by John L. Monk
“What you get for bringing a gun to a malachite fight,” I said to him.
I grabbed his gun—a small caliber pistol—and stepped into the atrium, aiming at the stairs. When Clean-cut flew up a second later with his MP9, I shot him in the chest and again when he was down.
I have no patience for bullies, and no time of my own that isn’t borrowed. And that’s why I returned to the office, ready to pistol whip the landlord if needed.
“Where’s my mom?” I shouted at him. “Where did you … aw, for crying out loud.”
Ray’s eyes stared dully ahead, taking what he knew with him to the grave. Clearly I’d hit him too hard with that enormous green rock.
Descending the tinker toy staircase, aiming the gun ahead of me, I looked for guards the whole way. As I made the final turn, Goatee and I saw each other at the same time. I jerked back from a shatter of automatic gunfire and watched smoke puff up from the concrete in front of me. Then came several more blasts—though not from the guard. These sounded more like shotguns.
I peeked around the bend and waved at the three new people standing over Goatee’s corpse.
Paulie’s face was bruised and puffy from his rough treatment in the boat the night before. He smiled when he saw me.
“I did my part, Vinnie,” he said. “What about you?”
Chapter Forty-Three
I went downstairs and tried to act like a ruthless mob guy who wasn’t ’fraid of nuttin’.
“How you fellas doing?” I said.
“What happened to your famous hairpiece?” Paulie said with a smirk.
I’d left Vinnie’s toupee back in Lenny's office, forgotten in my haste to get out of there.
“It was keeping me from being me.”
Paulie opened his mouth to reply, and a henchman I hadn’t seen yet barreled in from a hall to the left, pointing his machine gun at me.
I aimed quickly and fired, catching him in the shoulder. A ribbon of bullet holes tore up the mob guy to Paulie’s right. In the same instant, Paulie and the remaining man finished the guard with loud blasts from their shotguns.
When the smoke cleared, Paulie looked down and said, “Shit, Lonny. You got shot up. The fuck you do that for?”
“Paulie!” Lonny screamed. “I’m dying, man!”
He did appear to be dying pretty badly. A wide pool of blood spread out from him, mingling with the trickling drip from my own damaged arm.
“Vinnie, do me a favor?” Paulie said in an oddly reverent tone. “I’m friends with his aunt, you know?”
At first I felt confused. Then it dawned on me. “Ah, you want me to…”
I pointed my finger at him like a gun.
“Pistol’s gotta be better than buckshot, right? Not in the face, though.”
“No, please!” the man said. “Paulie, please, man, take me to a hospi—”
I ended it quick. No way he’d make it to a hospital in time, even if Paulie or someone drove him. Which they wouldn’t. I felt bad about it. This guy died because I’d blabbed my real name to a stranger. I didn’t know if he had a moral code, like Andre, or none at all, like Ricky. He was in pain, it was hopeless, and I’d acted.
Another mob guy came inside. “We’re all clear. No one’s left.”
Paulie said, “Good job, Mikey. You and Carmine pick up our deceased friend and put him in the car. Never mind the blood.”
The two mobsters grabbed their fallen comrade by the arms and dragged him out, trailing blood the whole way.
Paulie turned back to me. “You never said nothing about no machine guns, Vinnie.”
“Why didn’t you bring more men? I didn’t know they had machine guns.”
In truth, I’d hoped the guards would surrender to a larger force, rather than fight for the landlord. My guess was they never had the chance. Lesson learned: when delicacy is needed, don’t hire the Mafia.
“I bet,” he said. “Where the fuck’s Lenny?”
“In a minute. First I need to find that guy who stole from me. He’s hiding somewhere. After I kill him, I’ll show you.”
Back on the boat, I’d told him this was a revenge hit against a paranoid rich guy who’d stolen a bunch of money from me and hired armed guards for protection.
“You need any help?” Paulie said.
