by Ws Greer
The next thing I know, Nix has his gun out and is aiming to his right. Next to him is another man wearing a full black sweat-suit, and he already has his gun drawn. I didn’t even see him coming from Nix’s side of the alley, but I see him now, and he’s covered from head to toe, including a black mask over his face. The masked man points his gun at the side of Nix’s head, but Nix ducks under it and punches the guy in the gut, lifting him up off his feet. The hitman is rocked by the punch and unintentionally fires off a round into the concrete. The weapon lets off a soft, muffled pop, and it’s then that I know Reina was right about them coming with silencers.
Reina was right! She helped us!
Like a movie playing out in front of me, I watch as Nix kicks the hitman in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. The next sound I hear is four high-pitched, soft pops from Nix’s gun. The hitman’s body jerks up and down as Nix’s bullets pierce his body, bounce off the concrete beneath him, and reenter him through his back. He’s dead within seconds of the shots.
“Shit!” a man with a heavy accent bellows from behind me, and I whirl around while simultaneously aiming my chrome nine in the direction of the voice. I squeeze the trigger two times and see the shadowy silhouette from before making jerky, sporadic movements to try to dodge the bullets coming for him. I can’t tell if I hit him or just got close, but I’m suddenly shocked at the sight of the silhouette spinning around and breaking into a sprint in the other direction. As he runs and his footsteps get further and quieter, I aim my weapon and fire three more rounds. The silhouette stumbles, but manages to dip around the corner, out of sight.
That’s when I hear another muffled pop.
A piece of brick right in front of me breaks into tiny pieces, and I realize someone is shooting at me. I spin around to see Nix trying to dance away as quiet shots ring out and zip past us. Nix jumps and lands behind a dumpster with a thud.
“Solomon, get down!” he shouts from his position in the alley, and I hear another shot whiz past me. There’s another shot, and then the sudden sensation of fire kissing my shoulder.
I’m hit.
My body jerks from the bullet entering my left shoulder and I feel like my mind immediately goes into shock. I feel the blood running down my arm, soaking my black jacket as it sticks to my skin at the wrist, but I don’t move. I don’t run away, even as another shot pops and a round buzzes by my ear like an annoying insect.
“Solomon!” I hear Nix shout, but it doesn’t register.
They say before you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. I don’t know what those people who say that may have seen, and I imagine whatever they saw is probably a lot better than anything that’d flash before me. Regular people probably see a nice, tidy little childhood with both of their parents. There’s probably an image of a joyful Christmas morning, opening up presents, drinking milk and eggnog together. Sitting around the fireplace and singing songs while little puppies bark and run around in the background. I bet this moment for normal people is peaceful, like being welcomed home after being away for a lifetime.
My moment is nothing like that. As I stand in the middle of the alley listening to Nix’s muffled voice and quiet gunshots, I see a nearly empty house. I see a living room covered with syringes and little bags of yellow crap. I see my junkie mother sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, her body blocking the refrigerator, but it doesn’t matter because the fridge is empty anyway. I see myself in the back of an old El Camino as it drives away from my house after my mother has sold me to one of her dealers so she could get a score of her medicine, followed by the sight of Whitney lying on her back in the middle of a warehouse as that same dealer is “paid” for my safe return home. I see Whitney lying dead on her bed with white foam spilling from the side of her mouth. I see myself, lying on my bed in the basement, staring up at the ceiling, dreaming of becoming a king. I see my first robbery. I see my first thousand dollars stuffed inside of a black duffel bag. I see Nix.
I see Reina.
Suddenly, as another bullet comes within inches of my face and the world’s worst hitman steps out from the black shadow and aims his weapon again, I see Reina and me lying on my bed, rubbing each other’s skin. I see Reina standing outside of a castle wearing a red dress at her prom. I see her smiling at me as I look down on her, both of us naked in her parent’s house. I remember being in her bed, then moving to her parent’s bed, then to the floor in the hall. I remember seeing her walk out of La Famiglia Ristorante and I remember how my heart felt in that moment when she blew me that kiss as Nix and I drove away. I remember Reina—the only positive my fucked up life has ever had, and I’m suddenly filled with a determination stronger than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire, pathetic life. Reina was there when I was going through my horrible childhood, and she’s back now. There’s no way I’m dying when I know she’s back. No. Way.
