Only the Details

by Alan Lee

  “I cannot. What kinda kinky sex would that be, anyway, walking?”

  Behind her I saw Gennaro, my second favorite little boy, running up. “Here! I found him!”

  Ronnie looked up. “Manny,” she said and her face widened into a magnificent smile. “There you are, I need help.”

  “You brought Manny?” I said.

  Gennaro stepped aside, beaming.

  “Hola, Mack,” said a familiar voice. Manny came into view and squatted next to me. “I dig your new tattoo.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Congratulations on winning the Gabbia Cremisi, mijo.”

  “Thank you. Cross that off my bucket list. It’s great you two are here. Almost makes us even,” I said.

  “Carlos and I, we’re carrying you out,” he said.

  “Make sure you tip Gennaro. Is that a rocket launcher on your back? What buffoon thought it wise to give you a rocket launcher?”

  “They pass these out like party favors here. Mack, this place, Naples, it’s no place for honest amigos like us. But I love it,” he said.

  A man named Carlos, a Mexican of whom I was fond, knelt at my waist and pressed a bandage against the bullet wound. “We must go. More soldiers and police are coming, and the hotel is on fire.”

  “First,” I said. “You got another missile for that thing? I promised Ferrari I’d knock this whole place down.”

  “Only one rocket. Not enough.”

  Eying the stained glass window high above, I said, “I know. But I have an equally grandiose and effective idea.”

  55

  Carlos and Manny locked arms behind my back and under my thighs and I contributed very little. They carried me to the roof, where the sky to the east was purpling. Three helipads were in use, and several more choppers hovered nearby, waiting their turn.

  Marcus Morgan approached us and shouted, “Rossi’s helicopter is already gone. Need another idea.”

  “You were going to take Rossi’s?”

  “Good to see you, August. Long story.”

  Manny said, “Could take my stupid tiny Italian Fiat.”

  “No,” said Carlos. “Only one way into Vomero. It’s closed by police.”

  “So we hijack one of these choppers. Need to go soon. Place gon’ burn up before long.”

  “Hey, it American!” shouted a woman. Or rather, three women. Chinese, by the looks of them, and quite attractive. “It American, we bid on you!”

  “Bid? Or bet?” I said, eyeing them. Because that’s about all I could do.

  “Both! Haha!”

  The women laughed and took turns kissing Manny and Veronica on the face. Manny and Veronica kissed them back.

  One week with me gone and everyone goes nuts.

  “Our helicopter was taken,” said Veronica.

  “You come us!” shouted one of the beautiful women and she waved us to follow, towards a turquoise helicopter. Turquoise.

  “Yes!” shouted her friend. “We love you! So pretty! We have sex American! In plane!”

  Veronica laughed and shouted over the rotor wash. “He’s my husband.”

  “Husband? You bid on Italian! You have sex Prince!”

  “No,” said Veronica and cleared her throat. “That didn’t—”

  “We saw you name!”

  Marcus muttered to me, “Another long story.”

  We boarded a helicopter, one of those luxury business models. We fit but not comfortably. I was buckled into a seat by the window, and one of the Chinese women sat on my lap.

  “You get blood on dress!” she cackled. “We crazy bitches!”

  “We have American! In plane!”

  Veronica sat across from me, smiling. A deeply happy smile, enjoying my confusion. Without enough room, she was partially resting on Carlos.

  Marcus moved to the cockpit and our helicopter threw itself into the violet sky.

  “Mackenzie, you can go to sleep,” said Veronica. “You’re safe.”

  The Chinese woman’s nose pressed into my cheek. She wrapped an arm around my neck and said, “You go sleep! We won’t touch. Much!”

  The helicopter banked over the city. Flames were visible through the hotel windows, and police lights flashed in the surrounding neighborhoods. As the helicopter climbed, we saw the Teatro di Montagna in all its monstrosity. The great stained glass dome on top was shattered, demolished almost completely by Manny’s final rocket. As though the hotel had lost an eye.

  56

  I woke up to white noise. The faint hiss of air conditioning and cabin pressure. The steady drone of turbines. Soft voices.

  A private jet. I’d been on this one before.

  My head was in the lap of a sun goddess. Her chair was reclined backwards and she slept against a pillow, magnificent in repose.

