Layla's Score

by Andy Rausch

  Lefty didn't know. “We'll just have to see what we can find. I don't know what they have that's fun in Michigan. I don't know this place.”

  “An amusement park?” asked Layla.

  “We'll just have to see what we can find.”

  “I wanna go to an amusement park.”

  “We'll find one soon,” said Lefty. “I promise. If we don't find one tomorrow, we'll find one soon. I'll make sure when this is over we'll do some fun things. When this is all over, you'll have Daddy all to yourself. I promise.”

  Layla nodded, her expression indicating she didn't believe this.

  “What kind of music do you want me to play while I'm gone?”

  “Well,” said Layla, “I was talking about Prince earlier, so how about that? I wanna listen to Purple Rain.”

  “The album or the song?”

  “The whole thing.”

  “Purple Rain it is,” said Lefty. He dug out the CD and slid it into the player. A moment later, Prince came on. “Dearly beloved…” and so on. Lefty and Orlando stepped out of the car. “I love you, Tator Tot,” said Lefty. “I love you, too, Daddy,” said Layla, looking down at her comic. The two men walked to the trunk, opened it, and reloaded their weapons. After all, a guy needed plenty of bullets when going to war with a mob boss.

  Lefty and Orlando strode towards the house, their pistols by their sides, looking like something out of a movie. When they got to the yard, they turned up the empty driveway, walking towards the house. Before they reached the top of the drive, the goomba on the porch started moving towards them.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” he asked. It was then he saw their guns, and he ducked behind a pillar, raising his own. The goomba fired first, missing Orlando by a country mile.

  Lefty's fired, his bullet striking the pillar. The mobster came around again, his gun up. Before he could fire, Orlando shot at him, striking his gun. The goomba cried out in pain, dropping his pistol. Now unarmed, he tried to duck back behind the pillar, but there was nowhere to go.

  Lefty came up on him first, maneuvering around the pillar with his Glock aimed at the guy. The gomba put his hands up in front of his face, trying to shield himself.

  “No, no,” he begged.

  “Where's Don Antonio?” asked Orlando.

  “Please don't shoot me.”

  “Just tell us where the Don is.”

  “He's upstairs,” said the mobster. “Are you guys gonna shoot me?”

  Lefty's pistol answered the question, providing a response the mobster probably didn't like. Not that he knew, not for more than a millisecond at best, before his blood contributed to the red trim on the house.

  Lefty didn't miss a step when he shot the man, continuing to move towards the front door. Orlando was at his side, slightly behind. Both men had their guns up, ready for action.

  Even though Lefty reached the door first, Orlando stepped forward and rang the doorbell. They could hear the god-awful long-bonging chime, just as gaudy as the house itself. A moment later the door opened and a skinny goomba with a five o'clock shadow appeared. He looked around.

  “Where's Vic?” he asked.

  Orlando pointed at the dead guy lying on the ground.

  “Vic didn't make it,” said Lefty.

  The guy looked over, saw the body, and suddenly came to life. He went for his gun, but Lefty stuck his own up under the man's chin, squeezing the trigger.

  Orlando stepped forward, leading the way through the door. He stepped inside, narrowly being missed by a flying bullet. Orlando raised his pistol, still moving, and fired at the blur of motion to his left. Despite not having a clear view of the gunman, Orlando's bullet struck paydirt, hitting his kneecap. The guy fell over, screaming in agony. Before Lefty or Orlando could react, the fallen mobster was sitting up, firing again. Orlando fired a second volley at him, this one burying itself in his eye.

  “What the fuck?!” came a male voice from another room. Before Lefty and Orlando could register what was happening, the guy with the voice came charging from the hallway, firing. Lefty maneuvered to his left, moving away from Orlando.

  The man fired at Lefty, shattering a window behind him. Orlando fired, striking him in the stomach. The guy made a loud moaning sound, doubling over. The top of his head was exposed, and that's where Lefty shot him.

  “Nice shootin', Tex,” said Orlando.