“Solomon!” Nix shouts again, but this time his voice is crystal clear as I snap back to reality.
I see the hitman, wearing all-black with a balaclava over his face, and without any regard to anything else, I run towards him.
“Solomon, no!” I hear Nix shout, but it’s too late.
The hitman sets his feet, squares his shoulders, and fires another round that grazes my right shoulder. I’m closing in on him fast, and I let out a maniacal scream as I run full speed at the hitman. He’s uneasy now, and let’s another round fly from his black nine millimeter, but his nerves are shot and the bullet sails wide, not even close to me. As his panic takes over, the hitman turns to his right and tries to take off running, just like his friend. Cowards! I let him take a few hurried steps before I raise my gun—while still running—and fire three consecutive rounds.
Pop, pop, pop.
The hitman lets out a painful scream as blood splatters out of the back of both of his legs and flies into the night air in a red mist. Once I see his body crumble onto the dark pavement, I stop running.
“No!” the man screams as I walk up to him, breathing heavily from my little track meet. “Damn it! No!”
As I step up to him, Nix runs over and takes his place next to me, his gun still drawn.
“Solomon, you’re hit,” he says when he sees the blood running down my sleeve, but I don’t acknowledge him. Instead, I kick the hitman’s gun away from him, and turn him over onto his back.
“Hi there!” I chirp with a smile. It’s my game, and this guy has no idea how badly he has messed up. He really should’ve had some target practice before coming here tonight.
“Please don’t,” the man says from behind his black mask before I reach down and snatch it off his face. He’s a young kid, barely in his twenties. More than likely, he’s an associate for the mob who wants to become somebody in the Scarfo family, so they sent him here to prove himself by killing me. The disrespect! They sent a child to kill me. Me!
I take a deep breath and squat down next to the kid, who now has fear smeared across his face.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him as I shove my gun into the holster inside my jacket.
The kid is trembling, but he doesn’t respond. Too scared, or trying to remain loyal? If he talks to me, his family will kill him. I let out a loud chuckle that startles the kid, but it’s hilarious to think that he’s concerned with what’ll happen to him after he leaves this alley. He doesn’t realize he’s not leaving this alley because he’s dead already.
“Let’s try a better question,” I say after I laugh. “Who sent you here, kid?”
Again, he doesn’t answer. So, I reach into my left pocket and remove an old friend that I’ve carried with me since I was a kid myself. I slide the sharp point of the razor up on the box cutter and put it on the kid’s cheek. He looks like he might want to speak up now, but I don’t hesitate. I slice the kid’s cheek from the bottom of his left eye socket down to the curve between his lips. He lets out a terrific scream before I clamp my hand over his mouth.
“Sshhh,” I whisper. “How about this question
then. Did Dante Rossi send you to kill me?”
The kid trembles with fear as I squeeze his mouth with my hand, but through the pain, he nods his head up and down. He’s too young to be good at being a gangster. Dante messed up sending him here, especially since Nix killed a guy and the other one ran off. Dante was cheap and must’ve put an open contract on my head, because he certainly didn’t pay professionals to do this the way he should’ve. He’ll regret it, but only for a little while, because he’ll be dead soon too—as soon as I use Reina against him the way he used Tim against me.
“Dante,” I say as I look up to Nix. We both silently agree on the matter we were concerned about the whole night. Reina told the truth, and is obviously trying to help us from the inside. “Thank you for your honesty, kid. Now that we have that all straightened out, I need you to send Dante a message.”
I remove my hand from the kid’s mouth, and he immediately starts begging and pleading.
