by AJ Summer
“Would you shut the fuck up, woman?” Danny Migelli screamed. I could see the little vein pop up between his eyebrows.
“Fuck you, Migelli,” she screamed back.
And out of nowhere this big Asian dude walks up and backhands her so hard she stumbles into the car.
Everybody who knows me knows that shit doesn’t fly around me.
Maybe I went insane for a minute. Forgetting why I needed to stay alive, I lunged at the guy, but before I could land my shot, Mike got to him first.
The next set of events happened in a blur. Two punches to my ribs. One in the face. I’ve been kissed by a freight train, that’s how much it hurts. I’m down. Gunshots. I freeze. Death was suddenly very real.
The rest kind of happened in slow motion. Mike grabs the girl. The other two guys fire off shots at Migelli’s men. I run for the truck. I don’t know who shot first, but I know if it was one of us, there’s hell to pay.
We lost the bag. We fucking lost Pete’s drugs. We’ve got a drugged out girl and a pissed off boss. And Danny Migelli is pissed and not taking any calls.
DAY FIVE
When my alarm clock goes off a couple of hours later, I don’t even bother getting up. What’s the use? I can’t move. My ribs are aching up a bitch.
Mom comes in a few minutes later. “Kyle, it’s time to get up,” she says softly. I pull the comforter over my head. I’m sure my face is bruised. I didn’t even see the guy who punched me last night. I hear her put the coffee down on the bedside table, but I can’t turn to reach it.
“I’m not feeling well, Mom. Besides, there’s nothing happening at school anyway.”
“Do you want me to get you something? Do you need to see a doctor?” Her voice is closer now, like she’s leaning over me but she’s not touching the bed. I’m sure if I move I’ll cry like a baby.
“No it’s okay; I just need to sleep a while longer.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll tell Mia to go along without you,” she says, patting my shoulder. Such a tiny move, so much pain.
I suck in a big breath, and my ribs protest loudly. I immediately curse my own stupidity.
I’m the stupidest person on earth. Pete isn’t going to let this slide. I don’t know how much we lost this morning, but judging by Pete’s reaction it was a lot. He tried phoning Danny Migelli twice last night. Each time it went to voicemail. Each time ended with Pete cursing and pointing his gun at Mike. The girl was passed out in the car. Oblivious to the chaos she’d caused.
Eventually, Pete sent us all home and told us to keep our phones on. That reminds me to check mine.
I check my phone for new messages but there aren’t any, so I close my eyes and sleep.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
I open my eyes and focus on the blurry screen of my phone. It’s almost midday. I slide my finger over the message. It’s from Pete.
“Warehouse, now.”
I send a text back telling him I’ll be there in a while. I’m not sure of my mobility yet; I don’t think anything is broken, but it’ll be slow moving for sure.
I sit up, trying to ignore the burning sensation snaking up my side. I know there are some painkillers in the bathroom cabinet; if I can just get to it before Mom sees me, I should be okay. I don’t know what I’ll tell her if she asks what happened.
The universe is smiling upon me because I don’t encounter anybody in our short hallway. And I’m saved another lie. Soon I’ll be drowning in the stuff. I swallow two painkillers and clean up as best I can in the shower.
Putting my sneakers on is torture. It feels like someone is pressing red hot pokers under my skin every time I try to bend down to tie them, so I decide to leave them untied. If Pete decides to kill me today, there’s no way I’ll even try to run away; tripping over untied shoe laces is the least of my worries. I’ll probably just roll over and die all on my own just to escape this run-over-by-a-train feeling.
There’s a black SUV waiting on the other side of the street from my house when I step outside. I can’t see anybody inside through the heavily tinted windows. Is Pete watching my house? Or the other guys? When I pass Jenna’s house, I notice her bug isn’t in the driveway. Of course it wouldn’t be dumbass. Normal kids who don’t get shot at are still at school, where you should be. I’m good at mentally beating myself down, and normally it keeps me straight. But somehow the less honorable side of me has the rest of me convinced that playing around in both love and dealing drugs are good things.
Malachi doesn’t greet me as friendly as he did last night. His whole face is a dark cloud of tension. He barely makes eye contact with me when I walk past him to the back room. Mike and the gang are already sitting at the table. Pete has his back to me, staring out the small window.
“Kyle, get your ass over here,” Pete calls from the window.
I look at the three guys sitting at the table, but their faces give nothing away. No clue as to why I’m here. Stoic, statue, perfect disinterest.
I walk over to Pete and see what he is looking at. Through the small window I see what looks like a factory floor. There are people everywhere, boxing up stuff. I can’t really see what is being packaged because the parcels are already wrapped in black bags before they are placed in the cardboard boxes. But I still try, squinting my eyes in hope of developing x-ray vision.
“What am I looking at?” I ask Pete.
“My livelihood. My job. Do you know what my job is?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s getting these,” he points to the general floor swarming with people and stacked to the ceiling with boxes, “to the people who want them. To the people who paid for them.”
Pete turns around, his face pale and taunt. He has dark circles under his eyes, like he didn’t sleep last night. He also looks scared shitless.
