by B. B. Hamel
“Tell me the story,” Mona said.
“Right, okay.” Dante cleared his throat. “So it’s a Saturday night, right, and we’re a little drunk. This guy named Steven finished the bottle of whiskey we were drinking, and we didn’t have anything left, so this brilliant asshole right here says we should go steal from a liquor store. You know, rob them at gunpoint, bring some cash back to Sergio to prove we’re for real, and keep a few bottles for ourselves. A nice little score.”
“Bingo bango,” I said, nodding. “Still think it was a beautiful idea.”
“There’s one problem, though,” Dante says. “Can you guess what it is?”
“You’re a bunch of drunk kids?” Mona asked.
“Exactly,” Dante said.
Mona laughed. “Tell me nobody got hurt.”
“Nobody got hurt,” Dante said. “Well, not seriously hurt.”
She looked at me and shook her head. “I have a feeling you did something stupid here.”
“Tell her the story,” I said.
“All right, anyway, we grab our guns and roll out. There’s this liquor store, a state store in a shitty neighborhood on the east side of our territory back then, it was just this crappy little storefront with busted-out windows and bars on the doors, you know what I mean? So we roll up, swaggering like we’re the shit, and kick the door open.
“Vince goes in first, gun out, starts yelling. I’m in behind him, with Steven bringing up the rear. There’s this old fat guy in the corner, just some guy, you know? And he’s like, what the hell are you doing, you idiots, put those away. So Vince goes and waves the gun in his face, they start yelling at each other, arguing about whether it’s right to rob a liquor store or not.
“So picture the scene. The three of us are standing in the middle of the store, looking around with our guns out, and Vince’s yelling at this random-ass customer about robbing the store. The fat guy keeps going, it’s stealing, it’s stealing, this is a neighborhood store, and Vince’s trying to make the point that it’s a state-owned store so who the fuck cares, and it’s so insane. He’s literally in an argument instead of robbing the place.
“Just as the argument gets to a head and Vince gets really pissed off, the guy behind the counter yells, get the fuck down! We all turn around, and he’s got this huge fucking shotgun pointed right at us.”
Mona gasped, hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. “No way.”
“Yep,” I said. “Seriously, biggest gun I’ve ever seen. I don’t know where the guy got it from. I think it was for killing elephants or something.”
“What happened next?” she asked.
“Well, the owner whipped it around, you know what I mean, aiming at the three of us,” Dante said. “And he’s like, get out, get out, and Vince’s yelling back at him to drop the gun, and the dude freaks out and shoots the gun. Goes off like a fucking explosion and like ten bottles of whiskey explode on impact. Nobody gets hit, but shards of glass smash against our friend here.”
“Cut me deep,” he said. “And the whiskey burned like hell.”
“So Steven’s, like, run!” Dante said. “He books it, and I’m following, but I look back and see Vince here still in the store. He stares at the owner, the owner stares back, and Vince picks up a bottle of whiskey that didn’t get blown to pieces. He picks it up real slow and just holds it, and there’s blood running down his arm from the glass shards, and he just stares at the owner. They look at each other for like ten seconds, then Vince turns and walks out of the store. It was, without a doubt, the most insane thing I’ve ever seen.”
Dante finished his story and leaned back with a huge grin on his face. I laughed and shook my head, and of course I remembered it a little differently.
Most of that was true, except for the last part. When the clerk shot that stupid gun, it flew out of his hands, which was why he missed. That’s when I grabbed the bottle and we got out of there.
But I always liked Dante’s version better, so I let him tell it.
“That’s wild,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.
“We drank that fucking bottle that night, too,” I said. “Every single drop.”
“You guys were idiots,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dante said. “We’re well aware.”
“But we had fun,” I said, stretching my legs. I picked up my espresso and took a long sip.
Dante let out a breath and nodded. “We really did. Not like these days, now we’re a bunch of old fucking men.”
“Old men that work a lot harder than we used to.” I put my espresso down.
“Very true,” Dante said. He leaned back and let out a breath. “You know I’ve met with ten community people today?”
“That’s a lot,” I said. “How do you even do it?”
He shook his head. “We do a lot of shit, you know, but I believe in taking care of these people.”
“Admirable,” Mona said.
“We all do,” Dante said. “Even this guy. Especially this guy. I got the idea of meeting with local people from him.”
She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Is that true?”
“I always thought it was smart to know what the local people thought,” I said. “I could do them favors, you know, help them out. And when things went wrong, maybe they wouldn’t rat on me, or maybe they’d even help me. I do them favors, they do me favors, that sort of thing.”
She snorted. “Of course. Self-motivated.”
“It’s not like that,” Dante said. “He helped people even when there was nothing in it for him. Don’t let him make you think otherwise.”
Mona gave me a shrewd look and just shrugged.
I turned away from her and sipped my espresso again. “All right,” I said. “This has been fun, but I gotta ask you something, Dante.”