“Yes! Okay, I’ll tell him whatever you want. Just tell me what it is,” he says, just as I stand up, and Nix grabs him by his shirt. Nix drags the young hitman back into the dark recess of the alley from which he came, and slams him up against the brick wall so that he’s propped up against it.
“Alright, alright,” the kid says, raising his hand. “Just tell me what you want me to say. I swear I’ll tell him. I swear.”
As Nix walks away, I squat again in front of the kid and smile.
“I said I needed you to send Dante a message,” I explain. “I never said I needed you to say anything.”
Just as confusion climbs into the boy’s expression, I lift my box cutter and run the razor’s edge across his throat. Panic takes over his face as blood oozes from the wound and he uselessly tries to stop the bleeding with his hands. As blood slips between his fingers and he starts to make gurgling sounds and falls over, I turn my back on him and walk away, leaving him to die alone and in the dark.
LAST NIGHT WAS intense, to say the least. In fact, I’m not even sure intense is a strong enough word to describe it. It was surreal, and now that it’s over and I’m within the comfort of my loft, it seems like it went by in a flash.
First, there was Reina showing up at the sit-down with Mr. Dead Man himself, Dante Rossi. I was flooded with all the emotions of seeing her again, and I had to jump from that to hitmen being sent to execute me and Nix at the private entrance of my own club. The next thing I know, guns are popping off, Nix is killing a guy, and I’m pushing my razor into some kid’s throat and dragging it across his flesh. That last part, let us not forget, happened after the kid admitted that it was Dante who sent him to kill us, proving that Reina was right about everything.
Now, here we are—back at home with a drink in my hand and the satisfaction of knowing that Dante Rossi has no clue about the storm coming his way. What could be better than having an enemy be in the dark about death creeping up on him? Actually, there’s an answer to that—the look of fear that’ll take control of his face as he sees me coming. That look will be the best thing yet.
After all the drama last night, Nix and I actually left the two bodies in the alley. We had to, of course, erase the footage from the security cameras pointing to the back entrance so that the cops wouldn’t know what actually happened. When they questioned us about the bodies behind the club, I told them I had no clue what they were talking about. Must’ve been some sort of mob beef that went down in the dark. “Had nothing to do with us, Mr. Police Officer, sir. Please investigate and keep my club safe from the violent hooligans in this city!”
The cops will investigate but they won’t come up with anything. When it’s mafia related, the cops that are on the mob payroll tend to help make those cases either end quickly, or disappear altogether. I imagine this one will be no different.
I do, however, hate that one of them got away. Dante sent three people, just like Reina said he would, and Nix and I handled two of them, but the third one lived to tell the story. I’m sure he ran right back to Dante and explained why he failed to kill us, which is why an Italian male body was found floating in the Delaware River, just under the Benjamin Franklin Bridge this morning. I could be wrong, but I imagine it went something like this: hitman runs back to Dante to explain that his friends were being slaughtered as he approached, so he tucked his tail between his legs and ran away like a coward before he could be killed too. Dante lost his mind and put a bullet between the hitman’s eyes before having another one of his goons toss his lifeless, cowardly body into the river. The mob isn’t subtle. You make a mistake, you sleep with the fishes, as they used to say—or still do . . . I don’t know. Who cares?
I wonder if Reina was there when it happened. I haven’t heard from her since she called to warn me, but I can’t help but wonder if she was there when the hitman made the mistake of going back to report what happened. Did she see it? Did she feel guilty knowing it was her that caused the guy’s death? Or, did she smile as Dante put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger? Everything in me hopes it was the latter.
The number Reina called from was blocked, so I have no way of getting back in touch with her, and I don’t know when she plans on contacting me again, but I don’t have time to wait around for that. I have to get moving, because now that Dante’s hitmen have been found and identified by police, he knows Nix and I are still alive, and he knows we’re aware it was him who sent them. I’m sure he feels safe and protected behind his curtain of La Costa Nostra, and he’ll be looking for another opportunity to strike, but he won’t get one. Nix and I won’t be visiting either of our establishments until this thing is finished, and unlike Dante, who’s riding solo in his war with me, I have a crew behind me that’s starving for revenge for what happened to Donny Fontane, and it just so happens that Ricky’s charges were dropped this morning. Time to get to work.