  I sat up inch by inch, testing and flexing each abdominal muscle. Swiveled to get my bare feet to the floor. And stood.

  Yeeeeouch. There was no part of me that felt healthy.

  Manny and Carlos slept in chairs on the other side of the aisle. Through the window the sky was a watery blue.

  I went to the aft restroom. My face looked swollen. Lip puffy. Throat bruised. My shoulders throbbed. A bandage had been attached to my abdomen and the flesh underneath felt hot.

  I found a suitcase with clean clothes. Silk shirts—must be Duane’s. I stripped out of the fighting shorts, stiff with blood, and pulled on a pair of his boxers. The shorts were too big and I couldn’t find a belt, so I pulled on one of his t-shirts and hoped no one minded the man in his underwear.

  Marcus Morgan was up front talking on a cell phone and typing into a laptop. He had the front section to himself. Across from him, lying open on a leather chair, was a hard-shell briefcase overflowing with money.

  He saw me, said, “Call you back,” and hung up.

  I shook his hand. His fingers were long and firm, and he wore a silver Tag watch.

  “Look like hell,” he said.

  “Wrong.”

  He grinned.

  I said, “Thanks for coming, Marcus.”

  “Summers wouldn’t hear otherwise.”

  “She’s the best.”

  “If you’d seen all the stunts she pulled to get to you?” he said. “You’d find a better word.”

  “I am an independent and self-contained man. But some girls are worth letting in, I think. Because otherwise I’d be dead. You killed Duane?”

  “I did.”

  “I told him I would do the job.”

  He shrugged. “You and me always been a little symbiotic.”

  “I guess it still counts, even if you did it.”

  “Does. Maybe you didn’t, but the pack did. The pack of which you a member.”

  I waffled my hand. “A pack? Didn’t I just say I’m an independent, self-contained, and complete human being.”

  “You an independent human being got himself in some deep shit and needed help. And now? Bout to become a legend.”

  “I wasn’t before?”

  Marcus pointed at his laptop screen. “Camorra still chanting about the Yankee who won the tournament, spared the Prince, killed Rossi, and burnt the place down.”

  “Not bad, right?”

  “Not bad at all. Especially cause I made a fortune betting on you.”

  “That’s the money in the briefcase?”

  “Naw. That’s Chambers’s money. I’ll check on his next of kin. Or maybe keep it.”

  I said, “This is Duane’s plane.”

  “Kings’ plane. Mine for the moment.”

  “That so.”

  “I reported the demise of Chambers. Temporarily, I have his seat on the board.”

  “The King’s board of directors? Moving up in the world,” I said. “The sick, twisted, mercenary, polluted world of the mafia.”

  “Till they vote. But I like my chances. And like this sick world or not, you in deep now.”

  “Malarky.”

  “You kidding me? You won the Gabbia Cremisi. You killed Ros
si. Deep as deep can get.”

  I said, “Your friends on the board aren’t gonna be happy with me after I deal with Darren Robbins.”

  “Darren called me. Knows we’re coming home. He said you two square. You survived two contracts, so all’s even.”

  I made a tsk’ing noise.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know. It ain’t even.”

  “Tell him I’m coming. And hell’s coming with me.”

  “That a quote?”

  “You betcha.”

  I got up and walked to the rear of the plane. Laid down and rested my head in the lap of Veronica Summers. She issued a soft murmur.

  Music.

  The End

  A note from the author

  You guys are great. Thanks for reading.

  I wrote three Mackenzie August books between the months of January to July, 2018. The next you see from me might be a book about Manny, or potentially a Christmas mystery. But Mack won’t be denied for long—his next adventure is already plotted.

  (It may interest you to know that my wife and I are at the end of a long adoption process, and later this year we’ll be flying to India to bring a little girl home, out of an orphanage. Her name’s Rima. So there might be a small delay with the next novel.)

  This was Mack’s most intense story yet, on the wild and surreal side. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. But I’m glad he’s headed home. Leave your thoughts on Amazon and/or GoodReads—it helps me stay in business.

  If you haven’t read Last Teacher, click here and I’ll send it to you for free. It’s the Makenzie August prequel.

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