by J A Wynters
“You don’t have to be so far away, buddy. Just come here.”
He didn’t.
I shrugged and made my way to Tony’s.
I unlocked the heavy iron door and pushed through it. “Are you coming?” Spots waited across the street; I could just make out his eyes as they reflected in the street light. He didn’t budge. “Suit yourself.”
I closed the door gently expecting stark darkness, which is why the illuminating lights from Tony’s office took me by surprise.
A chill ran down my spine. Tony was a resourceful man. He held information over other people’s heads and, for all intents and purposes, he kept his hands clean, leaving the dirty work for others. Shit just slid off him, as if he was coated in Vaseline. So, to find him in his office in the early hours of the morning could only lead me to a handful of possible conclusions.
I grabbed a wrench, the weight comforting in my hands and glued myself to the wall. I slid along the wall, my shirt catching on the uneven plaster. My mind ran through the possibilities.
One. Tony had his dick deep in some woman. That would be the ideal situation. I would apologise and slink away, and my code of silence would remain intact as it always had. Bitter disgust unfurled itself in the pit of my stomach.
Two. Maybe it wasn’t even Tony; maybe it was some punk who broke in. Maybe if I caught this thief and serve him up to Tony, all would be forgiven and Tony would bring me back from the exile of the car wash. My fist tightened around the wrench.
I listened, straining my ears. Silence. No shouting or talking or moaning. No ruffling of papers or opening drawers. My first two theories were starting to crumble, which left me with just one more. One which sent my heart into a gallop, and the hair on my skin prickle.
Tony was in trouble, and I just stumbled into whatever he was hiding. He would have heard me calling for Spots. I was a dead man.
I crept up the stairs, the lights from the windows casting long, yellow squares across the shop walls. The office door was open just a crack and I wound my fingers around the aluminium knob.
“Come in.” At the sound of his steady voice, my heart somersaulted in my throat and landed with a thud at the pit of my stomach.
I took a galvanising breath, tucked the wrench behind my back and pushed the door open.
Tony leaned back in his chair facing the door, his arms crossed over his bulging stomach. My eyes flickered over his desk—books, photos and paperwork were spread across it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I came to work on my bike. You said after hours…”
He nodded, brushed his hands over his face and studied me. I could feel the chill as it descended around me; whatever I had walked in on was not something Tony would allow me to share. I had stumbled into quicksand, and I was suddenly sinking. Whatever this was, I needed to find a way out and disappear. Tony would have called someone as soon as he heard me. People would be on their way. My life was about to come to an abrupt end.
“Seems like you have come in at an inopportune moment.” He sniffed.
“I could come back another night…”
“No, stay, why not put that brain of yours to work?”
We both knew he was buying time. In a few minutes, the red iron door would burst open, a group of men would spill inside, and I would never be seen again. I wondered for a second if Spots would miss me.
Tony reached for the sandwich he had on the edge of the desk, I could see the mayonnaise as it oozed over layers of deli meat and lettuce. The crunch of the lettuce cut through the icy silence between us as he bit off a big chunk and began chewing. A glob of mayonnaise pasted along his lips.
At first, he coughed. His face twisted into a scowl, and he coughed again. His eyes shot to me, and his pudgy hands reached to his throat. His coughing became forced, longer and agitated. His eyes grew wider and slowly crawled out of their sockets. I watched as he flailed, pleading with his eyes, clawing at his throat, as drool and snot gushed from his flaring nostrils.
I stepped back as he reached towards me, his forehead breaking out in a sweat, his face turning a shade rosy.
Burning crimson.
Saturated scarlet.
Swelling with effort.
The pleading in his piggy eyes burnt with anger for a fleeting moment and then turned to desperation. His body shook like a blob of jelly on his chair as he fought for air, whizzing and gurgling. I could see the disbelief on his features as he gasped in slow, shallow breaths that didn’t reach his lungs. His hands fell by his side.
Tony was a powerful man, both in physique and within the empire he had built himself. To die by choking was as ironic as it was pathetic. This was not the death he deserved, but it was the death I was going to give him.
It was him or me, and we both knew it. I wonder if he found solace in not dying alone. I wonder if that’s what all murders ask themselves.
He suffered. I knew he did. His body twitched, and his fingers jerked and jolted as he fought and tried to suck in air.
Tony chortled and whizzed and took his last breath, sagging like limp bacon onto his chair. The ruddiness of his ruby stained face faded; his lips tinged with blue. He stared at me through dead, bloodshot eyes. My heart slammed against my chest as if it was trying to beat enough for two people. I knew I didn’t have long, but I waited—made sure.
When I was certain he was gone, I sucked in stale air and crept around him. I scanned the documents on the table. The pictures were the worst. They will be burned into my memory for the rest of time. I collected them anyway, stuffing them inside a book that held dates and names. That was the jackpot, the coveted treasure; everything else was just a bonus.
Or a curse.
With a quick scan of the other books, I figured out that Tony was a bigger thief then I had ever imagined. For every book I had, he had three more.
Tony was skimming so much off the top, it’s no wonder he was running out of places to store his cash. Except, it wasn’t his cash. Someone somewhere must have worked it out.
