A Bad Man: Joey

by Jenika Snow

  The streetlamps had this muted yellow glow to them and bathed the cracked and old sidewalk in the light. The sound of another bottle breaking came in the distance behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. She should have gotten a ride home with her friend, but the booze had been going through her bloodstream, and she had walked this path a million times. He might be a dangerous and violent man, and do things that were illegal and unconventional, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that for a fact. Marra had even heard talk about how Joey and a few of his guys had made someone “disappear” after they had found out he had raped a young woman in town. They were ruthless no doubt, but they protected this town, and as long as the people in it didn’t fuck with them, they protected them, too.

  The street suddenly got so quiet, and she wrapped her light jacket around herself and walked faster. The alcohol was still moving hard through her, and it felt like with every pump of her heart the liquor was moving fast and fierce through her veins. The sound of her heels clicking on the pavement seemed too damn loud, and then she heard it. Stopping and spinning around, she scanned the street behind her. Everything was so still and silent all of a sudden, but then the sound of someone whistling came through like an ominous beast.

  She might have only been a few blocks from her apartment, and she most definitely should have had her girlfriend or a taxi take her home, but right now all she could picture in her head was being the next rape victim in a very sad story. Bourbon was a safe town because of the Bacelli crew, and as much as she hated to admit that, hated to even think that a group of mobsters made sure everyone was okay, it was the truth. She saw a few businesses up ahead with their neon lights still on, but this was the edge of town, and because of that it was a bit rougher. She wasn’t about to go into the only strip club in Bourbon, the one that she knew was part of the Bacelli fortune. And she wasn’t about to go into the bar that was also run by Joey and his men. God, this town was run by them, was controlled by them, and she couldn’t turn around without seeing something that belonged to Joey and the Bacelli crime family.

  Her heart thundered in her ribs, and she knew she shouldn’t have ever come here, shouldn’t have set down some kind of roots, but then again what else was she supposed to do? Relocate again because she couldn’t handle the feelings she had for a very bad man?

  Tightening her hands on her jacket, she turned back around and increased her speed. She saw her apartment building across the street, the dim streetlight lamps casting that disgusting muted yellow glow on the brown brick old-ass building. She looked both ways before crossing the street, and started walking faster when she heard the low whistles of a man close behind her. Marra reached into her purse and searched for her pepper spray. The bar with the neon OPEN sign in the front window beckoned her. She knew she’d much rather chance a bunch of drunks and bikers than deal with some would-be rapist that thought she was an easy target. When she walked past the alleyway between the bar and another building, one where the light didn’t penetrate, the sound of a deep male voice had her stopped and glancing over.

  She couldn’t see anything, but the sound of footsteps coming closer to her had her turning and holding the pepper spray out in front of her. There was a man a few feet back, dressed like he had been sleeping under a bridge for a year, and even the scent of his stench came at her like a wrecking ball.

  “You sure are pretty,” he said in a low whisper, and took a step closer. She moved one back, kept her focus on him, and the spray in front of her.

  Before she could say anything, or run for that matter, voices from the alleyway came through.

  “I didn’t tell them anything. They don’t know that I’ve been talking to you.” The clearly frightened and frantic male voice had her squinting into the darkness, but then she snapped her gaze back toward the man that had been advancing on her. The sound of the gun cocking had him stopping, and as if that was all he needed to get the fuck going, he glanced at the alleyway, and then turned and walked away from her.

  “I’d like to believe you, Mario, but there is talk that the Bacellis know you’ve been running your mouth.”

  The other man started crying hard, wracking sobs, and Marra knew she should turn and leave, but she was frozen to the spot. The darkness started to fade as her vision cleared. She could see two people, one of them pushed against the brick wall as the other guy held a gun to his head. She thought she might pass out from the endorphins moving through her.

  “Please, God, Phil, please don’t do this.”

  “Tony wants loose ends tied up, and since Michael was clipped, you’re the next to go. Besides, you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

  “I need more time. Just give me more time.”

  “Sorry, but time is not something that I have to offer. You didn’t get us the information on the money and how to get into the heart of the Bacelli crew, and Carlos is tired of waiting.”

  The other man was crying harder now and starting to mumble incoherent words. “My wife. God, just let her go.”

  The man holding the gun started to chuckle. “Mario, your sweet wife is now Carlos’s whore. She might have been innocent in your involvement in ratting out your own fucking crew, but Carlos will dirty her right up.”

  And then the sound of a gun going off filled her head, had her ears ringing, and had her stumbling back. She fell over the curb, landed on her ass, and felt her wrist twist painfully as she landed on it wrong. But Marra held in her cry, especially when the man that had just been shot fell to the ground in a slump of lifeless bones and flesh, and the killer turned and faced her. The shadows passed along his face, concealing who he was, but the closer he stepped toward her, the more she scrambled back. Her voice was lodged in her throat, and the pain from her hurt wrist speared right up her arm.

