Yard Dog

by A. G. Pasquella

With each step I took I was calculating angles and trajectories. I still couldn’t see the man behind me. Whoever he was, he was good.

  Little Vito stepped closer, but not too close. In the sour-lemon light he looked like The Devil himself. He kept smiling. “It’s been quite the ride, Jack. But it’s over.”

  I tilted my chin at Tommy. “Let Tommy go.”

  The warehouse echoed with guffaws. Vito smiled. “You got balls, Jack. You got some fuckin’ balls.”

  My mind was still calculating. Two guns on me — one from the back, one from the fat man in the bloodstained suit standing next to Tommy. One gun on Tommy. Vito’s hands were free. A gun in his jacket? Count on it. Grover in position? Count on that, too.

  Suddenly the smile was gone from Vito’s face. He squinted at me with flint-hard eyes. “I could kill you right now. I could kill you fucking dead. Do you know that? Can you feel the truth of what I’m telling you, way down deep inside? Can you feel it in your bones? Because it’s the truth, Jack. One word from me and you’re bleeding all over this warehouse floor.”

  Bound to the chair, Tommy gurgled and spit blood. The gangster with the gun on Tommy smacked his face. “Shaddup.”

  Calculate, calculate. I was still alive. Why? Vito wanted to gloat. Torture? Maybe. Play along.

  Little Vito leaned against the edge of his desk. “You know who I am, Jack? I’m a businessman. And as a businessman I’ve got a very practical mind. You know what I’m saying? Sure, I was pissed at you at first. That scene at Tommy’s club … that was ugly. A lot of good men lost their lives. You should’ve heard Nemo’s wife wail when I told her the news. But I’m not mad at you anymore, Jack. You know why?”

  Once again I tilted my head at Tommy. “Because now you’ve got what you want.”

  Vito’s left eyebrow shot up. He nodded slightly. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe that’s part of it. What I was going to say was, I’ve been thinking about your phone call. I’m a businessman, and so are you. For you it’s not personal. There’s no grudges and blood oaths and vendettas and all that bullshit. Once you get into that shit, it never stops. Right? It never stops until everyone is lying sprawled out on the fucking pavement. That’s no way to run a business.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  Vito smiled. “Cut right to the chase, eh, Jack? What’s the bottom line? See, I was right. You are a businessman. You want the bottom line? Well, I’ll tell you. After tonight, you and I are through. After tonight we both walk away back to our own lives. Sound good?”

  It sounded like lies. “Sure. Sounds good to me.”

  “I’m serious here, Jack. This bullshit with Tommy, it’s caused me nothing but grief. Time and money right out the fucking window. My bosses aren’t happy. And if my bosses aren’t happy, then nobody’s happy. It’s time to put all the bullshit behind us and get on with our lives.”

  Could it be true?

  Vito continued, his voice seductive and low. “There’s just one thing I need you to do. A personal favour. You do this thing and the slate is wiped clean.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  Little Vito pointed to Tommy. “Kill that piece of shit.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Inside the warehouse time stood still. Tommy goggled at me, silently pleading. He looked like a whipped dog.

  Little Vito reached into his jacket and pulled out a nickel-plated revolver. “Let me tell you how this deal goes down. You kill Tommy and you walk out of here a free man. If you don’t …” Little Vito raised his gun. “I’ll kill you both myself.” The gangster shrugged. “Up to you.”

  I took two steps closer to Tommy. His face was a mess. Purple bruises and red welts beneath the crusted blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut. The other eye was wide open and brimming with tears. The knife glittered in my fist. “I’m sorry,” I told Tommy. With a fluid arc I brought the knife down.

  The knife blade cut through the ropes tying Tommy to the chair. The ropes fell away and I kicked the chair over, sending Tommy crashing to the ground. I dove backward, throwing knives as I fell. “CODE FOUR! CODE FUCKING FOUR!”

  The gunman next to Tommy slumped to his knees with my knife in his neck. The gunman behind me with the sour milk breath was screaming and shooting the ceiling, the hilt of a knife sticking out of his eye.