Tony was a thief, but not a clever one. The amounts he stole were too big. I think he was trying to hide it all, make it all disappear before people came to claim what was theirs.
For a split second, I regretted not taking that piece of ham from his throat; I would have loved nothing more than to see his body stretched naked across his table and whipped.
A bark from outside snapped me out of my trance. I grabbed the books and papers from his desk a nd stuffed them under my arms. Someone had to know what was going on, and I was going to make sure that ‘someone’ was me. This was my insurance policy.
A second bark.
I ran down the stairs and swung the iron door open scanning the street. No cars.
I sprinted not looking behind me. Spots appeared by my side; he ran, his tongue flapping in the night air.
He disappeared not far from the car wash. I guess he had crawled into his burrow. I kept looking behind me—waiting scanning. I unlocked the door to the car wash with unsteady hands and rushed to my room.
My heart drumming an unsteady beat, I tucked the books in the cavity I had made myself a year ago. I grabbed my bat and fell on my bed, wiping sweat from my brow.
If you want, you can label me a monster. Maybe I am. I didn’t feel a fucking thing watching that fat fucker die. Well, that’s not true. I felt happiness; a warm trickle of joy spread through me as his body wobbled and shook.
Two days before my twentieth birthday, Tony had given me the second-best gift of my life.
Freedom.
The news spread like a rash. They said Tony was found that morning, stiff and blue and bulging. But I knew it was much earlier than that.
Someone banged on my door.
It was early, too early. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and opened the door to find a tired looking Salvatore on the other side.
“What?” I snapped at him. But I knew what, and I suspected he knew, too.
“The boss is dead.�
� Salvatore showed as much emotion as a rock.
“What?”
“Tony. They found him dead in his office this morning.”
“What? How?” I gave an Oscar-worthy performance.
“He choked to death—on a fucking sandwich.” Salvatore’s upper lip twitched.
I tried. I really did. But the smirk that crossed my face was totally out of my control. It stretched and stretched like it had a will all of its own, and I coughed hiding the laughter that rose in my throat. I wasn’t giving any condolences. I had none.
“So, what now?”
“Now? It’s business as usual. The funeral will be tomorrow. Joe Romano is coming.”
“Lupe?”
“Yeah, he’s probably going to hang around after.”
It was a warning. He didn’t have to tell me.
I nodded. My heart pounded in my chest. If I had to go up against anyone, I hated for it to be against Joe ‘The Builder’ Romano. But, if that’s what it took to wash my hands clean and walk away, I would tear him down and walk right through him and every other fucker they sent.
“Get dressed, boss. We have work to do.” I hated when he did that—call me boss then tell me what to do like I was a child.
When you’re young, you don’t really admit to yourself that you’re a kid. You feel like a man because you think you know what a man is made of. You think you know what it takes, the sacrifices, the cost. Someone had to mature, make tough decisions, be the adult. So, I thought I was a man because I stepped up when I was a kid; because, I watched a man die; because, I’ve been with women; because, I ate shit for years and just digested it.
What I realised, was all that shit gave me tools; tools I needed to sharpen; tools I needed to understand how to use; tools that would burn me or save me. When it came to playing with the big boys, I wasn’t all that I thought I was.
Until, eventually, I was.
The funeral home was packed—judges, cops, lawyers, doctors. The elite. I’m pretty sure most of them came just to make sure he was dead. You could hear the collective sigh of relief as they lowered his coffin into the ground and the first grains of earth landed on the wood.
The mild afternoon had little warmth, even as the sun began its decent and filtered through the trees. There were a few audible sniffles, I think they were mostly from his daughters and his mistress. They would all miss his money more than they would ever miss him.
His wife hired a venue for the wake. She didn’t want anyone staining her beautiful furniture and handpicked home décor. She played the mourning wife pretty well, but anyone with eyes could see the looks she was exchanging with another man across the room. He would have been no more than five years my senior, and he gave her the kind of look a hungry dog gives his food bowl; he knows where to get it from he just needs it filled up. Seems like Tony and his wife liked them young. The thought made the bile rise to my throat. I wished I could dig him out just so I could kick his fucking face in.
I stayed long enough for everyone to see my face and to give my condolences to Tony’s wife. I spotted Rita. A flurry of butterflies took flight in my belly. She looked fresh and happy, and I felt almost relieved. Her new boyfriend hung on her like a coat. He was tall and broad, and his arms looked like they might tear from his suit. When she saw me, she pushed away from him and came over throwing her arms around me.
“You’ve filled out.” She winked at me.
“And you seem unavailable.”
“I might make an exception for you.” She bit her lower lip and sucked it in, an edge of a smile tugging at her lips.
I could feel my cock twitch, my mind reeling to that night in the car four years back. Of course, I’ve been with others since Rita but none have left such a scorching mark on me as she did.
Before I could answer, her boyfriend walked over. His eyes assessed me top to bottom, and I could see his shoulders bunch up and his jaw flex.
“I have to go. Nice seeing you, Rita.”
When I turned around and left, I heard him ask her who the loser was. I rolled my eyes and stepped outside. I looked for Salvatore, hoping for a lift, but he was too busy with his arms around two different women.