In retrospect, trusting my mother around gun-toting gangsters didn’t seem as clever now as it had back on the boat. Paulie had good reason not to like me, and enough men with him to easily exact revenge for his rough treatment. If my ride had to die, so be it. But I didn’t want Paulie or his men anywhere near my mother.
I shook my head. “Nope. This one’s not business. It’s personal.”
“You trying to fuck me?” Paulie said. “I did my part—you fucking do yours.”
I figured the real Vinnie for a hard ass with a tough reputation. The kind of guy who could order waiters to get him free food and to turn up the crappy music. Vinnie had street cred, which meant I had street cred. Now it was time to spend a little.
“You’re done when I finish here,” I said in a menacing tone. “Now meet me outside.”
Paulie stared hard at me for a second. Then he smiled in a way that never reached his eyes, turned around, and walked out.
I do have street cred, don’t I?
Not waiting for an answer, I peered down each hallway. The main floor was a curve that circled the tinker toy staircase. One direction led to the command center with the big TVs. Evil landlords typically built their dungeons underground, so I skipped the other wing and descended the stairs with my gun ready in case another guard turned up.
Even funded with hopper money, the landlord couldn’t have had that many guards. Must have had a lot of enemies to keep any at all. If he regularly kidnapped the friends and families of violent hoppers, then yeah, he probably did.
At the bottom of the stairs I could only go one way. Doors opened right and left down a long hallway. Each door was unlocked: a storage area, a break room, a bathroom, and a sort of barracks with…
“Bunk beds?” I whispered.
A little farther and I came to a steel door with a shuttered viewport. The door opened with a twist of the knob and I saw my mother sitting anxiously on the edge of a prison cot.
“What was all that noise?” she said, tense and alert but unafraid. “It sounded like … oh my, you’re bleeding.”
I glance down at my arm, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Not from blood loss, but from pain which had grown steadily since getting shot.
“I’m here to rescue you.”
“Who are you?” she said.
“Nobody. Just some guy, here to help. You have to get up.”
She didn’t get up.
“That man, Ray,” she said, staring at me intently. “He said my son … it made no sense at all. He called him a … a hip hopper.”
I bit my lip, feeling like crap for putting her through all this. If I’d just kept my mouth shut—hadn’t called that stupid phone number—none of this would have happened. She’d suffered so much when I killed myself. Now I’d gotten her kidnapped by Cosmic Ray and his redshirts. On top of that, the Mob was involved. I was the worst son ever.
“Tell me truly,” Mom said. “Is my son alive? I’ve always felt something … that he was out there, somewhere in the world.”
I couldn’t say no and I couldn’t say yes, or claim any knowledge of what she was talking about.
“Last spring,” she said, “a man came visiting and said my daughter put him up to it. Later, I learned he was an awful person and was sent to prison. And yet … the man I met that day could never have done the things they said. At least, I like to think my judgment is sound in that regard.”
“I don’t know about your son.”
“That Ray person,” she said slowly, gazing intently into my eyes. “He said Daniel comes back to life as other people. A ludicrous idea if there ever was one.”
I nodded. “Totally nuts.”
“He said there are ot
hers who do this, too. Hip hoppers.”
I winced a little, torn between anger at Ray’s big mouth and an overwhelming feeling of love for my mother, who didn’t even know what a hip hopper was.
“They’re called hoppers, not…”
I shook my head.
“That man who visited me … could he have been”—her voice broke in a sudden sob—“my son? Alive somehow?”
I turned around and stared down the hall, feeling nothing but shame, hating myself for putting her in this situation.
“We need to switch rooms,” I said and stepped from the cell. I waited a moment to see if she followed, then continued to the room with the bunkbeds.
Behind me, Mom said, “Daniel, is that you? Are you in there?”
After checking that the door had a lock—it did—I faced her and took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, I guided her to the nearest bunk and helped her sit down.
“Take this,” I said, holding out Ray’s pistol. “If you see anyone come through that door after I leave, don’t hesitate for a second. Just shoot him. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, slip out, find a phone, and call the police.”