  He stepped out of the alleyway, glanced left and then right, and then looked down at her. He bent on his haunches, and she swore she could smell the murderous intent coming off of him. The fact he stared right into her eyes, allowed her to see his face, and knew she had seen him kill someone, told her she was not going to make out of this alive.

  “I have to assume that from your expression you saw what I just did?”

  She swallowed but didn’t answer.

  “And you have to assume how I have to handle that.” He tsked and reached out with his gun to pick up a strand of her hair off her shoulder. “Such a shame, too, because you are pretty fucking hot.” And then he grabbed her wrist, hauled her up, and pulled her back toward the alleyway.

  “No, no, no,” she repeated over and over again, and then realization dawned on her. He slammed her against the brick wall, and she held the small can of pepper spray, lifted it, and sprayed it right in his eyes.

  He howled in pain, and she turned to run off, but he snatched her hair, and yanked her back hard enough that she slammed against the ground. The air left her, pain coursed through her skull, and the pepper spray rolled away. The scent of blood filled her nose, and she turned her head to see the lifeless, dark eyes of a corpse staring right at her. She screamed, finally finding her voice, and tried to stand. But blood coated the ground beneath her, her head and wrist roared out in agony, and fear made her feeling lightheaded.

  “You stupid fucking puttana.” The man turned and faced her. He kept rubbing his eyes, but when he saw her he reached out and tangled his hand in her hair. Then he pressed the barrel of the gun to her forehead, and started saying a string of Italian. But before he pulled the trigger the sound of a gun going off filled her ears once more, and the warmth of blood sprayed across her face.

  He fell to the floor, and she opened her mouth on a silent scream. His blood covered her face, hair, and chest, and her heartbeat filled her ears. The man now standing in front of her was shrouded in darkness, but when he crouched on his haunches and the light from the streetlamp covered his face, her heart stopped in her chest when she saw who it was.

  Joey Bacelli.

  ****

  And sh
e was out cold. Whether it was from the injuries she had, or the fact she was freaked the fuck out, Marra Santos was out like a damn light. Joey picked her up in his arms easily and moved away from the now two lifeless bodies on the asphalt. Little Johnny took another hit from his cigarette and flicked it away.

  “What do you want me to do about the bodies?” he asked in a low voice. The streets were quiet right now, but he hadn’t put a silencer on his gun, and so shooting the motherfucker that had just been about to take out Marra would surely have been heard.

  “Call the cleaner,” Joey said and took one more glance at Mario. The traitor had found his fate at the end of the gun-barrel of the Bacelli rivals.

  “Look at this fucker,” Johnny said and reared his foot back to kick Mario in the gut. The punt was so damn fierce that Mario’s body skidded across the alleyway. “This fuckin’ pucchiacha got it easy,” Johnny said on a growl. “I would have taken my fuckin’ bat to his traitorous ass.” He grabbed his cell from inside of his jacket and called Luciano, the Bacelli cleaner that came to places and took care of the blood and bodies. It was a sick fucking job, but Luciano was also one twisted and demented man, and Joey swore he enjoyed finding creative ways to get rid of the bodies they didn’t want found.

  Joey carried Marra, who was still out cold, over to his car. Johnny and he had been leaving the bar where Mario was supposed have shown up. But it was clear they had been wrong about the once tight Bacelli informant. The fucker hadn’t just been running his mouth when drunk, but had been working behind their backs with the Gondalo crew. The fact that they had gotten a call from Mario just half an hour before they stepped out of the bar, him telling them that he wanted to meet up and talk about some future jobs they had given him, told Joey all he needed to know. Mario had sounded sketchy as hell, nervous and twitchy, and he knew better than to bring up shit on the phone that was “work” related. So Mario had been in deep shit with someone, either the Gondalo or the Feds, and he was trying to find a way out.

  But seeing his dead body staring up at him from the ground, with a Gondalo bullet in the middle of his forehead, told Joey that he had turned his back on the family for some fly by pussy crew that thought coming into Bourbon and taking what wasn’t theirs was going to happen. He felt his cell vibrate in the front of his pocket and put Marra in the backseat before answering it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Found out from Seth that Mario hasn’t just been running his mouth at the bar, but trying to cut a deal with the Gondalos.”

  “Old news, Alex. Just saw Mario with a hole in his head thanks to one of their guys.”

  “Well shit.”

  “Yeah.” Joey scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced at Marra. She was lying on the backseat, and the skirt she had been wearing today was hiked up her thighs. God, he shouldn’t be thinking the filthy fucking things he was right now, because she was injured and in shock. But the bastard part of Joey couldn’t help but take in the tanned fullness of her thighs, or how the hem of the skirt stopped right where he would have been able to see her panties. “Fuck.”

  “You okay, Boss?” Alex asked, sounding concerned.

  “I’m good,” he responded, knowing that things were far from okay because some motherfuckers had managed to turn a promising guy in their crew. “But Marra was nearly executed by the fucker I just laid down.”

  “The café chick?”

  “Yeah. I’m taking her to my place until she wakes up. I need to know if she heard or saw anything that can help us.”

  “Boss,” Alex said softly, but with more concern in his voice. “She could be a liability now. She might know shit that she shouldn’t.”