  I didn’t even hear the shots. The right half of Little Vito’s head exploded in a red mist. Mr. Sour Milk went flying backward. Something slammed into my chest and knocked me back against the warehouse wall. The fat man in the bloodstained suit grinned and shot me again. He missed, and then his head exploded.

  Somehow I had a fresh knife in my hand. The knife wavered as I gasped for breath. My chest felt caved in, like I had been kicked by a mule. Blood and bodies were everywhere. Someone was crawling toward me. Tommy. He was saying something but I couldn’t hear him. My ears rang. Darkness was creeping around the edges. Tommy looked like he was at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Great, I thought. The last thing I’m going to see before I die is Tommy’s big ugly mug.

  When I came to I was outside, staring up at the stars. Cool night air gently caressed my face. Grover and Tommy leaned into my view. Grover smiled. “You’re going to be fine, Jack. Aren’t you glad you wore that bulletproof vest?”

  I nodded. My voice croaked like a drunken bullfrog. “Let’s hear it for your trunkload of gear.”

  “Damn straight. Can you walk? Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  I crawled into the back seat of Grover’s car. Tommy limped into the passenger seat and Grover punched the accelerator. I closed my eyes and heard the approaching sirens, rising and falling, rising and falling.

  CHAPTER 55

  Waves lapped against Grover’s boat. Moonlight glittered and danced across the water. Tommy winced as Grover stuck a needle into his skin and stitched up the cut over his eye.

  “Hold still. We’re almost done.” Grover cut the thread and looked over at me. “How are you doing, Jack?”

  I looked down at the angry purple mass rising from my chest. “I’m just peachy.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go to Doc Warner’s?”

  “Don’t you worry about me.”

  I stood up and buttoned my shirt. I walked across the cabin and stared at Tommy’s face.

  Grover admired his handiwork. “What do you think?”

  “He looks like he’s been in a bar fight, but he should pass.”

  Tommy frowned. “Pass? Pass what? What are you guys talking about?”

  “Pass through security.” I pointed toward the door. “Come on. We’re going to the airport.”

  “Right now? Come on, Jack. I’m grateful for your guys’ help — don’t think I’m not grateful — but we can’t go to the airport now. I’m not packed, I don’t have any money —”

  Grover slapped a pack of banded bills on the table. “Pay me back when you get to Costa Rica.”

  Tommy grinned. “You guys are the best. You know that? The fucking best.”

  Grover nodded. “Yeah. We know.”

  I was standing by the open door. The night air ruffled my hair. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  I climbed into the driver’s seat of Grover’s car and Tommy jumped into the passenger seat. “Man! You really saved my ass tonight, Jack. I’m not going to forget this. I mean it. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me squat.” I peered straight ahead through the windshield. At this hour there were no other cars. A family of raccoons trundled across the road. After they passed I gunned the engine and we zoomed off into the night.

  Tommy leaned back and grinned with his busted lip. “Little Vito … ha! Fuck that guy. We showed him who’s the fucking boss.”

  “We sure did.”

  I turned the wheel. The car cut into a maze of warehouses. Tommy grinned. “You going to visit me in Costa Rica, Jack? Pina coladas and babes on the beach.” Tommy’s eyes flickered out the window. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Short cut.” Ahead of us two massiv
e steel doors were opening. I gunned the engine and we sailed inside.

  Tommy twisted nervously. “What the fuck, Jack?”

  “Relax. I’ve got to make a stop.” I cut the engine. We were parked in the middle of a brightly lit modern warehouse, all concrete and chrome. Behind us the massive steel doors rumbled closed.

  Tommy slammed the passenger door open and scrambled out of the car. His face was stamped with panic. “What the fuck? What the fuck? You can’t kill me, Jack! You promised! You fucking promised!”

  I climbed out of the car and held out my empty hands. “I’m not going to kill you, Tommy.”

  Tommy relaxed. A door on the side of the warehouse swung open. Tommy’s face fell.

  “I just want to introduce you to some friends of mine. You already know Eddie.”

  Tommy turned to run. Willie The Driver stepped up behind him, hit him with the butt of a gun and dragged him toward a chair.