  “Thanks,” said Lefty, surveying the room. He looked up at the top of the stairs in the center of the room. Just as he did, another mobster emerged up there, taking a shot at them. Lefty moved further to his left, crouching behind a baby grand piano. As he did this, Orlando took cover behind a table, only partially concealing his body. The mobster fired down again, his bullet striking the piano and making an onimous “dunnn” sound. Lefty popped off another shot, his bullet striking the railing. The guy started to take another shot, but Orlando fired at him, missing, causing him to retreat. The mobster ducked back into the room from which he'd come, and neither hitman could see him. They both kept their eyes glued to that door as they gradually made their way up.

  Orlando and Lefty were midway up the stairs when the mobster emerged again, popping off a couple of shots but completely missing them. Both Orlando and Lefty's Glocks fired simultaneously, both of them hitting the man. One of them hit him in the forehead, and the other at center mass. The two hitmen made their way up towards Don Antonio's bedroom. They were at the top of the stairs when another goomba emerged below, firing up.

  Lefty looked at Orlando. “How many of these fuckers are there?”

  “Too many.”

  Lefty and Orlando held their ground, firing down on the mobster now crouched behind the piano. They let him fire unopposed for a moment. Finally, the guy rose from behind the piano with his gun raised. As he did, Orlando fired, shooting him in the chest.

  Lefty and Orlando were in the upstairs walkway, crouched behind the railing. Lefty looked at his partner. “You think there's more of them?”

  “I hope not. All this killing is wearing me out.”

  They both stood, Orlando leading the way towards the master bedroom. When Orlando opened the door, Frank Sinatra came blaring out. Orlando surveyed the room, but saw no one. There was a closed door, presumably a bathroom, at the far end of the room. That's where the music was coming from. That was where Don Antonio was.

  Orlando walked stealthily, opening the door. When it was open, they saw a hairy, heavyset, balding old man, probably seventy, standing naked in a hot tub, facing them with a cigar in his mouth. This was obviously Don Antonio. There was a naked young brunette standing beside him, washing his chest with a sponge. Don Antonio and the girl looked up at them, somehow shocked despite all the gunshots. Sinatra's loud crooning must have muffled the sounds of the bloodbath.

  The old man's body stiffened, and the young woman moved away from him. “What the hell do you guys want?” growled Don Antonio.

  “We're here for our money,” said Lefty.

  “What money?”

  “The money for killing your fuckhead son,” said Orlando.

  Don Antonio looked at them for a beat, his half-smoked cigar dangling from his lip. Suddenly a second naked woman, this one blonde, emerged from beneath the water. She was facing Don Antonio, unaware of Lefty and Orlando. She held up a wash rag and announced, “Your balls and asshole are clean now.”

  Don Antonio looked past her, staring at the two men in his bathroom. “How dare you come in here like this!” The ball-and-ass-cleaning woman now looked around at them, seeing them for the first time.

  “Should we have scheduled a meeting?” asked Orlando.

  “That way you coulda set us up again,” added Lefty.

  Don Antonio stared at Orlando. “I know who you are. You're that no-good jig who killed a boss.”

  “And I know who you are,” countered Orlando. “You're the no-good wop who owes us two million dollars.”

  “You killed a boss,” repeated Don Antonio.

  “Do you
want me to kill another one?”

  Don Antonio's eyes grew bigger and his face turned red. “How big are your balls that you come into my home—my sanctuary—and threaten me?”

  Orlando smirked. “My balls are pretty big.”

  Lefty chuckled.

  Before Don Antonio could respond, a side door burst open and another naked girl appeared, carrying an AK-47. “Alright, you sonsofbitches!” she screamed. She and Lefty looked at one another, their eyes locking.

  “Candi,” said Lefty.

  Candi lowered the weapon. “Lefty… I didn't know it was you.”

  There was an unmistakable chemistry between them. Lefty liked Candi way more than he should have liked a stripper, and he wondered if she felt the same way.

  “You work two jobs?” he asked.

  “Not really,” said Candi. “Don Antonio owns Teaser's, so I just do whatever he needs me to do.”