I look at the digital clock on the stove as I pour myself another half-glass of 1972 Port Finish Bourbon, and I realize I have a phone call to make. Now that Ricky’s out, we have to get down to business, because killing an underboss in the Italian mob will be no easy task, and I don’t have patience for mistakes like the ones Dante’s hitmen made. I demand efficiency, and unlike Dante, I plan on being present when the deed is done. I don’t have people killed on my behalf. If I want you dead, I’ll pull the trigger myself. It’ll be me who runs the blade across your throat. Even if I have Nix, or Rock, or Ricky set it up, in the end, I’ll be the last person you see. I put myself at risk when it comes to stuff like this, and I will not allow myself to be caught by police, so I need a crew who knows what they’re doing, and since the Hyperion job was stolen from my last crew, I’m going to use them to make this happen.
I sit down on my couch and send a text to Nix, telling him to set up a conference call with everyone who was involved in planning the Hyperion heist, and he texts me back ten minutes later, having contacted them all. My phone rings as Nix’s number pops up on the display, and I know it’s time for business.
“Alright,” I say upon answering. “Do we have everyone here?”
“I’m here,” Rock says in his usual low, baritone voice.
“We’re good,” Marcell answers next.
“Yep,” Ricky says, and I can tell from his voice that he’s still grieving from the loss of his brother, but I’m not worried—we’re going to make that right for him.
“Good,” I say to them after a sip of my drink. “We’ve had some developments since the last time we were all together at The VP. As if that night wasn’t bad enough, Dante has gone and made matters worse by ordering a hit on Nix and me. As we made our way into Club Asylum last night, three hitmen tried to come after us.”
“Motherfucker,” I hear Ricky whisper, either to himself or to the group, I’m not sure which.
“Wow, this guy just doesn’t quit,” Rock says.
“No, he doesn’t,” I reply. “Nix and I handled it, obviously, but we’re done wasting time. After what happened to Donny, and now this attempt on our lives, it
’s time to make a move to get rid of this asshole for good. Now, you all know Dante’s position. He’s the underboss of the Scarfo family, so getting to him won’t be easy, and it won’t be without consequences. We need to be detailed and extremely thorough.
“Marcell, I need to you to look into absolutely everything you can about Dante Rossi. I want his social security number, his home phone, his cell phone, his home address, I want his mother’s freakin’ maiden name by the time you’re done. I need you to dig for the next seventy-two hours.”
“Okay, I got you,” Marcell says, sounding thrilled about his assignment. “I’m not questioning you or nothing like that, Solomon, but why seventy-two hours?”
“Because in four days, I’m going to kill Dante Rossi,” I answer with a smile none of them can see. The thought of killing Dante just makes me giddy.
“But this is about more than just killing him,” I continue. “If I wanted him dead, I’d just go after him now. I want to humiliate him first, and I want to take everything he owns away from him. Before he dies, I want him to know that every dollar he had coming in is now coming to me. You get me what I need, Marcell, and I’ll put a hundred grand in your hand after it’s done. Cash.”
“You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” Marcell says.
“Rock and Ricky, I need you to tail Dante,” I press on, laying down the rest of the plan. “Rock, you’re the only one slick enough and crazy enough to get close to this prick, and Ricky, nobody drives better than you. If it gets tight, I know I can trust you to make the getaway. I need you all alive in order to make this happen, so I can’t have you getting caught and tortured by some mafia goon.”
“No sweat,” Rock answers.
“That’s easy, Solomon,” Ricky says, but he has rage in his voice. “But what about Mason?”
I smile again. I figured this was coming, and I’m glad to hear Ricky has vengeance on his mind this evening.
“What about him?” Nix speaks up, pure curiosity coating his words. Even Nix is ready to make Detective Mason disappear.
