by Keith Nixon
Frank moves over to the fridge.
“You want a drink?”
Rick nods, eying the other envelope again.
Frank grabs a can of beer and lobs it towards Rick. Rick fumbles, drops it. He reaches down for it, and stops halfway, like something’s just clicked in his brain, but it’s too late.
***
Frank watches Rick bleed out on the kitchen floor, and then has another beer. It’s good beer, and he takes his time.
Rick turns out to be a tough little bastard, fighting it, clinging on to the very end. Frank thinks he might have to get up and grab another beer, but then Rick twitches one final time, and then it’s all over.
Frank pats him down, takes the envelope. Helps himself to Rick’s wallet.
He grabs another beer anyway, and calls Michael.
“It’s me,” he says when Michael picks up. “We’re done, but we’re going to need the boat again.”
THE BURNING QUESTION
David Jaggers
I’m not a deep man, but one question continues to haunt me. Do we really have a choice? I want to think that we do, that no matter how out of control our lives feel, we are always standing at an intersection, always choosing our path.
I had a choice. I learned my trade from my uncle Donnie. It wasn’t forced on me, I could have walked away when I saw him torch that warehouse, but I didn’t. I liked the way the flames spread across the pools of gasoline like they were alive. The way the buildings were hollowed out by the flames reminded me of how I felt inside. Empty.
The rattling downshift of a big rig somewhere out in the darkness pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked across the street through the rain smeared windshield and saw the open sign go dark in the deli window. I marked the time on my watch and put on my gloves. I waited in silence for precisely fifteen minutes, and then got out and popped the trunk. My gear was simple, a ten gallon can of gasoline and a box of strike anywhere matches. Uncle Donnie always said that the key to success was to keep it simple, keep it clean.
I avoided the street lights and ducked down the alley that led to the back of the place. I put a thick boot to the deadbolt, and splintered the aging doorframe. The alarm whistled in my ears as I started dousing the storeroom with gas. The average response time in this part of town was just over ten minutes, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the blue lights showed up. I emptied the can in the places that would maximize the damage, just like I was taught, and pulled a match out of the box. I dropped the lit match to the floor, and watched the flame ignite orange and blue and run up the trail of gas like a herd of stampeding demons. I waited until I saw the rack of cardboard boxes light up and then turned to leave. Before I could take a step, I heard a muffled scream coming from the mop closet.
I was a burner. I torched homes, and businesses to send a message for the boss. A message that that said loud and clear that somebody had fucked up. I never killed anyone, and was never asked to do so. The thought that anybody was still inside the deli was unacceptable. I had cased the place for a week and had solid information that the closing shift on Tuesdays was just one kid.
I darted through the smoke and rising flames and yanked open the closet door. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the boy. He was tied to a chair, his mouth taped and tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. He looked to be maybe ten years old, and someone had roughed him up pretty good. Before I could grab him, the rack of cleaning chemicals to my left exploded, sending a rain of liquid fire down on us both. I hit the floor and hammered my legs with my fists to put out the flames that were crawling up my jeans. I looked up, but it was too late, the boy was totally engulfed. Black smoke was gathering and pushing out all the breathable oxygen so I crawled to the backdoor and got out just as the ceiling started coming down.
***
“Stop fucking with me Jimmy!” I said slamming my fist down on the dash of the Caddy.
“I’m telling you Vince, I don’t know nothing about no kid. The order came down to do the deli. That’s all I know. You’re my guy, so I called you. Business as usual.”
“Somebody knew the place was getting torched and wanted me to do a neat little two for one. You know I don’t kill people Jimmy, and I sure as fuck don’t kill children.”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and drummed his fat fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “Look Vince, I’m just like you. I do as I’m told and I don’t ask fucking questions. You know the rules, and it would be better for your health to shut the fuck up about this. Just let it go.”