I spotted Alice; of course, she was there. Like a scavenger feeding on the corpse, she had her arm hooked around a man in a fitted suit. His face was familiar; he was probably on Tony’s pay list. She would make enough today to see her through next week. I felt dirty again.
I started walking aimlessly. I wasn’t afraid of the future, not that I ever really was. The future was always written out for me, but now I had a chance to change all that. I just had to get home and look at those books. Really look at them, study them and read between the lines to find out what Tony was really doing. Then, I would change everything.
When I got home, it was dark. I grabbed Spots’ food bowl and went to sit my vigil. I didn’t have to wait long. Spots showed up and walked right up to me. He ate his food, wagging his tail and, when he was done, he sat right by me allowing me to scratch his head and pat him. His mouth reeked as he panted with joy, and his matted fur stuck between my fingers. But fuck it if he didn’t make me smile. When I stood up, he didn’t run off.
“Hey buddy, do you want to sleep inside tonight?” I held the door open and waited. I could see his little brain tick over. I walked into the door and held it open. “Well?”
He looked down the street and then back into the lit-up room. With a galloping dart, he came inside.
At last.
Happy birthday to me.
PART V
Ten Years Later
I’m going to have to jump ahead for a while. Not because what happened isn’t important; It is. There is so much to tell. But we can get back to all that later, because I think I’ve given you enough of my pain. I need to breathe a little. Maybe you do, too.
So, I’ll give you the nutshell and promise to fill you in on the details later on.
All you need to know for now is, during that time, I did all that needed to be done. There was so much dust stirred up from Tony’s shit storm, it took a long time for it all to settle and get cleaned up. I did what had to be done. I paid the price. I became a man.
I changed sheets. I went to work. I cried, curled up like a baby, weak and agonised, starving for something. Anything.
I drank into empty nights and lost myself in chrome and tools and slick black oil. I went home. I bought the shop, made it mine. My own. I didn’t owe a thing to anyone. Although, a few still thought differently. It scared me. That fear plagued me. Still does, even now.
Alice got clean. We started meeting for coffee once a month. That you already know…
It already felt like a long day. Any day I saw Alice automatically turned long and agonising. I bought her coffee. After three years of being clean, she finally allowed herself a cup. No sugar though.
I half listened as she prattled on about her new job. She was a cleaner for some hotel, changed the sheets and brushed the toilets. She put on a bit of weight, and her hair wasn’t so stringy any more. Her skin looked better too. But, if I was to be honest, I haven’t seen her happy in years.
Not really.
We talked about crap, skirting over all the real issues. I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to let go of everything and fall back into old habits, to go sit on that bench with some fucker’s hand up her pussy, score her ten dollars, and let her dealer pimp her out so she can get her hit.
I tried not to think about it as she told me about the rancid rooms she cleaned, or how lovely the weather was. She asked about Spots, and her skew grin was almost sad. Her stained teeth were crooked and unstable. She lost another one. She looks way too fucking old for her age. In fact, I’m surprised she’s made it to the ripe ol’ age of forty-nine.
“You did good, kiddo.” She kissed me on the cheek with chapped lips. I cringed at her touch.
“Yeah. See you, Alice.”
I gave her some cash and left. I used to give her fo
od, but she never ate it. She gave it to her friends, the hungry ones. So, I started giving her cash. I knew she would hold onto that—maybe even pay rent. Alice was on her own. She was a grown ass woman and could do what she wanted.
I left her on the bench and walked over to the shop. The spring sun was warm, there was colour everywhere, new blooms and new life. My mind drifted to the work that had to be done.
We had two BMWs, a Lexus, and a Maserati that were due out that evening. The few others on the floor could be worked on later that week.
I had rebuilt the shop to be an exclusive luxury car repair garage. I made a name for myself; one that I built from the ashes of Tony’s memory.
The boys were already hands deep inside the cars when I arrived. They mumbled a hello, and I went to my room for a quick change. I took my old childhood room back, made it bigger and a bit more comfortable. I knocked all the walls down and rebuilt. Those old walls had too many memories, too many haunted eyes and silent cries. I didn’t want to be surrounded by them.
Work helped. My mind was clearer when all I had to think about were screws and engines, clutches and pipes. In truth, I wanted the day to be over. I longed to get back to my bike. She was so near completion that I could cry.
The boys left at closing time, and I did a quick end of day calculation. I knew I had some orders to fulfil, but they could wait till morning.
My fingers itched to work on my Harley. When I first laid my eyes on that broken husk ten years earlier, I never anticipated it would take so long to bring her to life. But war has casualties and she was mine; stashed away in the darkness for years until I could find her again, repossess her. All I wanted was to get that engine roaring, tear down the road, feel those vibrations between my legs, shooting up my body—becoming one with the machine. Just thinking about it gave me a hard on.
The new exhaust pipe arrived that morning. Once I install it, she would be just about done. The ripple effect on the pipe were like waves beneath my fingers as I stripped away the plastic packaging. Spots paced around the empty box, sniffing the contents, his tongue hanging out, his tail wagging like a windscreen wiper during a storm.