Mobster's Girl

by Amy Rachiele

  Wait! What?... The Cleaner? Is he expecting Merry Maids to show up?

  I look over at my mom again. Questions are filling my brain, but surprisingly I don’t feel any panic. But my mother is not the haughty person she was before; now, her eyes are like saucers. She appears panicked. But I’m not. Why? I shuffle my hands around slightly behind the back of the chair. The tape is loose.

  Our attacker speaks again in his unruffled demeanor. “The Cleaner is gonna get what’s comin’ to him. He killed my family, I kill his.” He chuckles. “An eye for an eye.”

  My heart is pumping wildly. It’s not with fear though—it’s beating with vehemence and confusion. Who is this person?

  “When Patrick gets here, you’re going to wish you never stepped foot in this house,” my mother says.

  “He ain’t gonna get by Butch, lady,” he counters with complete surety.

  What?!... Dad’s at work. Who the hell is Butch?

  A loud thump comes from outside on the back steps. The guy jumps up and grabs Erin by the back of the neck.

  “Don’t fuckin’ open your mouths.” He holds the silencer up to his lips like it’s his finger, shushing us.

  With one of his hands buried in Erin’s hair, he points the gun at her temple. I scream, and it startles him. I force my hands apart, ripping the loose tape, and spring. I ram the guy in his stomach with my shoulder. The shock of my actions takes him off guard, but not enough to knock him down. We scuffle a bit, but he gets me.

  His arm suffocates me where he’s trapped me against him. He points the gun at my temple now. My breathing is shallow. Everything hurts. I reach down into myself for courage. This son of a bitch is trying to take away all that I’ve gained and struggled for! Not happening!

  Erin screeches, and I ram the back of my fist into his groin. He lets out an oaf and steps back from me. Involuntarily, he doubles over, and his hands immediately go to his crotch.

  I take a chance and grab for the gun. With all my might, I twist it out of his hand. He reaches for me, but I scrabble back. The cold metal in my hand soothes me for a moment. The back door flies open, and my father rushes into the room. Dad tackles the guy, still reeling from my hit. Dad subdues him in seconds, crushing the intruder’s face into the tile floor.

  My father yells at me, “Get something to tie him!”

  I reach for the roll of duct tape that was conveniently left by the stupid ass that broke into our house. I pass it to him with my free hand.

  With swift, agile movements, he confines our attacker in silver duct tape like a mummy. My father, never leaving the guy, grabs the gun from me and smashes the guy on the head with it, knocking him out. Dad stands.

  Erin’s shrieks and cries break through the scene. I rush to her and get the tape off her. I look up at my mother, who has said nothing, but who has eyes that are puffy and red. I notice that my shoulder hurts. I absently rub it, and my hand involuntarily clutches my necklace. Then I walk over and free my mother. Erin is in Dad’s arms, whimpering uncontrollably. Remarkably, I don’t feel much of anything.

  Erin is still clutching Dad when he hands me the gun. I take it. He sits Erin back down in the chair. Dad picks up the man like a sack of potatoes. “Follow me,” he orders in his typical monotone voice. So I do.

  The man swings limply in his arms as we walk out the back. The spotlight on our house illuminates another man who is lying on the steps. He looks odd. His body is twisted awkwardly. I step closer and realize that his eyes are open. This man is not just unconscious—he’s dead.

  Dad’s arm is bleeding. There’s a gash about five inches long down his forearm. Blood is trailing behind him as he slumps the intruder in the back of our van. I gingerly skirt around the dead man on our steps. I stand next to my dad at the back of the van. The scene before me is surreal in a horrifically ordinary way.

  “I need you to wash down the kitchen and back steps with vinegar and water. Wash everything. Call the O’Connells and have them come pick you up. Stay with them until I come to get you. Pack a bag, because you may be staying the night.” He rattles off instructions stoically. He takes the other man from the steps and puts him in the back of the van too, and then he shuts it.

  He looks directly at me now. “Take care of your mother and sister. Make sure you all stay at the O’Connells. Go.”

  Chapter 18

  Mannegia (mah-nej-ah): Damn it!