I opened the car door and stepped out onto the rain slicked street. I leaned down, peering into the Caddy’s leather interior. “He was a little kid Jimmy. A little boy. I can’t let it go.” I swung the door shut and he drove off without a word.
***
It wasn’t hard to find the kid who worked the deli that night. I called the owner and said I was with the arson investigation team. I said I needed a list of employees and he went out of his way to give me the kid’s address. He wanted me to know that he had no idea how the fire started, and that he would do anything to help with the investigation. I told him I understood, but I could tell by the sound of his voice that he wouldn’t be much help. He knew Big Tony gave the order to torch his place, and he didn’t want to wake up in somebody’s trunk.
The kid lived in a dirty third floor walk–up about six blocks from the deli. I waited until dark and climbed the graffiti plastered staircase littered with beer cans and cigarette butts. I could have knocked, but that wasn’t really my style. I kicked open the door and caught him sitting on a ratty futon sucking in a bong hit. He exhaled with a cough and stared bug eyed at the barrel of the Sig Sauer in my hand.
“What the fuck? Please don’t shoot…here take the weed.” He reached for a small bag on the coffee table littered with empty pizza boxes, but stopped when I smashed his nose with the side of the pistol.
“Listen dickhead. I’m only going to ask you this once. Did you put that kid in the mop closet?”
“Fuck, dude my face!” He said holding his bleeding nose. “What kid? I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. Are you a cop? Shit man, I didn’t burn down the store I promise. Some big dready dude with a face tattoo gave me a hundred bucks and said to leave. He told me to just get the fuck out man, so I did. I swear I didn’t do it?”
I grabbed the stoner by his greasy hair and pulled him off the futon. I put the pistol to his head and pressed hard, a small rivulet of blood trickled from his scalp. “If you tell anybody that I was here, I will come back and peel you like a fucking banana. You understand?” I didn’t wait for an answer; I shoved him to the floor and headed for the car. There was only one guy I knew that had a face tattoo and I had an idea where to find him.
***
Black Frankie was a big mulatto from Montreal. He came down south by way of Plattsburg a few years ago and got a job breaking heads for the Terrazzios. At six three, two hundred and fifty pounds, he wasn’t hard to spot, but the head full of dreadlocks and the tribal face tattoo made him practically a flashing neon sign. I found him sitting in a dark booth in the back of Jackie O’s strip club. He liked to rent his women by the hour, and had three blondes tucked in with him while he worked on a bottle of Canadian Club.
Frankie was a hard motherfucker, but I saw a look of shock on his face when he caught me eyeballing him from across the bar. I finished my beer and got up to go over and talk to him. Before I could move, two bouncers grabbed me up by the elbows and escorted me to the side exit. They gave me a boot to the stomach and slung me out into the street. I skidded across the cracked pavement on my face and the only thing that kept me from rolling into traffic was the lip of the storm drain. They never said a word, but the message was clear. Jackie O’s was a Terazzio establishment and I wasn’t welcome anymore.
I got up, dusted myself off and walked back to my car. I examined the scrape on my forehead in the side mirror, and barely had time to move when I saw a fist coming at me in the refl
ection. Before I could react, I felt a boot to my balls. The jolt sent me to the ground and something hard came down on my head.
***
I woke up to an open hand slap to the face. My head felt like it had a railroad spike driven through the top, but as my eyes adjusted I could tell I was in the back of a panel van. Two blurry figures sat hunched in front of me, and I could see pistols in their hands. I tried to move, but my hands were tied behind me.
“Vincent Doyle. We’ve been lookin all over for you.” One of the guys said.
“We’ve been chasing you around for four fucking years, you slimy little firebug.”
I looked up through thin red slits and smiled. “You sound like a cop. You haven’t read me my rights yet asshole.” A fist came out of nowhere and slammed into my jaw. It was the other guy, the silent one.
“We know you work for Tony Terazzio Vincent. We got at least a dozen burns we can link directly to you.”