  Lefty started to respond, but the reunion was broken up when a naked Don Antonio, now out of the tub, came charging at him. The old man shoved him back against the sink. As Lefty's back struck the edge of the counter, he felt a sharp pain. He looked up at the old man, surprised. Orlando raised his pistol towards Don Antonio, but Lefty motioned for him to lower it. “Nah, I got this,” said Lefty. “Let me deal with this guinea bastard.”

  He lunged towards the naked man, connecting with a solid uppercut. It was a punch that would have knocked many a man out, but Don Antonio was a tough old bastard. He just stood there, naked and dripping, shaking it off. He put his fists up like an old-time brawler. He wasn't dancing around like those guys, but he was circling Lefty slowly.

  “You think you can barge in here and attack me?!” asked Don Antonio.

  “I did, didn't I?”

  Don Antonio lunged at him again, punching Lefty in the shoulder where he'd been shot. Lefty staggered back in pain, his back and shoulder hurting. He caught himself and regained his composure.

  “What's your end game?” Lefty asked. “You gonna beat us both up, naked, with your fists, and then walk away unscathed?”

  Don Antonio didn't speak. Instead he moved forward, swinging wildly at Lefty's head. As the old man swung past him, Lefty connected with another uppercut, this time to the chin. This one seemed to ring Don Antonio's bell. He staggered back, shaking his head. The old man then forced himself back into the moment, raising his fists once again.

  Lefty rushed him, shoving Don Antonio into the hot tub. The old man fell in with a splash, landing next to the naked women. As Lefty climbed over the side, going into the water after him, the women started scrambling out. Within seconds Lefty was on Don Antonio, his hands gripped around his neck, holding him underwater. Lefty rocked back and forth, shoving his head deeper under water.

  “Lefty!” interrupted Orlando. “You can't kill him! We need to get our money!”

  Lefty was staring down at the old man's ever-reddening face beneath the water, his eyes bulging. Lefty considered Orlando's words, finally pulling Don Antonio's head up out of the water. Don Antonio hung limply in his arms, all his fight now gone.

  Sixteen

  When Doves Cry

  A few minutes later Don Antonio was conscious again, getting dressed in the bedroom. The two body-cleansing women had been allowed to leave after Orlando had convinced them not to tell what they'd seen. Candi was still there, now fully dressed in a tight shirt and skimpy shorts that exposed half her ass.

  “When you guys leave, can I catch a ride?” she asked.

  “Where to?” asked Lefty.

  “I gotta work at the club.”

  Lefty and Orlando turned to one another, exchanging a look. Candi saw this and asked, “What? What was that look?”

  Lefty said, “Teaser's is gone.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Candi.

  “Yeah,” said Don Antonio, sitting there pulling his socks on. “What do you mean 'Teaser's is gone'?”

  “They're all dead,” said Lefty.

  Candi's eyes got big. “All of who? Who's dead?”

  Orlando said, “Everyone. The strippers, the bouncer, the DJ, the customers, Frankie Gio. Everyone.”

  Don Antonio became angry. “You black fuckers shot up my club?”

  “No,” said Lefty. “Bruno sent his men over there to find out who put the contract out.”

  “Everyone's dead?” asked Candi, starting to cry.

  “Did Bruno find out who put the contract out?” asked Don Antonio.

  “He hadn't found out yet when I talked to him,” said Lefty. “But he had a pretty good idea. He told me he thought it was you.”

  This caused Don Antonio to smile proudly. “Good. I want him to know.”

  Candi was standing there, heaving and crying. Lefty put his arms around her, comforting her.

  “It's okay,” said Lefty. They pulled back a moment, staring into one another's eyes. “It's gonna be okay,” he repeated. Candi leaned in and kissed him.

  Don Antonio paid them no mind. “So Bruno had Frankie murdered,” he said. “Figures. He never did have any respect for rules or traditions. Bruno didn't have respect for anything, except pussy and money. That's it. That's the kind of crap that got his ass in this predicament in the first place.”

  “Well,” Orlando said dryly, “he's not in a predicament now.”

  Don Antonio looked up at him, grinning. “So you guys killed him, huh?”

  “Deader than Lincoln at the play.”

