by Adam Pepper
“Oh, Sean. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
I wanted to say no. It’s not your fault. But instead I reached out towards her, our fingers just inches apart, my blood-soaked stumps stretched towards her artificially extended, red painted nails, but I couldn’t manage to touch her.
Mario motioned to Scrubby and Tommy with his chin. They came over and Mario passed Nicole off to Tommy. She kicked and struggled for a moment, but Tommy yanked her back, then put both his arms around her from behind in a fierce bear hug.
“It’s over, Nicole.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Oh, I can’t? I most certainly can. And I am.”
“No,” she shrieked. The acoustics of the room bounced her voice off the walls and through my aching eardrums.
“I’m telling you, Nicole. It is over. This piece of shit is out of your life. I’m not asking you; I am telling you.”
Nicole looked at me and started sobbing again. “Look what you did to him, Daddy. He’s hurt. Oh my god, Daddy, he needs a doctor. We need to get him some help.”
“Oh, fuck him. He brought this on himself. He thought he could run away with you? What a joke.”
“Daddy, stop it.” She turned back to me. “It was the locket that gave me away. He saw my mother’s jewelry box missing and he knew. He just knew. I was so stupid to go back for it but I just had to have it.”
Mario looked at me, grinding his teeth. “Did you think for one second that you could handle a girl like Nicole? On your own? Without my blessing?”
“Daddy, please.”
“How would you provide for her?”
“Enough.” She tried to wiggle towards me but couldn’t. “Sean, I’m sorry. He locked me in my room. He wouldn’t let me leave the house. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Fuck him,” Mario said. “He’s lucky I found you before you left. If I would’ve had to chase you two down, it would’ve only made it worse for him.”
“I love him, Daddy. I love him.”
Mario grabbed her by the hair while Tommy still held her body. He forced her to look at me. Our eyes met again. I could feel her pain even stronger than my own. I just wanted to reach out and comfort her. Nothing else mattered.
“You love him? Look at him. He’s not worthy of you.”
“I love him. How can you do this to him when you know I love him?”
“He’s a piece of shit. Half mick, mutt piece of shit.”
“How can you do this to me? Your only daughter. How can you, Daddy? How can you?”
“I said it’s over, and that’s that!”
“Daddy, I’m pregnant!” Nicole hollered the words.
The room went silent. Nicole shook free of Tommy and faced her father.
“I’m going to have Sean’s baby.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped. Gucci Mike inched towards Mario, but then he thought better of it. Scrubby snarled but even he didn’t dare say a word.
Mario blew out of his mouth, a long heavy gust of wind. Then he sucked in through his nostrils. They whistled. It may have been ten seconds. Or maybe it was a full minute. Time stood still.
The room stood still.
When the pause finally ended, it was abrupt. Mario sucked in more wind. Then he reached down and picked me up with one burly arm. He cried out as he dropped me face first into the tub.
I heard Nicole scream. I wanted to tell her it was okay. That she could stop screaming. That she didn’t need to worry about me. I could handle it. I’d be fine.
But instead, I felt a shutter. It started deep down, at the very depth of my core. Something started to work its way into my guts, then ran up my diaphragm and into my throat only to be ejected through my unsuspecting mouth.
A scream. The most horrifying, awful noise I’ve ever heard in my life, and it was coming from my mouth. I’ve never been much for religion or mystic bullshit, but I guess you could say I had an out-of-body experience. My face, my arms, my legs, the entire front of my body sizzled as the acid quickly soaked in. Yet I was watching from overhead. An angel gliding in the air. I could see Tommy springing up and clutching Nicole. Scrubby grabbed the jug of acid. I saw it for myself.
“Give me that,” Mario said. He grabbed the jug from Scrubby, and he shook it. The acid flowed out like champagne at a celebration. Mario held the jug above me, and scalding liquid poured down my back.
The screaming continued. The horrible noises sprung from my mouth. They wouldn’t stop.