I spit blood on the floor at their feet. “Then fucking arrest me asshole.” Another punch came from the silent guy, this time to the stomach. The force took the air out of my lungs.
“We aren’t here to arrest you Vincent. This is off the clock. You’re gonna tells us what you know about Danny Pulaski or we’re gonna knock every goddamned tooth outta your fucking head.”
Off duty cops tuning me up didn’t make sense. If they could link me to the Terazzios and I knew they couldn’t, they would have just taken me in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about officer, I’m just a law abiding citizen being harassed by the local police.”
The silent cop grabbed me by the throat and pulled the chair over, slamming me to the floorboard. He planted the muzzle of his service pistol to my head. “You killed Chief Pulaski’s boy you fucking scum. I know you did it, and I’m gonna put a bullet in your fucking head right here.”
“Easy John, the forensics haven’t confirmed that yet.” The chatty cop said pulling Mr. Silent off of me.
They righted my chair and backed off to regain their composure. The chatty one bent down in front of me and poked my chest. “Vincent, we know you torched Gruzenski’s deli. Your signature is all over it. We know your work. We also know that you have a reputation on the street for clean work, no casualties. So why did we find a body at the crime scene?”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was a boy Vincent. Now maybe you’re stupid or something, so I’m going to assume you haven’t heard. The Terazzios kidnapped Danny Pulaski, the police chief’s eleven year old son.”
I tried not to flinch, but my face betrayed me. Mr. Chatty stroked his mustache and signed.
“From the look on your face I can see you didn’t know. Well here’s some information for you. If the dental records come back, and it’s him, you better be looking over your shoulder. The chief has given us a long leash on this one, if you know what I mean.”
They didn’t say anything else. They just gave me a beating until their arms got tired. I never said another word. The news of the boy hurt worse than anything they could do to my body. When they were finished, they untied me and dumped me in the alley behind Jackie O’s.
It took me an hour to limp back to my apartment. I slept on the floor, with bags of ice wrapped around my sides, and a bottle of whiskey to dull the pain. In the darkness I could see Danny Pulaski’s face. I could see his eyes, pleading above the tape, asking for help. The burning question came back to me. Do we have a choice? Well, choices were made, choices that pushed me into a shit storm that caused that kid to be burned alive. I had been set up and someone had to pay, even if it meant I had to cash in my chips with the Terazzios.
***
It was a cold, clear morning when Black Frankie pulled up in front of Spalding’s pawn shop in his Suburban. His orders were to wait until he saw the owner, a fat little weasel named Irving, open up for the day. Frankie was to politely inform Irving that if he wanted to continue to do business on the block, he would have to pay. Black Frankie cracked his knuckles and thought for the millionth time how much he loved his job. The Suburban’s heater was fogging up the windshield, so Frankie pushed the button to roll down the driver’s side window to let in some cold air. Instead of the crisp breeze he expected, he got a face full of gasoline. It stung his eyes and his lungs burned from the vapors. “What the fuck?” was all he could manage to say before he went up in flames. The Suburban burned for twenty minutes before the fire department got there and put it out. By that time all that was left of Black Frankie was a scorched corpse, its face stretched into a charred smile of bone and gristle.
***
I had been tailing Jimmy for most of the day and watched through binoculars when he got the call that Frankie was dead. The look on his face said everything. He had been in on it, he knew it was me, and he knew I’d be gunning for him next. Jimmy put down his phone and pulled the Caddy out of the parking lot. I followed him across town to the storage unit he kept on the down low. He took me out there once, said he kept some guns and a stash of money in case of an emergency. I parked the car in the gravel lot across from the entrance and watched the Caddy pull up to the storage locker door. Jimmy got out, looked around and took a key out of his jacket pocket. He pulled off the padlock, and rolled up the door.