  Megan

  In the kitchen, I find Erin and Mom. Erin is sitting in Mom’s lap. The heavy object in my hand registers and I notice I am still carrying the gun. I put it on the counter and take a bucket out from under the sink. I run hot water into it. The cabinet with the vinegar is right at my feet. I pour the white vinegar out and mix it with the scalding water. The steam and vinegar mixture burns my eyes.

  I take a dishtowel and wipe down the gun. Then I wrap it up and place it in the center of the kitchen table. The bucket sloshes as I move it from the sink to the floor. I wash the counter, table and the chairs, the refrigerator, even the light switch. I take more dish rags and start cleaning the floor on my hands and knees. Soon the kitchen smells like an Italian sandwich—tangy and sour.

  I don’t look at Mom and Erin. I just do the job my dad asked me to. I don’t think about why, or how at this moment I could have been dead or cleaning up my sister’s blood—I don’t think, I just do.

  My mother and Erin get up. “Pack a bag,” I say, still washing. “Then call the O’Connells to come get us.” My voice carries a familiar tone—one low and resigned.

  Antonio

  I am so fucking relieved. I didn’t lose her. She came to find me; my beautiful Megan came to find me. I can hardly believe it. I could have held her all day. I always knew she was strong.

  Once, I was walking home from school in the sixth grade. I was alone, which didn’t happen very often. Even in elementary school, people gravitated toward me.

  I heard a girl yelling. It wasn’t a crying or sobbing yelling. It was an angry yelling. The high-pitched shouting was filled with vehemence. I turned the corner to find Megan backed up against a wall with two kids from our class advancing on her. They were two assholes that moved out of town a few years later. They were closing in on her. To this day, I don’t know what was going on, if they were teasing her or just being the asses they always were, but Megan wasn’t taking it. She was giving it right back. She swatted her backpack at them and told them to go to hell. Her fiery red hair was blowing loosely around her sweet, but fuming, face.

  In an instant, the shouting and yelling stopped. Megan’s eyes locked with mine. The two chooches turned to see what had caught her attention. One look. One look was all it took. They ran like the devil was chasing them. I moved toward Megan slowly. She looked scared. I only wanted to see if she was all right. I thought maybe I could even walk her home. But she mouthed the word thanks and sprinted away from me.

  Down at the docks, Vito and Louie are drinking some beers. Ronnie isn’t here. His shoulder is really bad. He has to keep it immobile. The doctor’s afraid that the wound will heal wrong because of all the tissue the bullet shredded.

  “Hey, Tonio!” Vito hands me a beer. “When is the next hit? I’m pumped to rip the shit out of Sommersville again.”

  “We’ll see.” I didn’t want to tell anyone that Pop has a meeting with the boss of Sommersville. The two bosses are going to try to call a truce, even though Sommersville fucking started it.

  “How’re things with Red?” he asks nonchalantly. I don’t want to talk about her either. I don’t want to screw things up. These guys could slip to someone that we’re planning to sneak around. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I want her with me always. I have to know she’s mine. Megan calms and soothes me. I have a sense of completeness when she is around. I want all of her.

  “I gotta take a piss. Be right back.” I use nature to get away and avoid these questions.

  I slip between some crates and large green recycle bins. I lower my zipper. A thwack and a heavy
shuffling noise come from the other side of the building, toward the water. I zip back up without pissing. I crouch. Sommersville comes to mind. Are they really going to try again?

  A couple of slashing sounds resonate. I move forward. The light is weak, so it’s hard to see. A dark liquid is running across the boards of the dock and into the water—thick, like blood. My gaze shifts to the source.

  Spread out on a plastic sheet is a body. It’s missing an arm; it’s definitely a man. My vision scans the gory scene in front of me. The other arm of the body is being sawed off. And the person that is doing the sawing is Megan’s father, Patrick O’Neill.

  Holy shit! The fuckin’ Cleaner!

  He moves in quick jabs with efficiency. His face is impassive. The way he guts this guy proves his experience and strength. The performance is actually masterful. I watch both sickened and in awe as he reaches for a bottle. A sizzling sound trickles from the extricated arm’s fingers. He’s burning off fingerprints. Mr. O’Neill continues to dismember the body methodically. Then he walks the pieces wrapped in plastic down to the river, out of my line of sight.