He held out his hands, palms up. “Ask away,” he said.
“Have you heard any rumors about the Jalisco lately?”
Dante frowned and cocked his head. He looked at Mona then back to me.
“Is this something we should talk about?” he asked.
“It’s okay,” I said. “She’s aware of what’s happening.”
Dante let out a breath. “Okay then,” he said. “You’re going to give your father an early heart attack, you know that?”
“I know,” I said with a smile. “So what have you heard?”
“Just whispers,” Dante said. “Rumors, that’s all. I don’t think any of it’s true.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Apparently they’re gearing up,” Dante said. “Buying weapons from that Irish gang, you know, the Celtic Club?”
“I thought Steven wiped them out.”
“He did, mostly,” Dante said. “But some of the former members still had their guns. I heard they sold what was left to the Jalisco. I didn’t think anything of it, you know, that shit happens, and it’s probably for the best that Steven didn’t have to deal with a bunch of armed former enemies. But now looking back on it…” He trailed off and shook his head.
“How long ago was that?” I asked.
“Couple weeks,” he said.
I sucked in a breath and frowned. “We started negotiating with the Russians three weeks ago,” I said.
“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “So if the Jalisco started gearing up that fast, it means someone leaked almost right away.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Like I said, this is just rumor,” Dante said. “It’s not from a reliable source.”
“But the Celts did sell their guns, right?”
Dante just shrugged. “Who knows. You’d have to ask Steven about that. He runs their former territory and married into their family.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.”
“I think he has ears in the Jalisco, too,” Dante said. “Or at least someone he can talk to.”
“So I should talk to Steven.”
“That’s what I think.” Dante
grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m pretty useless.”
“Nah,” I said. “I appreciate the help.”
“And I appreciate the story,” Mona said.
“Any time you want to hear more, come on down here,” Dante said. “There were a lot of guys in that old crew, and I’ve got a lot of old stories.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I said. “He’s full of shit. And anyway, the girl’s all mine, so be careful.”
Mona shot me a look. “I’m not all anyone’s.”
“So you think,” I said and pushed my chair back. “Let’s get going.”
She glared at me but stood and looked back down to Dante. He was grinning, trying not to laugh.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said.
“You too,” he said. “You be careful with this guy, he’s dangerous.”
“She knows,” I said, and walked to the door.
Mona followed as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was bright outside, and it took half a second for my eyes to adjust as Mona moved up next to me.
“I’m all yours?” she asked.
I nodded. “Don’t want anyone to get any ideas.”
“You know you don’t own me. If I want to talk to someone else…” She trailed off.
“You ask first,” I said. “And if you don’t, you might end up stumbling in over your head.”
“Oh, so now you’re protecting me?”
“Exactly,” I said. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but trust me. The guys we’re dealing with are dangerous.”
“Dante seemed nice.”
“Dante is a killer,” I said. “You know that cute, fun story he told? Two weeks after that, we hit up a rival gang’s bar and killed four men. It’s not all fun and games, my little journalist.” I walked to the car and she stayed standing near the door. I looked back at her and tilted my head.
“Is that true?” she asked.
“It’s true,” I said. “And if you write that in your fucking article, I’ll make sure that article never sees the light of day. Now come on, we have to go meet with Steven.”
I climbed into the car and waited a minute. Mona got in the passenger side and didn’t look at me as I started the engine and pulled out.
I felt bad telling her that, but she needed to hear it. She was starting to act like this whole thing was some kind of fun joke, like we were just a bunch of boys playing at being gangsters. For a second, she forgot what she was dealing with.
But I can’t let her forget.
There are real stakes, especially right now.
And she’s buried in it all.
12
Mona
I stared out the window and kept thinking about what he just said.
They killed men.
He just admitted to murder, admitted it right to my face. My heart was hammering in my chest and I felt a little dizzy.
I knew these men were dangerous. I knew they were violent and prone to outbursts. But I wouldn’t let myself think about how far those outbursts could go. I didn’t want to imagine just what they were capable of, just how many bodies they left strewn about behind them.
Vince ran his own crew in New York and he was the son of the mafia boss. That meant he probably had to work twice as hard to earn respect, and fight twice as hard to keep his enemies away. He had a target on his back at all times and even the guys in his own family probably kept him at arm’s length.
These were killers. They could tell fun stories, but Vince was a killer.
I looked up and stared at his face. He watched the road, his expression closed and unreadable. I wanted to reach out and touch him, had the strangest urge to run my fingers down his cheek.
Instead, I stared out the window and tried to keep it together.
Vince didn’t speak as we rolled through the city and into a nice residential neighborhood. We passed a park on the left, kids playing on the swing set, adults sitting on the benches. People walked down the sidewalk, young people, old people, walking their dogs, sitting on their stoops and laughing. I watched people and tried to picture them, tried to picture their lives, but just kept thinking about the dead bodies left in Vince’s wake.