  “That makes me happy. It really does. It gives me a raging hard on. It warms the cockles of my heart to know that ungrateful little piece of shit is gonna be worm food. I never liked him, even a little bit. Never, ever. Even when he was a little kid, he was a goddamn heathen. He was the worst. Even his mother hated the little prick.” Don Antonio looked at Orlando. “Can you imagine that, a mother hating her own kid?”

  “Yeah,” said Orlando. “Your son sucked.”

  Don Antonio slipped on his shoes.

  Lefty stepped away from Candi. He turned to Don Antonio and said, “Now we're all gonna go to the bank and get that money together.”

  Don Antonio looked up at him as he tied his shoe. “You sure you don't wanna continue your romance with this little piece of ass? I've had her, and lemme tell you, she's good.”

  Candi stepped towards Don Antonio and spit in his face. Don Antonio licked the spit from his lips, unfazed. He looked at Lefty. “What makes you think I'm gonna give you that money anyway?”

  Orlando raised his Glock at Don Antonio's face. “You'll give us that money if you wanna live another day.”

  “The question is, why didn't you just give us the money in the first place?” asked Lefty. “We did a job for you. You clearly owed us the money, fair and square. Why pull that shit on the boat?”

  Don Antonio shrugged. “It wasn't personal, kid. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it's the truth. It's seldom personal in out business.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “Well, with Bruno it was personal. That was a thousand percent personal.” He caught himself getting off topic. “But the thing is, it wasn't personal with you at all. Two million dollars is a lot of money. Two million dollars will always be a lot of money. And, well, hitmen are expendable.”

  Lefty made a face. “You mean black hitmen.”

  “No, that's not what I meant. When it comes to two million dollars, everyone is expendable. Literally everyone. This wasn't about race or any of that. This was only about one color, and that color was green. Money talks, bullshit runs the marathon. It's as simple as that, son.”

  “After we get our money, say we let you live,” said Lefty.

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you still kill us?”

  The old man smiled a comforting grandfatherly smile. “It was just business, kid, and I owe you the money. Besides, you did me a solid here by killing that little cunt-monkey Bruno. Really, you did everyone a favor. The whole world really.”

  “So you wouldn't kill us?” asked Orlando, studying him.

 
“Well, you did kill a bunch of my men…”

  “Correction, we killed all your men,” said Lefty.

  Don Antonio looked displeased. Nevertheless he said, “I deserve that. What's a man of honor who's got no honor? If I continue down this path, I'm no better than Bruno. I don't want that. I don't wanna be Bruno. When I die and hopefully go to heaven, I don't wanna meet St. Peter with that shit on my conscience. Lord knows I've done enough bad shit in my life, I don't need to add to it now.”

  “So you won't have us killed?” Orlando asked.

  “You got my word,” said Don Antonio. “I won't have you killed. But there will be some qualifiers.”

  Lefty looked at him. “Such as?”

  “You gotta leave Detroit, and you can't ever come back. Not ever. Seriously. Twenty years pass by, even when I'm dead and moldering in the dirt, nothing left but a decayed corpse, you still can't come back. People will know. Trust me, people are gonna know. Bad people. If you so much as show your face to go to a Tigers game, someone'll be there at the concession stand to pop a cap in your ass. So it is written, so it shall be done. I know I owe you the money, but you killed my guys. I can't let that slide without some sort of repercussions.”

  “That's fine,” said Lefty. “Who the hell wants to be in Detroit?”

  Orlando nodded, looking down at Don Antonio. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Ask away.”

  “Tell me this: losing all your men, was that worth two million dollars?”

  Don Antonio grinned. “Most of them were shit anyway, and like I said, everyone is expendable when it comes to two million dollars. Everyone. I mean, you're talking to a man who killed his own son, so why should I care about these clowns?”

  Don Antonio was saying the right things, but Lefty wondered if he would keep his promise. There was no way to know for sure. Lefty didn't know what Orlando's thoughts were, but he himself was still 50/50 in regards to letting the man live. At this point it could still go either way.

  Orlando looked at Don Antonio. “You ready to go, old man?”

  Don Antonio nodded. “Sure, let's go.”