“But why?” she said, pulling away without touching it. “What’s going on? Why can’t we just leave?”
From behind me, a voice said, “Yeah, Vinnie—why can’t you just leave?”
Mom’s eyes widened and she issued a startled yelp.
I started to turn, ready to fire, but someone grabbed me around the middle, picked me up, and slammed me to the ground. That same someone stomped on my wrist, causing me to howl in pain and release the gun.
“Leave him alone!” Mom shouted.
“Is that your girlfriend, Vinnie?” someone else said.
I twisted around and saw the two shotgun-toting mobsters from upstairs. One of them held his gun trained on me, smiling in amusement. The other one snatched up the pistol.
“All right, get up,” the one aiming at me said. “Paulie sent us back to find you. Wait’ll he hears you’re down here yapping about the cops.” He shook his head. “Jesus.”
Together we were marched from the room, up the stairs, and out to the driveway.
Paulie’s car was parked next to Vinnie’s. Off to the right was a guard, slumped dead in a golf cart. The curve of the hill and a nearby stand of trees blocked my view of the little booth at the front gate, but I figured there was a dead man in there, too.
Paulie was leaning against Vinnie’s car with a shotgun over his shoulder, wearing a smug grin. “Who’s the broad?”
“Someone who needs to go home,” I said. “If you’ll step back, I’ll fulfill my part of the bargain, then we’ll be going.”
One of his men said, “We caught these two down in the basement talking about calling the cops.”
“It was only if you tried to double cross me.”
“And why would I do that?” Paulie said with an edge to his voice. “Ain’t I a man of my word?”
To prove I was a man of my word, I reached in my pocket—and got bashed in the back by one of the mobsters, sending me sprawling.
“I was … just … getting my keys,” I said through the pain. “Keeping … my word.”
“Lenny's in the trunk?” Paulie said, moving away from it.
“Yeah…”
“So pop the trunk,” he said, “before I pop you.”
Slowly, trying not to get popped, I got the keys out and clicked the trunk button. The hatch lifted and Lenny raised his gagged head to look out, squinting under the glare of the lamplight. On the way from New York, I’d repeatedly dosed him with Vinnie’s remaining darts. His eyes looked hollow and fatigued, and sometime during the car ride his toupee had come off.
“Well, if it ain’t my favorite pizza boy,” Paulie said. “Lenny-fucking-Carpino! Check it out, boys—Lenny's hair is stolen too!”
Paulie laughed like he’d told the world’s greatest joke, and his men joined him.
I glanced around, but didn’t see the body of the dead mobster. I figured he was in Paulie’s trunk, and wondered if I’d find myself in there next to him. Mom, too.
No, I decided. That couldn’t happen, and never mind the consequences.
Lenny shouted something that sounded like mumble-mumble-mumble through his gag.
“Your own fucking brother,” Paulie said to him with a big smile. “He fucking screwed you, pal. You ugly fuck. Now he gets to watch while I shoot you, just like he asked for. Wanted to see you die with his own eyes.”
“No! I never said—”
The butt of a shotgun slammed me in the kidneys for my efforts, causing me to gasp in pain.
Lenny looked from Paulie to me, pathetic and hopeless and crushed by the last lie he’d ever hear. He was a scumbag mob guy, had orchestrated the deaths of however many people, and had willingly unleashed his vicious nephew on the world. But right now he was just a man in a trunk who thought his brother had betrayed him.
I willed Paulie to get it over with, hoping wherever Lenny went the truth would be revealed.
“Bye bye, Lenny Carpino,” Paulie said. “And for the record, your shitty pizza gives me gas."
He pointed his shotgun at Lenny and shot him in the stomach. Lenny lived through that, shuddering in pain and terror. Then Paulie—laughing like a maniac—pumped another shell and shot him in the face.
Beside me, cutting through the steady tone sounding in my ears from all the gunfire tonight, Mom began to scream.
Chapter Forty-Four
“Shut up that racket,” Paulie said.
