The Gun Runner (Mafia Made)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Just settle down and let Ol’ Cap tell the story,” he said.

  I grinned. “Okay.”

  “So, where was I? Oh, yeah. I’m mindin’ my own business, eatin’ my little bag of jalapeño-flavored almonds, and I glance up. Tripp’s punchin’ the guy who was slappin’ the girl, and up comes this big prick. And, when he got out of the car...” He paused and stepped out of the booth in an exaggerated fashion, taking a long, slow stride out into the aisle. “He just kept gettin’ out. Fucker was about six foot fifteen tall.”

  I coughed out a laugh and shook my head.

  “So, I tossed my almonds on the ground and hustled up there, and Tripp’s slappin’ the first guy around and tryin’ to kick at the second guy. It’s pretty clear this big son-of-a-bitch is gettin’ ready to whip Ol’ Tripp, and I can’t have that. Now, I can see that Tripp’s got his hands full with whippin’ one of these brain surgeons, so I stepped up behind number two and said ‘hey shithead,’ and this prick turns around. Then I blasted him in the nose.”

  He widened his eyes. “Guess what he done?”

  I shrugged. “Fell down?”

  “One woulda guessed. Nope, he spit out a tooth, looked up, and fuckin’ smiled.”

  “You’re kidding me?” I gasped.

  “Not one bit. Cops said when they got there that he was wacked out on somethin’, but I’ll get to that later. So Tripp’s whippin’ guy number one, and I’m squarin’ off with the tallest man in the world, and the girl gets out. Her clothes are torn, one of her tits is hangin’ out, she’s got a bloody lip, and she’s tryin’ to get dressed. She’s cryin’ and blubberin’ and she starts hollerin’ about these two fucktards tryin’ to rape her.”

  “No!” I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand.

  He shook his head. “‘Fraid so. So, I go off on this guy and Tripp does the same. Before we know it, we got two guys down on the ground hog-tied, and we’re waitin’ on the cops. Fuckin’ whole herd of cops come screechin’ in the lot a few minutes later, and they take the two dipshits away. Ambulance takes the girl, and a couple cops stay and take our statements. When it’s all over, all I want is what’s left of my bag of almonds. You know how you get to eatin’ somethin’, and nothin’ will satisfy you but that one thing you’re cravin’?”

  I grinned. “Yep.”

  “Well, they ain’t nowhere to be found. The great almond mystery. Half a bag of my precious nuts, up and disappeared. Shit, I crawled under Tripp’s car, under the two fuckin’ cop cars, all over the damned place just wantin’ my little jalapeño almonds back.”

  “Did you find them?”

  “Yep. When the cops left.” He chuckled. “They was parked on top of ‘em.”

  I reached for my wine. “That’s funny.”

  He waved his hand toward me. “Accordin’ to you. They was squished into dust.”

  “That sucks. What about the girl? What happened to her? And them?” I asked.

  “Well, we was preparin’ to go to court and testify, but the two turds finally pled guilty. We saw the girl at the DA’s office. She was doin’ good. Ends up they hadn’t raped her yet, they were just tryin’ to when we pulled up.”

  I smiled to myself and let out a sigh. Michael and Cap had saved a girl from being raped, and to them, it was just one of the stories they chose to tell. Most other men probably wouldn’t have noticed what was happening, let alone intervened if they had.

  I didn’t know what my father and his men did, but if only half of the stories were true, I knew he was an extremely violent man. I lived life sheltering myself from the truth, saying it wasn’t happening, or that I didn’t care to know the details. When I was old enough to date, I swore I would never end up with a man who participated in or condoned violence against others in any way.

  It was easy for me to see Michael as being a passive man, because whatever he did was a positive reaction to someone else’s lawless or immoral action. In some respects, he was a vigilante, taking the law into his own hands, only stepping in when no one else would or could. In the end, everything he did was for the good, which was more than I could say for my father.

  From what I could see, Cap was the same way. Instead of detesting their actions as I did my father’s, I admired each of them.

  I patted my hand against Michael’s thigh. “Thank God you two showed up when you did.”

  “Amen,” he said.

  I tilted my head toward Cap. “And, you lied,” I said.

  He tossed his hands in the air. “How so?”

  “You said you weren’t a good storyteller,” I said. “You’re a great storyteller.”

  “Appreciate it,” he said.

  He sat against the back of the booth and studied me for a moment, and then turned toward Michael. “Well, Tripp. If you want my endorsement, you got it,” he growled. “I like this fuckin’ girl.”

  His voice fit him well. It was raspy and thundered from his lungs when he spoke. I looked at Michael and then at Cap. I had no real reason to think what I thought, but I decided in looking at him that he would always protect Michael, and Michael would protect me. Together, as an inseparable trio, we would live life free of any harm.

  Michael chuckled. “I like her, too. I think I’m going to keep her.”

  I wondered if meeting Cap was some kind of test. I felt like I was standing with my family on one side, and the man I was quickly falling in love with on the other. Each was tugging against an arm, and Michael was clearly winning the battle. I hadn’t been to see my parents in weeks, and for the first time in my life, I really didn’t care to.

