by Vivi Paige
He bitched the whole way down the icy steps, white puffs of air escaping his mouth along with the curse words.
“Fucking God damn snow pissing me right the fuck off! Fucking weatherman said it was gonna fucking stop, I swear to fucking God I’m going to off that son of a bitch—”
Yeah, you get the idea. I moved to open the door for him.
“Jesus Christ, kid, you look fucking awful. Why didn’t you wait in the car?”
Shit. Why didn’t I wait in the car?
I just kind of shrugged. Capo Farino waved me off, his pudgy cheeks twisted into a sneer.
“Yeah, this is why you’re not made man material. Not enough sense to get out of the cold.”
I knew better than to argue with Capo Farino. I just closed the door on his bitching and hurried around to the driver’s side.
I flung the door open and gratefully got out of the cold wind. The engine turned over and I glanced into the backseat.
“Where to, Mr. Farino?”
“Take me the fuck home. Where you think I want to head in the middle of the God damn night? Jesus Christ, you got shit for brains.”
“Right away, Mr. Farino.”
I pulled out into the street, leaving twin trails of black through the thin layer of snow. It really was supposed to have been just some flurries that night.
I pulled up to a stop light. A pair of headlights lit up from a side street. Years of misfortune had primed my senses to detect when the shit was about to hit the fan. And let me tell you, the feces was flying.
“Get out, Mr. Farino!”
Don Farino had his own instincts. He saw the headlights and moved with a speed which belied his bulk. Farino scrambled out the side door as the car barreled right at us. I accelerated, charging through the red light, but it still clipped me on the back end. Thanks to the snow, the Lincoln spun around in a one-eighty, leaving spiral patterns in the white powder.
I leaped out, yanking the Ithaca free. I started blasting before the other car had even come to a stop against a light pole. Now, normally a shotty will just kind of pepper the paint job, maybe bust some windows if you’re lucky. Thing was, I’d loaded up with solid slugs.
Blam. Grapefruit-sized hole in the engine block, setting the radiator to steaming. Blam! Another hole in the door, not to mention the driver.
A couple of goombas scrambled out of the back. I pumped off another shot, and took one of their heads clean off.
I was out of rounds so I dropped the Ithaca and drew the Beretta like I was in a John friggin’ Woo flick. He fired first, but I fired better. He went down with a half dozen new holes in his chest.
“Holy shit,” Don Farino came out of an alley, covered in snow with a .357 Magnum glistening in his hand. “You’re like the fucking Terminator! Jesus Christ, just look at this shit.”
“We need to get you out of here, Mr. Farino,” I said, gesturing toward the dented Lincoln. I grabbed the wheel well and bent it out enough that it wouldn’t rub the tire when we rolled. “I doubt they went to all that trouble to take down a low-level punk like me.”
“Well, if you’re tired of being a low-level punk, I might have an opportunity for you. You have Capo Lanza’s number?”
We piled into the car and I threw it in drive. “Somewhere, yeah.”
“Give him a call. He’s been hitting me up for a guy what can do a special job for him. After seeing the way you handled those Loggia buffoons, I think you’re a perfect fit.”
My heart thudded in my chest. Capo Lanza had Don Maloik’s ear. If he recommended me…
I’d be a made man at last. I grinned as I drove off down the snow-covered road.
“Let’s get you home, Mr. Farino.”