One of the men slammed Mom in the stomach with a shotgun. She gave a small cry and fell down wheezing.
I briefly saw red. Then I was up, pounding the man who’d struck her, then kicking him while he was down. There was a taste like copper in my mouth and a roaring in my ears and an overwhelming need to destroy—and then I saw stars and hit the ground, just barely holding onto consciousness.
Someone kicked me in the side and I rolled over, staring up.
“Temper, Vinnie, temper,” Paulie said, wagging a finger down at me. He stepped back and dragged Mom up by her hair, causing her to gasp and flail.
“Get your hands off me!” she said, grabbing his hand and digging into it with her nails.
Paulie shoved her over next to me and looked at his hand.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said. “Never known you to be so dumb, but you got dumb I guess. For that, all your shit is mine. Your pretty wife, too, if I feel like it. Show her what a real man can do in the sack.”
The man on the ground lurched to his feet. He started to kick me and I curled up automatically.
“Leave him alone!” Mom shouted.
Paulie said, “Mikey—hey—back the fuck off, will you? Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to the man?”
Mikey spit blood on me and backed away.
“I’m dying to know: who’s the broad? What’s so special about her you gotta die like a dog?”
“He’s my son, you bastard!”
Paulie’s eyes widened in sudden surprise. “Ain’t that some crazy shit I just heard? Tell me, Vinnie, she crazy or what?”
Mom looked at me angrily. “Well, Vinnie? Am I? Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. After what you did to me all those years ago, the hell you put me through. Tell me I’m not crazy, goddamn you!”
I clambered slowly to my feet, wincing the whole way. Nobody stopped me. I reached for my mother.
“Leave her,” Paulie said, jiggling the shotgun.
I left her there and shrugged.
“You’re not crazy,” I said to her. Then to Paulie: “Mister, I don’t know who you are. To be honest, I really don’t care. But I promise, if you touch my mother again, you’ll join that bone sack in the car. Now pack up your friends and get going.”
The friends in question stared at each other in confusion. They’d probably expected me to grovel and beg. And I would have, if I thought it would work.
Pau
lie put his hands together and clapped. “I almost got an actual fucking goose bump. You fellas see that?” He pantomimed showing everyone his arm. The men laughed on cue. “Normally I’d run away screaming like a little girl. But Mikey’s made of stronger stuff. Ain’t that right, Mikey?”
“Should’a never put your hands on me, asshole,” Mikey said, careful of his swelling lip.
Paulie spread his hands. “Now he gets to decide who dies first. Both at once, if it was me, cuz I’m civilized like that. But I think you broke his nose, and now he ain’t gonna be pretty no more.”
Mikey was a young thug, mid-twenties, and yeah, it looked like I’d broken his nose. He grinned evilly at the prospect of revenge, his eyes wild and happy.
“I’m gonna shoot the ugly bitch in front of you, Vinnie,” he said. “And you’re gonna watch me.”
He made a slow, theatrical show of loading more rounds into his shotgun, basking in the spotlight and nursing his hatred.
I sent my inner voice silently into the night.
I don’t care what you do to me, how many memories you strip away or what happens to my ride. Help save my mother. She doesn’t deserve this. Do me this one last favor and I’ll never screw with your process again, I swear it.
Up in the sky, behind Paulie and his thugs, a falling star streaked brightly and died near the horizon. I must have shown something on my face, because each of the three mobsters turned and looked.
Paulie said, “Praying? That’s a real good idea, Vinnie.”
“I’m not afraid to die,” Mom said to him. “I’ve lived a good life that meant something. All you do is kill people. You don’t matter at all. Not in the slightest.”
She lifted her head high, prepared for the worst but not giving an inch.
“Any time now’s good, Mikey,” Paulie said, suddenly distracted by an imaginary smudge on his shirt. The coward.
Mikey raised the shotgun to her head, and I held my right hand high for all to see.
“When I snap my fingers,” I said, “something will happen to one of you, but I can’t be sure which. I just know you won’t like it.”
