As I drove down Union Street, I thought about what I was doing. I was in a no-win situation. If I went through with this, I’d be breaking my promise to Angie, and to God. If I quit now, which is what I wanted to do, Borelli’s kid might die.
An image of Borelli’s face stuck in my mind, the worry etched in his eyes when I confronted him in the restaurant. I imagined if it were Rosa they had, and then I thought of Angie, and how it would tear her up. Jimmy’s wife was probably going through hell right now.
Just like Angie would.
Every time I thought about quitting and turning this over to the cops, I thought of the consequences.
What if her boy dies? What if I don’t go, and he dies?
That thought made up my mind. I couldn’t live with myself if Borelli’s kid died, knowing I could have done something about it. I didn’t like cursing God, but I felt like it now. Why did He put me in these situations? He knew what I’d do if they took the boy.
If You didn’t want me killing, why did You let them take Borelli’s kid?
I didn’t expect God to answer, but it didn’t matter. I made a decision long ago in my life: Some things were worth dying for; others worth killing for. This fell into the killing category.
I took a right on Lancaster Pike and headed west. Jack was meeting Monroe and his guys a few miles out, close to where we had to go. These Mexican guys weren’t like the other drug dealers; they were setting up shop in upscale neighborhoods, using them for distribution points. Bugs had filled me in on some of this, and now Jack confirmed it. I stopped at a place on the side of the road a few miles before getting to the meeting place, gathered my thoughts, and called Angie.
“Hello?” she said, in her always-pleasant voice.
“Hey, babe. What are you doing?”
“Cooking, and you’ll be sorry you missed it—baked ziti with sausage and meatballs.”
“Save some, I’m gonna be hungry.”
“You know I will.” She paused. “Why are you calling? I thought you were playing cards.”
“I just missed you, and wanted to tell you how much I love you.” I knew I screwed up as soon as I said it.
“Nicky, what’s going on? You’re not telling me something.” Her voice was laced with suspicion. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. I thought I’d call that’s all. Now, take care of that ziti so you don’t burn it. See you later.”
“Okay, win big,” she said, and hung up.
I felt like an ass, almost blowing it with Angie. Should have known better. I got back into the mode for the night’s work, though, and pulled into the meeting place with about five minutes to spare. Jack was there, and so was Monroe with three of his guys, DuPree included. He had an old black van. I got out of the car and greeted everyone. “Jack fill you guys in?”
Monroe flashed one of his smiles. “From what he said, you and him go in alone. You’ll call me on the cell before you enter and leave it on. We come in when we hear the signal.”
“Gate might be locked.” I said.
“No question it will be,” Jack said. “Once we go in they’ll lock it again.”
Monroe tapped the van as if it were a tank or something. “Unless they got a concrete gate, we’ll make it through with this.”
I stared at each of Monroe’s guys, wanting to make sure they got the message. “I don’t know what you guys are used to, or what experience you have, but this is going to get nasty. People are going to die, maybe some of us. Maybe all of us.”
Most of them nodded. One of them said it was nothing compared to the streets, and DuPree said he could handle whatever the Mexicans brought on.
“Monroe, if I’m dead you get that kid. You’ve got to promise me that.”
He nodded, and we shook hands. I’d done my job; it was time to go. I shook hands with each of his guys then turned to Jack. “You ready?”
“I already told God I’d likely be seeing him soon.”
I smiled. “If only for a minute, huh?”
Jack laughed. “That’s right, Nicky—if only for a minute.”
As we drove in, I checked the weapons again, a Beretta in my waistband—front and back—and a derringer under my baseball cap. Everything would depend on those two shots from the derringer, and on Jack’s reaction once things started. Jack had a gun in his waistband, too.
I looked over at Jack. He seemed calm. Maybe too calm. “Let’s go over this one more time,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Jack, but when it came down to guns and bullets you didn’t get second chances. I needed to make sure.
“I got it,” Jack said.
“I know you do, but remind me anyway.”
“Gonna have six, maybe seven or eight guys for sure. All armed. The gate is guarded, but probably only one person. They’re going to check us when we go in, and there will probably be at least three guys, maybe four. The rest of them will be throughout the house.”
“And it’s a two story?”
“Yeah, two story, and it’s big. Got a basement, too.”
“We have any idea where the kid is?”
“I don’t even know if he’s here. My contact said yes, but he didn’t know where.”
I nodded. “All right, we’re going to have to watch for that.”
We were almost there when I told Jack to pull over.
“What for?”
“I want to say a prayer for those about to die.”
“Fuck that,” Jack said. “I don’t give a shit about them.”
“I’m not worried about them,” I said. “But it might be us who die.”
Jack pulled over and blessed himself then started his prayer. When we finished, he pulled back onto the main road. “Don’t forget to close your eyes, Nicky.”
I laughed. It was a joke we had as kids. One of the nuns had told us that hell wasn’t full of fire, like most people said, or full of ice like Dante’s Ninth Circle. She said that when people died, God let everyone get a glimpse of heaven, even those who were going to hell. That, she said, was what hell was all about. Hell was having to live for eternity knowing what heaven looked like but never being able to experience it. Hell was an eternal longing to have what you could never have. We used to joke that all we had to do to beat the system was close our eyes.