Mario tossed the empty jug and said, “Say it’s over, Sean. Just say it.”
My resolve wasn’t broken. The animal would outlast the farmer. The donkey was too fucking stubborn. It wasn’t me who said the next word; it was my stubborn, donkey angel.
“No!” I’m sure the word didn’t sound clear, more an awful, banshee-like shriek of stout but pathetic misery. But it was such a simple word to say that it came right out of my mouth, even as I smelled flesh melting. My flesh.
Mario laughed. A hoarse and horrible laugh. Then he screamed something so awful, you’d have thought he was the one in the acid bath. “Say it!”
I grabbed the side of the tub and pulled myself up. I rolled over and out of the tub, plunging to the ground below. I was still screaming and hollering something awful, but between shrieks, my donkey angel managed to say, “No!”
“Say it!”
She was looking at me, and what an awful sight that must have been. Nicole was still screeching as she said, “Okay, Daddy. Okay. It’s over. Just stop hurting him.”
I stopped screaming and tried to catch my breath. Nicole stopped struggling and Tommy loosened his hold. Mario bent over, his hands on his kneecaps as he too sucked wind.
“It’s over?” he asked as his heavy breathing sent his blubbery gut up and down.
“It’s over,” Nicole confirmed.
“Shamrock?”
“It’s up to Nicole. If she means it, then it’s over.” I knew she didn’t mean it. I just knew she didn’t really mean it. “Nicole, it’s up to you. Tell me what you want.”
She looked around the room. She looked down at me. Then she looked to her father. “Will you get him help?”
Mario nodded.
“And you’ll leave him alone.”
Mario nodded again.
I was flat on my back, looking up at her. Steam rose off my body and drifted upward. I thought of my mother lying on her deathbed. The pain she endured and never once did she feel sorry for herself. I knew she’d be proud of me. If this was the way my life was destined to end, then my life was lived the right way. I did the very best I could. Just like she did. Sometimes things just don’t go your way.
It wasn’t me who broke. It was Nicole. “It’s over,” she said. “I’m sorry, Sean, but it’s over.”
I closed my eyes and turned away from her. I heard sobs and high-heeled boots clattering across the floor as she ran out of the storage room.
Mario smiled as he straightened up tall. He turned to Tommy and said, “Take him to Jacobi Hospital, and drop him off in front of the emergency room.”
Tommy nodded. Then he and Scrubby picked me up, carried me outside, and did exactly as they were told.
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Maria says.
“Thank you.” Skin aims the lamp downward then leans back into the darkness.
“That is an absolutely horrible story.”
Skin nods.
“So you are hiding down here?”
“I guess you could say that. I’ve been living down here. No one bothers me.”
“And you’re still friends with Griffin? After what happened.”
“Griff is my only true friend. He’s the only one I can truly trust. He doesn’t work with them anymore.”
“I understand.” Maria pulls a tissue from her pocketbook and wipes a tear from her eye. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. Now I know I can trust you. I know now
that you are surely a man of your word.”
“Yes. I am that.”
“Can you help me?”
“What is it that you want me to do?”
“I have a son. I just want to make sure that he is safe.”
“I see.”
“I want you to kill Mario and his men. That’s why I came here.”
“You want me to get revenge for you?”
“They killed my father and my brother.”
Skin nods. “I know. I understand. But revenge isn’t necessarily the answer.”
“I know I will never be safe, and neither will my son.”
Skin nods again. “I’d like to help you. But I have made a promise. I promised that I would never hurt Mario. I can’t just forget my promise to Nicole.”
“Even after all that’s happened?”
“Yes. Even after all that’s happened.”
“I understand. I will leave now.” Maria stands up.
“No. I will help you.”
“I don’t want you to break your promise. That is too important to you.”
“I won’t break my promise. But I will help you.”