  Yeah, he knew that, too. “Don’t worry about her, I’ll handle it. Just figure out why the hell Mario flipped on us, because it doesn’t make sense.” He disconnected the cell and shoved the phone in his pants pocket. He then took off his suit jacket and laid it over her legs. He knew that she was a liability, and that if she knew anything that she shouldn’t about the business he’d have to handle it. He could have just finished her off right in the alleyway and let Luciano handle it, but Joey wanted her, and letting her get hurt wasn’t an option.

  For the last year he thought he had just wanted to fuck her desperately, and every time she turned him down it just made him want her more. But then when they had walked out of the bar, about to hunt down Mario and find out the truth, he had heard her scream. The fact he had known it was Marra had sent a jolt of awareness through him. And then he had seen her across the street getting dragged into an alleyway. Everything inside of him had gone on alert, and this white-hot rage moved through him that someone thought they could touch her. The possessive and territorial side of him was something he had never felt for a woman, but it was intense and powerful, and he wasn’t about to ignore it. Then he had seen her getting tossed around like a ragdoll, and that gun pointed to her head. He had been so fucking angry, but the calm of the kill had come upon him. He had gotten his gun out, placed the barrel at the back of his enemy’s head, and blown his brains out. Joey had never felt the relief that had coursed through him as he did at that moment when he had pulled that trigger. He had killed a lot of people, bad men that deserved to die because they had done heinous things, or had turned their back on the family. But this kill had been different. He had done it because he wanted to protect the woman he wanted.

  The sound of Little Johnny moving behind him had Joey shutting the backdoor and turning. “All good?”

  Johnny nodded. “Luciano is just a few blocks away.”

  Headlights flashed across them, but Joey knew it was Luciano. The car came to a stop behind Joey’s, and then Luciano climbed out. Another man came out of the passenger side, and without saying anything, just tipping their chins in acknowledgment; Luciano and his partner went into the alleyway to clean up.

  “You want me to take care of her?” Johnny asked. He reached in his coat for a cigarette, and stared at Joey.

  “No, the only one taking care of her is me.”

  Johnny nodded. “Understood.”

  Joey climbed into the driver’s seat, and Johnny headed over to his car. Joey adjusted the rearview mirror so he could look at Marra. What in the hell was he going to do with her?

  Chapter Four

  The gun pointed to her head was warm, and it burned her skin. She wanted to scream, but it was like rocks were lodged in her throat, making it impossible to do anything but stare in horror as her life was about to be taken from her. Marra would be snuffed out like a candle, and there wouldn’t be anyone that would care if she was gone. But then that fear was made real by the warm coating of blood on her face, and the intensity of the situation slammed into her . She could smell it: metallic, tangy, and rancid.

  Marra shot up, her head throbbing, pounding like a drum was inside of her skull, and then her stomach roiled. She could still smell the blood, could feel it on her skin and hair. She rolled to her side and emptied her stomach. Taking her shirt she lifted the edge to wipe her mouth. She felt marginally better, but the night’s events played through her mind like a broken record.

  “You thirsty?” The deep voice came from the shadows.

  Marra pushed herself up, and realized she wasn’t in that back alley, but on a bed. Swallowing hard, and feeling like razor blades were in her throat, she glanced around the room quickly. A large window showed the city of New York right outside, and judging by the light of the tops of the skyscrapers and the night sky, she knew she was high up in an apartment. The lights were off, but the light from the city came through and showed her a massive room with the standard bedroom décor: dresser, mirror, end tables, bed, and the bathroom off to the side. But the furnishings looked posh and expensive.

  “Where am I?” she asked and stared at the massive form that made up Joey. He leaned forward in his seat and rested his forearms on his thighs. He stared at her, and this sinister air surrounded him, crawled forward, and tried to wrap itself around her, too. And then light illu
minated the room, and she closed her eyes momentarily at the harshness of it. When she opened her eyes again it was to see that he had turned on the lamp that sat on the small table beside him. He held her gaze with his own, didn’t show any emotion at all, and she felt the chill in the room intensify.

  “Well, where am I and what happened?” She swallowed, seeing visions in her head of what had happened, but also finding these black holes in her memory. Maybe it was from the shock, or from the trauma, or from the entire screwed up situation.

  “If you’re thirsty I put a water bottle by the bed.” He stood and walked over to the dresser.

  She glanced at the table beside her, saw the bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin, and immediately turned her focus back on Joey. He was undoing his cuffs, and then rolling them up his thick, muscular forearms. He then went to remove his tie, set it on the dresser, and undid the buttons of his shirt at the collar. But he was watching her through the reflection in the mirror. His focus was hard, unrelenting, but most of all unreadable.

  “Your head has to be hurting.” He turned around and leaned against the dresser, and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps flexed when he did the act, and she could see the definition under the white material. “Drink the water and take the aspirin, and then I’ll answer your questions.” His tone brooked no argument, but her head and wrist were killing her, so she didn’t bother saying anything in retaliation to his domineering attitude.