The force of the explosion nearly flipped the Caddy through the chain link fence that guarded the perimeter. Jimmy was nowhere to be found, he had been shredded by the ten pounds of Tannerite I’d rigged to the unit door. The detonation killed him instantly, but I wished he could have experienced just a moment of the pain and agony Danny Pulaski felt when the flames consumed him. I put the car in gear and pulled away. Jimmy made a choice. He knew I would never agree to kill that kid. So he chose not to tell me and that led to both of their deaths.
***
I spent the next three days watching Big Tony and trying to shake an unmarked Crown Vic that followed me everywhere. I knew the forensic results were in by now, and I was one clear shot away from being dumped into the river by the boys in blue. Tony kept an office in the upstairs of a porn shop called Lady Godiva’s, but the place was well guarded and after Jimmy went down, they were on high alert. I knew I couldn’t get to him there, so I focused on the one place he thought was safe. A year or so ago, Jimmy let slip that Tony had a chick on the side that was some kind of actress. She wasn’t famous, but did commercials and was apparently a real hot number. Jimmy had said that Tony was so crazy about her that he bought her a place up in the Terraces, the gated community on the cliffs above the city. Jimmy also said that no matter what, Tony spent a couple of night with her during the week.
***
“I don’t fucking care Lou. Sasha won’t give me none for a month if I don’t get up there for our fucking anniversary.” Big Tony said from the center of a cloud of cigar smoke.
“What about this Vincent guy Tony? You know he’s gonna try something on you.”
“Fuck that puny little pyro. He thinks he can get me running scared? Besides I pay you fat fucks a lot of money to take care of this kind of thing. How come you ain’t found him yet? I told you I want his fucking balls in a vice for killin Jimmy.”
“He’s a fucking ghost Tony. The guy’s got no family, hasn’t been back to his place in days. We got guys on the street. If he turns up we’ll bag him.”
Big Tony stubbed out his cigar and picked up a framed picture of a blonde in a string bikini. “I can’t be late tonight Lou.”
The convoy of black SUVS snaked along the main boulevard past the corners littered with prostitutes and junkies. Big Tony looked out of the tinted window and smiled. Out of every dollar changing hands out there, fifty cents was rolling into his wallet. It was good to be king, and to top it off he got to go and throw a stiff one into a nympho half his age. He had come a long way since his days running numbers for the Cecil brothers.
The gate swung open at Sasha’s and Tony’s ride pulled into the wide circular driveway. The two other SUVS pulled around to
each side of the gate and several large men with shoulder holsters got out and walked around, stamping their feet to stay warm. Sasha was at the door in a sparkling dress that barely covered her more pronounced assets. When Tony got out, she ran up to him and gave him a big hug.
“Where have you been Tone? It’s our big night. Three years today can you believe it?” She took a step back into the light of the marbled front porch and twirled around. “Do you like this dress Tone? I got it special just for you.”
“It’s gorgeous babe. Look something’s come up. We need to stay in tonight. I’ll take you out on the town after, I promise.”
Sasha looked around at all the goons and frowned. “No dinner? Well, do the guys have to stay around all night? I was hoping to get frisky later baby.”
“Forget about these guys, let’s get inside. I could use some frisky right about now.” Tony grabbed Sasha’s tight ass as they walked through the door.
***
The Crown Vic followed me into the neighborhood and parked at the end of the cul–de–sac past Sasha’s place. I let them see me slip out of my car and over the hedgerow. Getting through the fence was easy. Tony only had enough guys to watch the obvious points of entry so I chose to go in where the fence met the steep hillside. I used a set of short handled bolt cutters to get through the bars and then set up my tools behind the pump shed by the pool. Ten gallons of gas, a roll of duct tape and box of matches, uncle Donnie would be proud.
I waited in the shadows and watched the house through binoculars. Tony didn’t waste any time getting to business with Sasha and they were going at it hard in the little parlor off from the deck. When they were finished, Tony got up and went outside to have a cigar and cool off. I silently moved into place. While I waited, images of the little boy’s burning body floated in the darkness in front of me.