Chapter Twenty
* * *
Tommy Guns steps out of the shower in the tiny bathroom of the two-bedroom home he shares with his mother. Forty-three years old and still living with the old lady. Never wanted to get serious about a woman of his own. Living with mom is good. She still does his laundry. Still cooks dinner for him just about every night. Still makes sure his coffee is ready for him in the morning. Still takes his suits to the cleaners.
So she nags a bit. All and all she isn’t a bad housemate. Tonight she’s out. Went to the VFW to play bingo. Every Tuesday and Friday. She just loves that stupid game. Good for her. Nice to have a hobby and it keeps her out of Tommy’s hair two nights a week.
Since he’s alone, Tommy uses a towel to dry off and then walks buck naked into his bedroom just across the hall. He pulls open the top drawer of the dresser. Steps into his pale blue boxer shorts. Looks up at his clock.
He’s due at Scrubby’s in ten minutes, then the two of them are stopping by Vinny’s shop to get his ass. Then the three amigos are going into Manhattan to check out that hot new club in the meatpacking district. Gonna get some tail tonight for sure.
Confidence, baby. Bitches want some of this tonight.
Tommy holds up his thumb and pointer fingers like a pistol, then fires a shot at the suave gentleman in the mirror.
“Nice.”
Back to the bathroom. Quick spray of deodorant under each pit. Shave. Splash on some aftershave, then back to the bedroom.
He puts on an undershirt, then opens his jewelry box that sits atop the chest of drawers. Tough choice between the gold link chain or the thin rope with the horn medallion. Tommy opts for the horn. The horn brings him luck and attracts pussy.
The closet doors are usually open. Tommy hates closed doors and always leaves it open at least a crack. But the sliding doors are touching one another. Fuckin’ Mom must have been cleaning up after him again. She should know better than to be in his closet.
Tommy slides the doors open. There are twelve clean suits lined up in a row. Tommy is meticulous. He always keeps the rows straight. Why are there nine on one side, then a gap, then three pushed to the other side? Very odd for Mom to fuck with his suits. She knows better.
Tommy pushes the suits to the side. He sees something weird in the dark corner. He smells something: it’s gun powder.
* *
Scrubby Mike is sitting on the toilet bowl, whacking off to an issue of Black Tail. It’s always best to blow a load before going out. It helps him stay calm when he’s flirting with the ladies, and if he gets any tonight, he won’t bust his nut too fast since he’s already blasted a bullet from the chamber.
He finishes into a washcloth, rubs the jiz off the tip of his cock, then drops the washcloth on the floor. Scrubby walks into his bedroom, stepping over his filthy boots that sit in the middle of the floor, a floor cluttered with shirts, pants and socks strewn about. The ashtray on the night table hasn’t been dumped in some time and is overflowing with butts and ash. There’s a garbage pail, without a bag or liner, filled to the brim, mostly with soda and beer cans.
Mike sits back, flips on the television and finds a college basketball game: Kansas vs. Illinois.
“Fuckin’ aye,” Mike mumbles when he sees the scoreboard. Kansas is laying twelve points, and they’re losing by four. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this team is losing. At home no less.” Another nickel in the garbage.
In the drawer of the night table is what’s left of his blow. He was planning to save it for later, but what the fuck. Tommy’s late, and Mike is getting bored. He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a folded dollar bill. He unfolds it and then grabs a matchbook off the night table. With the folded edge of the matchbook, Mike dips into the small pile of white power and pinches out a blast. He sticks the matchbook into his nostril and inhales. He sniffles and feels it immediately. He takes a blast up his other nostril, then refolds the bill.
There’s noise outside. Mike looks out his window and sees Tommy’s car running at the edge of the driveway. That’s fuckin’ weird. He didn’t hear Tommy’s Caddy pull up, and Tommy usually just honks the horn. But the Caddy’s running.