“I won’t forget, Jack, but I think I’ll try to stay alive, just in case closing your eyes doesn’t work.”
“Yeah, me too,” Jack said.
I said a quick prayer for the drug dealers, too, but I couldn’t afford to start feeling sorry for them—that would take the edge off. As we drew closer I reminded myself that they were drug dealers and if we had to kill them they deserved it.
Besides, they’ve got Borelli’s kid.
The guard at the gate looked inside the car then waved us on. He was talking to someone on a cell. A few seconds later we pulled up the driveway to the front of the house. Four of them were waiting for us.
“I was hoping it would only be three,” Jack said.
“Got our work cut out for us, Jack. Stay cool, man. Stay cool.”
I got out of the car, my right hand held in the air and the left holding the bag of money. Jack got out the driver’s side and held his hands up.
“Buenas noches, señores.” Jack had a definite American accent to his Spanish, but it wasn’t too bad.
“Good evening,” the one who looked to be in charge replied, without an accent. He could have passed for somebody born in Philly.
They approached slowly, the other three with guns in hand. One carried a shotgun—he’d have to go first—and the other two had what looked to be Glocks. I’m sure the guy addressing us had a gun, but he’d have to reach for it. The guy with the shotgun stood a few feet back, cautious. I’d need him closer for this to work. He was the one that had to go out first.
The leader nodded toward the bag I carried. “The money?”
I nodded back. “It’s all here. Where’s the coke?”
“Inside.
After I look at the money, we’ll go have a drink.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
“Rico!” The way he said it was a command, and one of the guys holding a Beretta came forward, checking us for weapons.
“In my waistband,” I said, “front and back.”
He kept his eyes on me while he checked. I could tell he seemed pleased I told him about both guns. “Any more?” he asked.
“None.”
He checked anyway, running his hands up and down my legs and even checking my ankles and under my arms. He didn’t, however, check under my hat. Good damn thing. He moved to Jack and went through the same routine, but Jack only had the one gun and he told him so. He had put his own gun away when he checked me, then handed mine to the other guy.
The leader stepped forward and I handed him the bag. He looked inside, riffled through the stacks of money, then smiled. “Perhaps we should have a little tequila now, señor.”
When he turned toward the house, so did the guy with the shotgun and one of the others. The last guy stayed behind. This was my chance. I pretended to wipe sweat from my brow, flipped the hat off and grabbed the derringer. I stepped forward to the man holding the shotgun, shoved the derringer in his ear and pulled the trigger. I shot the other guy in the face, close to his jaw. Definitely not lethal.
I sensed the guy behind me moving. I got the gun from the guy I just shot, spun and fired. I missed with the first shot but hit his neck with the second. He was aiming his gun, so I jumped on him, sending us both to the ground. I hoped Jack was taking care of the other guy and that Monroe heard the shots.
Two more rang out behind me as I struggled with the guy on the ground, holding his gun hand away from me. I head-butted him twice, and I heard Jack yell.
“Got him, Nicky.”
The guy I was fighting went out. I took his gun and shot him once in the head, then moved to Jack’s side. “They dead?”
He nodded. “All of them.”
I grabbed both of my guns and checked the clips while Jack got the shotgun. “Let’s go.”
As we moved into the house, Monroe’s van busted through the gate, simultaneous with two more gunshots, and DuPree’s cackle. I figured he got his first guy.
I waited. No sense in going in light. A moment later, Monroe and his guys joined us, DuPree joining me and Jack to check upstairs, while Monroe and the others took the first floor. Jack took the lead up the steps, slowly, followed by me and DuPree. The landing opened to a long hallway with rooms on the east and west. I nodded to the west and Jack started down the hall, me behind him, and DuPree, facing backward, guarding the rear.
We hadn’t taken five steps when a door opened and two guys jumped out with guns blasting. I dropped to the floor and fired, but from behind me I heard more gunshots. Jack went down with the first volley, blood splattering the walls and part of my pants. I crouched and kept firing as I moved forward. I got both the guys in front of us, then turned and flopped onto my belly just as I heard DuPree yell.
“I’m hit. Motherfucker, I’m hit!”
I crawled forward firing with both guns, taking one guy in the chest, but the other one ducked behind the door. I grabbed hold of DuPree pulling him back down the hall while keeping my eyes on that door. I figured the guy was going to come out low when he did, so I focused there. Sure enough, as I dragged DuPree toward the room, the guy popped out of the doorway close to the floor. I fired and kept firing, three of the five bullets taking him in the head or chest.
From downstairs I heard Monroe call. “Rat, you okay? DuPree?”
“Up here, Monroe. DuPree’s hit. I think Jack’s gone.” I turned so my back was against the wall and I could easily see both ways, a gun pointing in each direction. I had already reloaded. Footsteps came up the steps along with Monroe’s voice.
“Let me hear you, Rat.”
“Right here,” I said. “You’re clear.”
He came into the hallway, gun in hand, followed by two of his men. “You all right, DuPree?”
DuPree was bleeding, but not bad. “He’ll be fine. Not so for Jack.” I looked at his men, noted one missing. “And you?”