  I turned toward Michael and puckered my lips. “I’m going to keep you, too.”

  And I had every intention of never letting him go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael

  I had been dating Terra for two months, and I couldn’t imagine life without her in it, nor did I want to. It was midafternoon, the beginning of summer, and roughly two weeks had passed since the incident with Agrioli’s men. Much to my surprise, I hadn’t heard a word from Svetli or from Agrioli.

  Cap interlocked his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the chair. “So, when we get these AR-15s done, I’m gonna buy a fuckin’ sixty-inch smart TV .”

  “Why, so you can watch New Girl on a bigger screen?”

  “Those new 4K fuckers are the shit. They look like 3-D, but you don’t have to wear the glasses. You ever been to a 3-D movie and looked around the theater? It’s like you’re at a movie with a bunch of fuckin’ four-eyed weirdos. I ain’t gonna get caught dead wearin’ that shit at home, that’s for sure.”

  “Who’d see you? You’re a fucking hermit.”

  He shrugged. “Mail lady maybe. Or one of them kids on a bicycle with the bibles. That’s my risk. Or maybe you.”

  “You’re a fucking mess.”

  “I’ll agree. I’m a mess, but I’ve been this way forever. You? You’re different than you used to be,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “Well, you’re happy. Used to get mad when I sat in here and talked. Now you don’t give a shit. Damned girl’s got you happier’n shit no matter what happens around ya. Guess it’s good. Like I said in the beginnin’, long as you don’t lose focus. Far as I can tell, you look like you’re doin’ okay.”

  “Appreciate the nod of encouragement,” I said. “But if you hated her, I’d still be with her. She’s perfect for me.”

  “Who the hell could hate that chick? Damn, she’s gorgeous, polite, funny, and she can damn near outdrink me. Got a winner with her for sure.”

  “Agreed.”

  Cap leaned forward and turned his head to the side. The sound of a hard-soled shoe walking down the corridor echoed and caught my attention. The gait sounded familiar. I pointed to my ear, raised my right hand a
nd clenched my fist. While he sat quietly, I pulled my drawer open and removed my pistol.

  He nonchalantly walked through the door, removing any doubt about where I recognized the footsteps from.

  Fuck.

  Anthony Agrioli stood staring back at me, alone, his face smeared with concern.

  Genuine concern.

  “I wasn’t expecting company.” I stood and folded my arms in front of my chest. “No disrespect, but you’re going to want to keep those hands where I can see them.”

  Dressed in a dark gray suit, he pinched the lower corners of his unbuttoned jacket, pulled it open slowly, and shrugged. “I’m unarmed. I’m here to talk.”

  I motioned to the empty seat beside Cap. “Have a seat, but he’s staying.”

  He offered a half-assed shrug and sauntered toward the empty seat. He looked tired, disappointed, and like he’d eaten an overly large piece of humble pie for lunch.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.

  He sat down. “Time is of the essence,” he said. “I’ll make this brief.”

  The accent in his voice still conveyed his heritage clearly, but lacked the authority from when we had spoken before. The skin under his eyes was sagging, as were his cheeks. He appeared to have aged ten years since I saw him last.

  In short, he looked like hell.

  Reluctantly, I took my seat. “I’m listening,” I said.

  He glanced at Cap, crossed his legs, and then looked at me. “One of my business associates advised me. His words. Stuck in my head.”

  Based on his appearance alone, I felt I had the upper hand, and his demeanor only added to my belief. “Enlighten me,” I said with a note of sarcasm.

  He cleared his throat. “My associate. He advised me. In dealing with your organization, one isn’t dealing with amateurs.”

  It was the message I gave the two wounded men to deliver. “That is correct.”

  He glanced at Cap, and then locked eyes with me. “Your men. Are they as well trained as you?”

  “A condition of their employ.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “My parents were immigrants. I grew up in South Philadelphia, delivering groceries for a market in my neighborhood, 9th Street. I worked my way to where I am today, scratching and clawing for each and every dime I earned. I’m a proud man, Mr. Tripp.”

  Having Agrioli drop by unannounced was definitely strange, but his passive behavior was more odd than his unscheduled arrival. Confused on what point—if any—he was trying to make, I narrowed my eyes and glared back at him. “Why are you here?”

  His eyes fell to his lap. It seemed several minutes passed. “Children. Do you have any children?”

  I shook my head. “I do not.”

  “I have two. As you are aware, one of them has been kidnapped. Taken hostage. Used for ransom. My only boy. The Russian bastards who...” Still staring into his lap, he paused, exhaled heavily, and then shook his head. “For his return? They ask twenty million dollars.”

  They weren’t Russians, but it was an insignificant detail.

  He lifted his eyes until he met my gaze. He appeared defeated.

  I swallowed hard. The twenty-million-dollar demand was preposterous. “Have you tried to negotiate?”

  His lower lip began to quiver. “I’m doing so now.”

  It began to make sense. At least to me. He was seeking my assistance, but I was at a loss for what I could—or would—offer. I glanced at Cap, who sat slumped into his seat as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  I shifted my gaze to Agrioli. “I’m still listening.”