Mike grabs his boots from the floor and puts them on. Tommy and Vinny are sure to bust his balls about his sloppy shirt and dirty boots when those two Casanovas will be dressed to impress. But fuck them. They think all that bullshit helps them with the ladies, but Scrubby knows how you get laid. You wait until late at night and just zero in on the fattest chick left at the bar. If a few compliments don’t work, you offer a blast of blow. Worst case there’s Black Tail and self-service. Mike’s dignity is more important than trying to nail some uptown broad those two have their sights set on.
He walks towards the door, grabbing his jacket off the hook in the front hallway. As he’s sliding the jacket on with one arm, he opens the door with the other. Mike feels a sting in his gut. Then he’s on his back.
The door slams shut, and Mike finds himself clutching his side, trying to stop the flow but it’s doing no good. The pool of red next to him is collecting fast. He can’t quite see the face of the man standing over him.
“You’ve ruined your last life,” Scrubby hears the voice say. “Your own.”
Scrubby tries to say something, but words won’t leave his lips. Even though it’s more weathered and scratchier than he remembers, Scrubby still recognizes the voice.
“I always hated you,” Scrubby says. At least, he thinks he says it. Maybe he just thinks it. “I always fuckin’ hated you.”
“Why?” the voice responds.
Scrubby can’t answer.
* *
The garage door slowly rolls down. Jose’s rusty, brown Sentra pulls away, its muffler rattling while the engine screams, Please shoot me and put me out of my misery.
Vinny Macho walks over to the restroom. He gets out the strong scrubbing soap and a coarse pad to get all the grease off his hands. Once his hands are pretty clean, Vinny walks to the back office.
He takes off his shirt and pants, tossing the greasy clothes in a hamper. He pulls on a nice pair of tight designer jeans and buttons up a black dress shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone. Vinny flicks at the chest hair poking out the top of the open collar.
A draft of cool air shoots up the back of Vinny’s neck. Vinny turns around. The side door looks closed. But he walks over to it anyway. It’s shut. He turns the knob. It’s not locked.
“Fuckin’ Jose.”
In his hurry to get home to his girlfriend and two infant kids, the guy forgot to lock the door. The guy needs to get some sleep at night before he really fucks something up.
A metal pipe pangs against the floor in the dark, far corner of the shop. Vinny walks quickly to the bank of light switches and flips the one on for that corner.
Half of a busted tailpipe i
s lying in the middle of the floor, still rocking back and forth like a seesaw. In one motion with his arm, Vinny flips on the entire bank of light switches, and the shop is fully lit up.
“Is someone there?” he calls out.
As Vinny walks to the corner, just out of sight from the street, he feels something pressed against his back. He’s felt it before. He knows what it is. Vinny puts his hands up in the air.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Vinny.”
“Shamrock? Is that you?” Vinny starts to turn around but the gun is pressed tighter to his back and he feels a push against his shoulder.
“Don’t look at me.”
“Alright, alright. What do you want?”
“It’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done.”
Vinny feels something come across his neck. He looks down to see the handle of the knife. It touches his flesh and cuts, just at the surface.
“Ouch. What the fuck do you want?” Shamrock doesn’t answer. The knife is at his throat. The gun is pressed into his spine. “Come on, Sean. I was nice to you.”
“Don’t call me Sean, you piece of shit.”
“Okay, Shamrock. Whatever you want. I was the only one who was nice to you.”
“Fuck you, Vinny.”
“I was nice to your mom. I tried to help her.”
“Bullshit. You didn’t even come to her funeral.”
“Come on, man. Did you really want me there?”
“You didn’t even send flowers. A card. Don’t tell me you tried to help my mother.”
“Alright, I could’ve been better, but I wasn’t all bad. I gave her money when she needed it. I made sure she never lost that house. Give me a break, man. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“It’s too late, Vinny.”
“Come on...” Vinny can’t finish the sentence. His words begin to gurgle. His breath slips away. He watches the knife pull away from his throat. He sees the dark figure step aside. Then Vinny falls to the floor.
* *
Don Mario sits at the table in the basement dining room of the Cucina. The calamari is chewy, and worse, it’s fucking ice cold.