  My mind is reeling, processing. Does Megan know? She can’t possibly know. What do I do? Part of me is still rip shit at this guy. He betrayed me and lied to me. The part of me that is still mad as hell at this guy wants to walk right up and call him a hypocrite. This is going to hurt Megan. Haven’t I done that already? Now this. Would she even believe me if I told her?

  Mr. O’Neill comes back to pick up more carefully and professionally wrapped body parts. Red blotches and spots have dried on his face and clothes. The wicked part of me wants to strike a deal with this man. A callous and evil deal in which I keep my mouth shut in return for Megan. Would he do it? Or would he try to slice me up and sink me in the river? Shit!

  He takes another body that was hidden and lays it out on another plastic sheet. “I know you’re there.” Mr. O’Neill’s voice is commanding and low. Is he talking to me? He begins working again. Mr. O’Neill takes a syringe and plunges it into this man’s leg. Then he starts again.

  “I know you’re there, Antonio. I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years. I know when someone is watching me.” I take two tentative steps toward him. “All I wanted to do was keep them safe.” It doesn’t sound like he’s talking to me, but I know he is. “My girls being with anyone in the mob puts them in even more danger. I’ve been so careful.” His voice is reflective. “This happened before.”

  What happened before? I want to ask, but yet I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts. I come out of the shadows and stand across from him. The corpse is sprawled out between us.

  “I was away at a job in Dublin. There was a runner.” He pauses. “He just irritated the Boss so much I got called in to finish the guy.” He puts his hand on the neck of the man on the ground, seemingly checking for a pulse, and keeps talking. “It happened in the middle of the night. Two guys broke into my cottage. We lived miles from the nearest neighbor. The way my wife tells it, she was sleeping. The girls were in our bed, too. They always slept there while I was away.” He smiles to himself. “The two guys rushed into the bedroom. Megan was only five years old. She slipped down onto the floor and went into my nightstand. She took out the pistol I kept there. I didn’t even know she knew about it.

  “My wife said all she heard was three shots in the darkness and two bodies hit the hardwood floor. She grabbed the girls and ran. She drove them all the way to Dublin, and they stayed in a hotel. I found them in the city.

  “My girls never went back to their home. I disposed of the bodies and grabbed what I could of our stuff. We got on a plane to America. I contacted your dad and he gave me this job, which we have been able to conceal for the past twelve years.”

  “What about Megan? Does she remember?” I ask.

  “No,” he reveals. “She doesn’t remember anything. The child psychologist we spoke to said she repressed it, but it could surface at some point in her life. Another thing I’m afraid your lifestyle could contribute to. Erin was so young; there’s not much chance she would ever remember.” He’s quiet and still.

  “You have to do something for me, Antonio.” He puts his fingers to the guy’s throat again, and then lifts the body. He starts wrapping it loosely.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I need you to take Megan away from here. I don’t want her to go alone. I know you are very capable. You can protect her in ways others can’t. There are not many people I trust.”

  I pause, trying to process what he is asking. Maybe Megan and I have been soul mates all along. Maybe it wasn’t her beauty or intelligence that drew me to her. The first monster she ever loved is standing right in front of me. I’m a monster too. And she’s used to loving monsters.

  “You just told me to fuckin’ stay away from her. You tried to sabotage our relationship. You put her through hell! You’re telling me you trust me. What about you? I can’t fuckin’ trust you!” My anger escalated.

  “That was all before what happened tonight. I realize now that I can’t protect my girls from this. I put her in the danger that I swore would be you, but it wasn’t. It was me.”

  “What are you going to tell her?” I hiss sarcastically. “Oh, I was wrong, Antonio’s a great guy. Go away together—have fun!”

  “I already booked her on a flight to Notre Dame for Friday. But now you’ll leave in the morning. After tonight, she’ll understand. She needs to get out of here while I sort this out. I’m going to send Erin to some friends of mine out of state. I want them going in opposite directions.”