“Lost Tucker. Had two in the kitchen. No kid, though. You find him up here?”
I stood. “Haven’t searched yet. Let’s take them one at a time. Be careful.”
In the first room we tried, we found him, hiding under the bed, crying. “Pete, is that you?” I asked.
He poked his head out then back in, like a turtle afraid to be picked up. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of your father.” I got down on the floor and reached my hand out. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here.”
That must have hit a nerve. He flew out from under that bed. “Are you taking me home?”
“You’re going home. You’ll be safe now.”
One of Monroe’s men was helping DuPree down the stairs. Monroe and his other guy took Jack.
“Who’s that?” Pete asked. “What happened to him?”
“You’re better off not knowing anything. Understand?”
“Who are you?”
“As I said, you’re better off not knowing.” This time I put some iron in my voice. As we were leaving I noticed a bag in the closet and opened it. It was stuffed with cash. Must have been two or three hundred large in there. I grabbed it and then grabbed Pete. “Let’s go.”
We quickly made our way out to the cars, careful in case we’d missed any Mexicans. “Get in that car,” I told Pete. “Get in the back seat and keep your head down.” As he moved, I turned to Monroe. “Take Jack, will you? Hold on to him until I send someone to get him. And you need to take your man so they don’t know who was involved.”
The briefcase of money I had brought for the drug buy lay on the ground. I picked it up and handed it to Monroe. “For your troubles,” I said.
He opened it up and grinned. “My man.”
One of Monroe’s men eyed me. “Man you killed them fuckers cold. I mean cold, dude.”
“They’re just drug dealers.”
Monroe looked at me, a strange expression on his face. “That go for me too, Rat?”
I stared him down. “You deal drugs don’t you?”
“Everybody does nowadays. Like I said, you got to if you want to stay in the game.”
I looked around at the bodies. “You know me, Monroe. I don’t judge people by what they do, all except drugs. Find a new game because the one you’re in sucks.”
“I thought we had more than that. Thought we were tight.”
I thought about how to phrase a reply, but figured the truth was always best. He had three guys with him, and one had moved his hand toward his gun. They might decide to turn the tables on me, but I doubted it. They had just seen me kill seven or eight guys, and no one wants to die, not even drug dealers. “I like you, Monroe, but we’re not tight. We never will be as long as you deal drugs. We had something to do tonight that worked for both of us. Let’s leave it at that.”
“And in the future?”
“Let’s say I won’t be hanging around Monroe Street, and I doubt you’ll be wandering around Little Italy.”
Monroe stared at me for a moment, then he looked at his guys. “That’s why I always liked you, Rat. You speak your mind.” He walked over to me, hands exposed—no threat—then reached forward to shake.
I took his hand. “This doesn’t make us brothers or even friends.”
“I know,” Monroe said. “Let’s leave it that we’re not enemies.”
I nodded to him, then to his guys. Most of them wouldn’t look at me. “I can live with that. You know I don’t like trouble.”
“My man,” he said, and laughed, bringing smiles to all of them. He flipped me a coin which I caught with my left hand, leaving my right free in case it was a trick. I looked down at it. It was one of those presidential coins from a set they made a few years ago. It had a picture of James Monroe on the front. He looked stern and empowered, with his long hair swept b
ack from his forehead and a scarf around his neck. Intense eyes sat above prominent cheekbones. His name was etched into the top—James Monroe. I realized looking at this that Monroe was a lot like this man, at least from the looks of it on the coin. Not a man to be trifled with.
“Just to show no hard feelings, Rat, give that coin to your daughter.”
“What for?”
“That’s safe passage for her. She ever gets bothered, any time, tell her to flash that coin. It’ll keep her safe. I promise. Even people in the other hoods respect my coin.”
He used the word that we had agreed to in prison that we would never break. We seldom used it with each other, but when one of us said “promise,” we agreed to stick to it. It was the one thing I insisted on when we originally made our deal. I nodded. “Thanks, Monroe.”
“Now I say we get the fuck out of here before somebody comes. Be hard to explain us being here with all these bodies.”
“Go on,” I said. “I’ve got to burn it.”
“What?”
“No sense leaving DNA here. I’m burning it.”
They left and I stayed to set the fire. It had to be one that would sweep it all up. I got the gas from the car, spread it everywhere I wanted to, then stepped out, leaving a trail to light. I looked back to the house one last time, then blessed myself and said a short prayer. Not for the bodies I was leaving behind, but for myself, asking for forgiveness. I lit the fire, grabbed the money, and got in the car.
***
MONROE DROVE THE SPEED limit all the way down Lancaster Pike, passing by half a dozen cop cars with sirens blaring. “Sure hope the Rat gets out of there in time.”
DuPree turned the radio off and looked at him. “What the fuck, that wasn’t the fun I thought it was going to be.”
“I told you, we got a lot of work to do if we want to protect our territory. This Mexican guy isn’t going to give up easy. Don’t worry, though; we’ll get your sorry ass patched up.”
“We can’t go to no hospital,” DuPree said.
“Taking you to see Doc Majors. He’s pulled out more slugs than an army doc.”
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