinking back to my own childhood and knowing how many times I had wanted to do that but didn’t.
“Yeah, and I guess we wouldn’t have gotten very far, not then.”
I heard Robert take a deep breath; he held it for a while before releasing it and turning towards me.
“Let’s go visit Father Peters,” he said.
We walked back to the car and drove off. Parking outside the church, I could see the school attached. As we climbed out and walked towards the doors, the sound of children singing could be heard. The church doors were open and we walked the aisle to the front pew. Robert paused looking at the hard cold bench. I guessed he had spent many an hour sitting there. It was clear the church was empty so we made our way back out in the daylight, the brightness momentarily blinding us. Attached to one side of the church was a small cottage, and walking alongside it, we saw a man. He was hunched over, wearing a black cassock. He had his back to us and was using a cane to walk. He paused, sensing someone behind him, and used his shaking hand to hold on to a bench to steady himself. Very slowly, Father Peters turned around.
“I’ve been expecting you, Robert,” Father Peters whispered. “For years, I’ve been expecting you.”
The priest looking back at us had obviously already paid a price. One eye was blue, blinded by whatever object had hit him over the head; a scar ran across his brow and down his cheek. His hands were gnarled with obviously broken and badly repaired fingers. Robert and I stood in silence, watching him shuffle towards us. Before he got too close, Robert turned his back and started to walk down the garden path. I watched the Father reach out as if to touch Robert.
“I’m sorry. God, forgive me, I’m sorry,” he said.
Robert stopped and half turned, looking back over his shoulder. “You carry on asking, Father, He isn’t listening. He never did to those that needed Him and He sure as fuck isn’t going to listen to you now.”
We left and walked back to the car. As we passed the small school, children were leaving the building. There was none of the laughter and running or playing that I had experienced on the odd occasion I’d been at school. Just sad faced kids making their way from one hell to another. I shivered; the place gave me the creeps. There was something sinister, and for only the second time in my life I had an urge to cross myself. How the fuck Robert grew up in a place like that was beyond me, and it certainly answered any questions I had as to why he was the way he was. Just the couple of hours I’d experienced in Sterling had me fucking depressed.
We made our way out of town, driving slowly so Robert could remember the route. He pointed to a rundown shack of a building. It resembled a house only in as much as there was a front door and a couple of windows. Take those away and it could have been something seen in a third world country. Corrugated tin lined the roof along with tarpaulin and rope presumably to cover the holes in it. A mesh screen door hung off its brackets and as we came to a halt, a woman appeared with a child.
Both were grubby, and as we walked towards her a flash of recognition crossed her face. She pulled the child close, holding his head against her stomach. She nodded, just once, before pointing to a shed.
Quietly entering the shed, Robert and I watched a man, crouched down doing something to the still-spinning rotor blades of his tractor. He stilled, having either heard or sensed us. Slowly he stood and turned. Before he had a chance, Robert punched him back down to the ground.
“What the…,” was all he managed to say before he recognised Robert and his eyes widened in fear.
I stood and watched as Robert crouched down beside him. He grabbed a handful of hair,raising the man’s face to look directly at him.
“Payback for Cara. Remember her? The daughter you abused, the daughter you killed,” he snarled.
Robert pushed the man away from him, he stood and paced, running his hand through his hair. His eyes were black when he looked over to me and the hatred on his face for the man at his feet even sent a shiver through me. Fuck knows what that guy was thinking.
“You see, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t see her face, where I don’t hear her cries. Do you? Does she haunt you like she does me? Do you close your eyes at night and see her face, the split lip, the bruises? Do you see the blood running down her thighs? I do, and I never forgot.”
Until that point I had been standing slightly away from Robert. I could hear the anger in his voice and I could see it flowing through him. The air was static, electrified with emotion. I walked forward and placed my hand on Robert’s shoulder. I indicated with my eyes to move to one side, this was something I needed to do. As much as Robert needed to face his demon, Father Peters, I needed to face mine. Any abuser of children, anyone who deliberately harmed a child, allowed me to do that.
It was Padriac’s face I saw as I grabbed Cara’s father by the hair. It was my father’s body I saw as I tipped him forwards. It was my mother, my sister, and Carrig I heard when he screamed as his hands were shredded by the spinning blades. Blood splattered over my face and chest - hot blood, pieces of flesh and bone - and it felt cleansing. It felt fucking good.
Was it the act that I enjoyed the most, the act of hurting, killing someone? Or was it the sense of empowerment I felt? Whatever it was, a wrong had been righted. Justice had been served and I loved it. In that case, I loved being judge and jury.
We walked outside the shed and the sound of screaming followed us. The woman stood, minus the child, waiting.
“Thank you, Robert,” she said before turning and walking back to her house, ignoring the pleas of help from her husband.
As we strode back to the car I pulled a washcloth from a clothes line. I used it to clean that man’s blood from my hands and my face. Throwing it to the ground, we climbed into the car and drove back to DC.
Robert lowered his seat, closed his eyes and slept all the way back. I got lost in my thoughts. Thoughts of the abuse he had suffered, memories of my own and when I glanced over at him, I knew, there would be nothing that could ever separate us, not now.
We had murdered, we had harmed, we had served our own brand of justice and we would continue to do so. We were bou
nd together by a force that would never be broken. Blood had been spilled by our hands and I owed him. I owed Robert my life; I would do anything he asked of me. I would be by his side no matter what.
Chapter Eight
It was an evening a few nights later that Robert and I decided Joey needed to know we were still around. We followed him to the club, then parked opposite with the lights off and waited. Shortly before closing, we saw him leave, pulling his coat tight around him to ward off the chill and flipping his collar up. He lit a cigarette, the lighter illuminating his face. We were a little surprised that he headed back to Joe’s on foot, and we had to make a quick change in plans. We let him get a little way ahead before leaving the car and crossing the road. As silently as we could, we followed, gaining on him with every step. As he neared the corner he paused, perhaps he sensed someone was behind him. The road was empty and dark, the streetlights long since shut down. There was a slight drizzle and the air was damp and cold.
Robert reached forward, grabbing him by the collar and spun him around. His shock was evident when he realised who we were - and that we were alive.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Get your fucking hands off me,” Joey said.
Robert dragged him back to the car. I popped the trunk and as we got him close, I kicked at the back of his knees. He fell face first into the trunk, and with a chuckle I slammed it shut. We could hear him shout and bang his fists, trying to escape. His voice was muffled as we started the car and drove to the same warehouse Joey had selected for our demise. It seemed fitting to choose that same spot.
“Grab that tyre iron,” Robert said as we climbed out. The warehouse door was locked to with what looked like a new padlock.
Once we had the door open Robert walked to the rear of the car and released the trunk. Joey had quietened but tears ran down his cheeks. We dragged him out and marched him into the warehouse. It was dark - there was no moon to illuminate the centre of the room that time - and it took a moment for our eyes to adjust. As Robert threw him to the floor my foot connected with his ribs. A sickening crack echoed around the cavernous space. I took a deep breath and I could smell the metallic tang of blood from the previous occupants. By the look on Joey’s face, so did he.
Travis: To accompany the Fallen Angel Series - A Mafia Romance Page 13