  “These men.” He turned his palms up and shrugged. “I can’t negotiate.”

  “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”

  “I’m a businessman. I make business decisions. In business, we have loss. It’s part of doing business. But this?” He shrugged.

  In my limited dealings with Agrioli and his men, I had learned two things. They shrugged a lot, and they talked in circles. His Philadelphia-Italian accent was wearing my nerves thin, and his lack of explanation behind the intrusion into my office was quickly overcoming what little sorrow I felt for him regarding the temporary loss of his son.

  I stood and cleared my throat. “I’m going to ask you one more time. No talking in fucking circles. Why are you here?”

  “You’re a businessman, no?” he asked.

  “I like to think so.”

  “I have a business proposition for you.”

  “This is the third time I’ve said this since you got here. I’m listening.”

  “I’ll hire you to return my son. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand dollars.”

  He had my attention, but he had yet to gather my interest. I sat down. “Not interested.”

  “Four hundred.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. A moment of silence followed. I picked up my pencil and began to twirl it between my fingers.

  “Half a million.” He shrugged. “It’s all I can come up with in cash.”

  Cap cocked an eyebrow.

  I waited. Agrioli didn’t say another word. It appeared he was at his limit.

  “I’m not considering your offer, I’m preparing my response,” I said.

  “You’re a military man, are you not?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Iraq? Afghanistan?”

  “Both.”

  “Your opponents. If they surrendered, were they tortured later?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Treated respectfully? In how you say, accordance with military conventions?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The Geneva Conventions.”

  “A man who surrenders. He’s never killed?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Let me remind you, Mr. Tripp. My son surrendered. If I don’t pay—” His lip began to quiver again. “The Russians will assassinate him.”

  Well, fuck.

  I focused on the pencil as it flipped between my fingers. His points, as presented, fell on attentive ears. I had spent my adult life doing what I believed to be right, and opposed anyone who I believed to be wrong. On the night Agrioli’s son was taken, his men were trying to rob us. Their actions were not only criminal, but contrary to my moral code. My retaliation was only implemented after they were given a chance to withdraw—which they refused.

  I sat before Agrioli and struggled with whether the abduction of his son was right or wrong. In the heat of the moment, it seemed right. I began to wonder if my approval of Svetli taking Peter hostage was based in part on what his last name was.

  I considered my separation from my parents. I had no doubt that Agrioli would experience the same types of feelings in the absence of his son that I felt after losing my parents, and I wouldn’t wish that upon any man. A few seconds later I realized in addition to Peter’s abduction being on my hands, his blood would be as well.

  I allowed Peter to be taken, and now he was going to be killed.

  I caught the pencil in my hand and clenched it firm between my thumb and forefinger. “As men on this earth, all we have is our word. A man who falls short on his promises, he has no honor. Are you a man of honor?”

  “I am.”

  I glanced at Cap. He nodded once. It was his way of conveying approval without nodding his head like an enthusiastic ten-year-old.

  I met Agrioli’s gaze. “Here are my conditions. From this day forward, you will not interfere with me, my business, my employees or my customers.”

  His eyes widened and the corners of his mouth curled into a hopeful grin. He uncrossed his legs and stood.

  I raised my index finger. “I’ll need a minimum of a three-man team to extract him. You’ll reward each of the men on my team whatever amount th
ey request, and you’ll donate my portion to a children’s home that I’ll specify later. No negotiating. Take it or leave it. If you agree, I’ll do my best to save your son from the Russians.”

  He extended his hand. “You have my word.”

  If he was much of a man, that was all I needed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Terra

  His forearms rested against my shoulders. “Quit moving your head.”

  “I’m just trying to see it.”

  He pulled away and forced a sigh. “You can see it after I get the damned thing around your neck.”

  I stomped my foot like an angry kindergartner. “Okay.”

  He leaned into me and snuck a kiss. Full on my lips and passionate, it took my mind away from the wonderful night out, our footrace into the condo, and his presentation of my anniversary gift.

  A diamond necklace.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him closer. Our lips meshed, our tongues danced, and my mind went blank of everything around me. My legs began to shake—as they always did when we kissed—and eventually he pulled away.

  “Ten seconds,” he said with a smile. “It’s all I need.”

  His eyes were blue; a color they rarely were. It seemed they were a mixture of blue and gray, and sometimes simply gray. When he was calm, and only when he was calm, they were blue.

  “There,” he said. “Now you can look at it.”

  I raised my hand and felt it carefully with the tips of my fingers. He had flashed it in front of me when we walked in, but wouldn’t let me see it until he had it around my neck.

  “I’m...I’m going to run...I’m going to the bathroom,” I stammered.

  He laughed. “Go.”

  I gazed into the mirror. It was beautiful—an ornate white gold pendant with small diamonds encompassing a much larger center diamond. A matching chain suspended the magnificent piece around my neck.

  Two months. It had only been two months, but I knew. Each time I saw him was like the first time. He made me feel beautiful with all he said and did. I’d seen romantic comedies, read books, and heard many stories about men who were perfect—but I never believed they really existed.