  “What happened tonight?” I ask, anxiety settling in.

  Mr. O’Neill looks down at the man on the ground.

  “They came after my family.”

  Fuck!

  My eyes widen.

  “She’s okay. Just do what I tell you and everything will stay that way. I’ll talk to your father. Here’s the address of where she’s staying at.” He pulls out a small card and hands it to me. “Now go.”

  I nod and turn to leave. I walk back to the guys.

  “What happened? You shit too?” Vito laughs.

  “Ha,” I say, deadpan. “Funny, asshole!” I quip back. “I’m out of here. Ciao.”

  Her father thinks some fucked up crap. I’m dangerous and bad news, but he’s not?! What kind of dream world is he living in? I guess I’d be like that too if I had been doing what he has had to do for all these years.

  I jet out of there. Talk about the shit hitting the fan, mannegia! Talk about fucked up! My movements are on automatic as I weave through the streets toward home. Patrick the Cleaner O’Neill wants me to go from boyfriend to freakin’ bodyguard. Shit, I’ll take it. A fresh burst of red flashes across my vision when I think of Megan in danger tonight.

  Thank God Patrick is going to talk to my father. I don’t want to see his face when he finds out I’m leaving with Megan for Notre Dame in the morning. With Donny getting better, it shouldn’t be such a problem, but I’d prefer not to piss him off.

  Chapter 19

  Ciao (chow): Goodbye

  Antonio

  The next morning, I roll up to a nice house outside Palmetto on a small country road. The house is light blue with a picket fence. The grass is pristine, like someone cut and trimmed it painstakingly with scissors. Even through this mess of shit, I’m stoked to see Megan, to kiss her and hold her. To go away with her! Even if I have to see that chooch Troy, it’s worth it.

  I ring the bell. I only wait a second before the door flings open. It’s Erin and she’s sobbing. Oh shit! Crying girl!

  Erin lunges at me, still sobbing. She wraps her arms around me and attaches herself like a tick to my side. I feel the wetness of her tears staining my shirt. I lift my hand to her back to console her.

  For a split second, I have an amazing big brother twitch. Comforting her is my only concern. I have never seen this girl anything other than happy. Then my mind races with, why is she crying? Whoever made her cry is going
to be beaten and bloodied. Was it the guys from last night breaking into her house and she’s still upset? Is Megan okay? Is someone hurt?

  Megan appears in the doorway. Her eyes are red-rimmed and teary. Erin pulls away from me. She wipes her eyes and looks at her sister. Megan steps forward and takes her into a hug. Then she shuffles forward with her sister in her arms and encapsulates me in the hug too. I feel like I’m in a fuckin’ Hallmark commercial. I don’t know why everyone is crying and it hurts to see it happen.

  “What’s going on?” I ask softly into Megan’s ear. She shakes her head, not wanting to talk about it. I rub my fingers down her cheek, feeling sick at seeing her this way. We all disengage from the hug and quietly walk into the house.

  I see luggage waiting by the door. I can hear voices speaking in low tones in the kitchen. In the corner, huddled in a chair, looking very guilty, is that kid from the other day. The one whose mom picked up Erin.

  Megan’s mom comes out from the kitchen. She doesn’t speak to me.

  “You have everything?” she asks Megan.

  “Yes,” Megan replies.

  “Hello, Mrs. O’Neill,” I say. I want her to know I got her number. I know she hates me.

  “Hello, Antonio,” she haughtily replies. “Could you put those in the car?” She gestures to the bags, and then she narrows her eyes at me.

  Great, fuckin’ bodyguard and valet! But did it really matter if I got to be with Megan?

  I pick up the luggage and head out to pop the stuff in my trunk. I put the bags next to my own duffel and shift the school work that my new tutor gave me aside. As I snap the trunk shut, I see Patrick with Erin on the side of the house. She’s still crying and waving her arms. Patrick looks weary and tired. He holds up a finger to her to tell her to wait a minute. He strides over to me.

  “Antonio. Thanks for doing this,” he says with effort.

  “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Megan.” I would do anything for her. Being with her is all I want.