  “And you know Willie. But I don’t think you’ve met David.” A huge man stepped forward. The dragon tattoo on his bare chest shone in the warehouse light. “He’s Eric’s brother. Remember Eric?”

  David The Dragon pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. Tommy’s head was whipping back and forth. “No. No. No.” He tried to rise but Willie The Driver held him tight.

  “See, Tommy … Eddie got an interesting phone call back at his Aunt Cecilia’s house. Seems Eddie, being a friendly guy, has friends everywhere. Including the police department. And this friend of Eddie’s at the police department called him up with some interesting news. That bullet hole in the car windshield where they found Eric’s body? That bullet came from inside the car.”

  Tommy was rocking back and forth. A high-pitched keening escaped his battered lips.

  “From inside the car, Tommy. You killed him. You. You shot Eric and then you were going to steal Vito’s money and disappear. Only it didn’t work out like that, did it? Vito’s goons found you first.”

  Eddie stepped forward. He was wearing a butcher’s apron tied over his charcoal grey suit. Behind his sunglasses his eyes were grim. “Thanks, Jack. We’ll take it from here.”

  Tommy twitched. “Jack! JACK! You can’t do this! JACK!”

  I headed for the side door. Tommy started to scream.

  I walked through the door and I didn’t look back.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  It takes a village! A huge thank you to my agent Kelvin Kong of K2 Literary and big thanks as well to Sam Hiyate at The Rights Factory. One million thank-yous to Kirk Howard, Beth Bruder, Scott Fraser, Allison Hirst, Michelle Melski, Kendra Martin, Laura Boyle, Jenny McWha, and all the other fine folks at Dundurn. This book would not exist without you!

  Thanks to Iain Deans for invaluable feedback on early drafts. Thanks to Chris Turner for being, as he put it, a “brother-in-literary-arms.”

  Thanks to the crew from The Old Neighbourhood: Saira Hassan, Matt Stokes, Beau Levitt, Julia Chan, Jay Lapeyre, Ron Cunnane, Kristiina Hämäläinen, and Angela Pacini.

  Thanks to my fellow writers Jacqueline Valencia, Mat Laporte, Andrew F. Sullivan, Paul Vermeersch, Lisa de Nikolits, Terri Favro, Gary Barwin, Evan Munday, Elan Mastai, Carolyn Black, and Sandra Kasturi. You awesome people inspire me daily!

  Special thanks to five early supporters of my writing: Anne Yourt, Ashley Bristowe, Phil Hofton, Conrad Schickedanz, and Jennifer Holloway Flood. Having you in my corner has really meant a lot.

  Thanks to my family for all the love, support, and understanding: Frances MacFarlane, Don MacFarlane, Don Pasquella, Dennis Boatright, Andrew Pasquella, Margie Niedzwiecki, Randy Niedzwiecki, Jacob Niedzwiecki, Thaba Niedzwiecki, and Phet Sayo.

  Extra big special thanks to my wife, Emma Niedzwiecki, and to my kids, Leah and Matthew. I love you all so much!

  BOOK CREDITS

  Acquiring Editor: Scott Fraser

  Editor: Allison Hirst

  Project Editor: Jenny McWha

  Proofreader: Catharine Chen

  Cover Designer: Laura Boyle

  Interior Designer: Jennifer Gallinger

  E-Book Designer: Carmen Giraudy

  Publicist: Michelle Melski

  DUNDURN

  Publisher: J. Kirk Howard

  Vice-President: Carl A. Brand

  Editorial Director: Kathryn Lane

  Artistic Director: Laura Boyle

  Production Manager: Rudi Garcia

  Director of Sales and Marketing: Synora Van Drine

  Publicity Manager: Michelle Melski

  Manager, Accounting and Technical Services: Livio Copetti

  Editorial: Allison Hirst, Dominic Farrell, Jenny McWha, Rachel Spence,

  Elena Radic, Melissa Kawaguchi

  Marketing and Publicity: Kendra Martin, Kathryn Bassett, Elham Ali,

  Tabassum Siddiqui, Heather McLeod

  Design and Production: Sophie Paas-Lang