We pulled up to a bar with a wide awning out front that extended over the sidewalk and to edge of the street. It was held up by four poles and a dark green color, though faded with age and ripped and spotted in a few places. Vince parked the car and climbed out.
I got out and met him on the sidewalk. He gave me a look, his eyes roaming my body, and I felt self-conscious of my low-cut white shirt and my tight ripped jeans.
“Steven’s an old friend,” he said. “But we’re going to talk business. So just nod your head and smile.”
I clenched my jaw at that. “I know how to listen,” I said.
“I know you do.” His face softened. “I just mean that he might not be as forgiving of you as Dante was, and I really need to hear what he has to say.”
I looked away and nodded. “I understand,” I said.
“Good.”
He turned and walked toward the awning. I followed, keeping close. We stepped beneath it and he stopped at a large, heavy-looking wooden door with an old-fashioned black wrought iron handle. The sign above the door read O’HARE’S with a little stylized Celtic cross at the end.
He pulled open the door and I followed him inside. The bar was dim, but surprisingly crowded for the middle of the morning. There were maybe six guys sitting on stools and nursing beers, a few more sitting at tables and in booths, most of them sitting alone, though there were a few couples. Some were eating, fried eggs and toast, scrapple and bacon, and the whole place smelled like delicious grease and potatoes.
Irish flags covered the walls. There were shamrocks, little leprechauns, pretty much anything Irish was represented in some way. I saw pictures of James Joyce behind the bar and a copy of Finnegan’s Wake was lined up with the whiskey.
Vince walked to the far end of the bar and leaned against it. I followed and sat on the stool next to him. The bartender turned toward us and smiled a little as she wiped down a glass.
She had bright red hair and deep green eyes. Her shirt was black and tucked into black jeans. She was beautiful, really pretty, especially when she smiled. It almost took me by surprise, but Vince gave her a wary look as she approached.
“Hi there,” she said. “I think I know you.”
Vince cocked his head. “You’re Colleen,” he said.
She nodded. “That’s me.”
“You’re Steven’s wife.”
She laughed. “So I do know you.”
“Not really,” he said. “I know your husband, we were friends back in the day. But I’ve been away for a while.”
“You’re Vincent,” she said and pointed at him. “You’re the one in New York.”
He laughed and nodded. “Got me.”
“Oh, this is so cool,” she said and put down the glass she was cleaning. She held out her hand and Vince shook it. “Really nice to meet you. Steven says good things sometimes.”
“And he says bad things the other times, I’m sure,” Vince said.
Colleen laughed and shook her head. “No way.”
“I’m sorry to ask you this, but do you know where he is?” Vince asked.
She sighed and nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Is this a business thing?”
“It’s a business thing,” Vince said.
“Okay.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s always business with you boys.”
“Can’t escape it,” Vince said.
She looked at me and smiled again. “What about you? You seem mixed up in all this.”
I held up my hands and nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“You better be careful,” Colleen said. “They pretend like they’re all big and bad, but then they make you fall in love.” She laughed and waved as she walked out from behind the bar and disappeared down a side hallway.
I watched her go then looked at
Vince. “Is that true?” I asked. “You make us fall in love?”
He looked at me, a sly little smile on his handsome face. “Might be true,” he said. “What, you feeling it already?”
“Not even close,” I said.
“I don’t know. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“With loathing and disgust.”
He laughed and leaned closer. “More like lust.”
I opened my mouth to answer but Colleen appeared in the back hallway door.
“He’ll see you guys,” she said. “If you want to come back with me?”
I jumped off my stool and walked toward her. Vince followed behind me, and I heard him laughing. I wanted to turn and tell him off but I kept moving after Colleen instead. She smiled at me, her head tilted to the side, and she must’ve noticed the look on my face because she shot Vince a little smile. We walked down a short hallway, up a flight of stairs in the back, and paused outside of a door.
“Here we are,” she said. “Vince, go on in.”
Vince slipped past me, and he trailed a hand along my midsection as he went. I glared at him but he only smirked, opened the door, and went inside.
Colleen put a hand on my arm before I could follow.
“He wants to see Vince alone first,” she said, giving me an apologetic smile. “Do you mind waiting here?”
“That’s fine,” I said and leaned back against the wall.
Colleen stood across from me, arms crossed. We stood in silence for a second and I wondered if she was just going to leave the bar unmanned downstairs. But then again, if this really was a place owned by the mafia, nobody was stupid enough to try to steal from them.
“Can I ask you something?” she said after a few tense seconds.
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but, uh, are you in trouble?”
I blinked then shook my head. “No, uh, I don’t think so,” I said.
She leaned a little closer. “You can tell me if you are,” she said.
“No, Vince’s actually been really nice to me,” I said. “I mean, he’s a dick, and he’s a mafia guy, but whatever. I’m with him because I want to be.”