“The people I work for are unhappy. You assholes lost a lot of money last night. Danny Migelli doesn’t have the bag. Nobody has my fucking bag!” Pete shouts and slams his hand down on the table. The other three guys snap their heads up and eye him cautiously.
“You four fuck nuts,” Pete says sweeping his hand over us, “are going to meet with Danny fucking Migelli tonight and apologize for this shit storm. He doesn’t want the whore back, but he is pissed, and you are gonna fix it. You are going to kiss his ass until it shines brighter than the full moon. And then…” Pete pauses, a thin smile spreads over his face, and I don’t like it. He knows something we don’t. And that isn’t good for us. “You are going to go find that bag and bring it back to me,” he finishes with finality.
“This is bullshit. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I don’t need this shit,” I spit at him.
“Yeah, but you were. And none of you assholes thought of grabbing the bag. You saved your own asses instead, and now, now you owe me,” Pete says the last part slowly, jabbing his finger into my chest on the last four words.
Fuck him and this drug bullshit. There’s no way this is going to help me. Instead I’ll just end up putting Mom and Mia in more danger. Or get killed.
“Did you put the black car outside my house? Don’t you trust me?” I ask Pete.
“What? What black car? No. Is someone watching you?” he asks, just as confused as I am.
“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve seen it.”
“Fuck! Go! All of you, just fuck off! When you get my text, get your asses over here for the location of the meet.” is all he says before he stalks out the room.
I look at Mike. He won’t meet my eyes. He knows it was his fault we lost the bag. It’s not right, but he should’ve just left the girl, gone back for her later or something.
“I hope she’s worth it,” I say to him.
Three pairs of eyes swing to mine and hold it menacingly. I told you these guys are a team. You don’t take out the leg of a tripod without the other two tumbling down on you. I hold up my hands.
“A man should never hit a woman, but I hope she’s worth all this shit. I just think you could’ve done something different.
” I don’t mention that I was right there ready to clock the guy myself. Instead I leave him with my accusation.
When I get out of the warehouse there’s a black SUV parked on the street again. It’s the same van, of that I’m sure. I send Pete a text to tell him, then stuff my phone into my pocket and walk home as fast as I can.
***
It’s a horrible feeling when you’re blindfolded and on your way to the unknown. Uncertainty and fear swirl around in my belly, threatening to escape up my throat and expose me for the coward I really am. When we met with Danny Migelli, he had a sneaky smile on his face. I didn’t trust his greasy, pimple-infested mug when I saw it last night, and now I know he can’t be trusted. Danny Migelli was never interested in our apology, he wants revenge. The sick, twisted, little man wants to humiliate us like we humiliated him last night. I don’t think anybody has ever stood up to him before. His ego got dented and now he wants payback. I can only hear the breathing of the other three guys next to me. Our hands were bound at gun point, and we were shoved into this musty panel van. I can say it’s a panel van because my ribs made acquaintance with one of the open panel doors before I was kicked inside. I don’t know if we are being transported to our death. Will my body be found in a shallow grave tomorrow? We don’t have any lakes or rivers near our town so cement shoes are out of the question.
The road gets bumpy, and the sound of tiny stones hitting the moving vehicle fills the space around us. I try to think of all the gravel roads I know of around our town but draw up a blank. Apparently my brain doesn’t realize it’s quick think or die time.
The van comes to a stop.
“One,” Mike starts to say, but a loud thud followed by a hiss of breath cuts him off.
“Shut up,” someone growls from slightly behind me.
Mike is smart; he is counting the stops, and I make a mental note to do so myself.
The van starts moving forward slowly, and I hear dogs barking somewhere in the distance. There’s none of the other city sounds hanging in the air, and I listen more carefully. We must be somewhere outside of town.
“Two,” I count in my head when the van stops a second time. The sound of the panel van door opening followed by a loud “Move” snaps my head up.
I’m pulled up by my arm, and my ribs protest painfully. I take a shallow breath and mentally count to ten. If I get out of this alive, I’m kicking this guy’s ass. Let’s see how he likes being dragged around. I’m pushed forward, and I stumble into something. I use the extra support from the obstacle to help straighten myself out because I can’t really do anything since I’m blindfolded and my hands are tied. If I run they would just shoot me.
So I decide to listen more carefully. Picking up any sounds that might lead me away should I get a chance to escape. The barking is getting louder, and there are two different barks. Two dogs. A fountain or running water on my right. Crunching gravel under my sneakers. Five stairs. A door. Ten steps and a left. Silence. And then light.
I blink in the brightly lit room. It looks like an office. A rich man’s office. A big mahogany desk fills the back of the room. A cabinet stocking amber liquid in a fancy container in the left corner. A bookshelf to the right. A leather couch behind me. Mike and the other two guys also to my left. Three of Danny Migelli’s men, heavily armed, to my right. The freight train Asian at the door. Danny Migelli to my front, leaning against the desk. I make quick notes and look for an alternative exit.
“So you boys think you can screw me over, do you? Which one of you took the bag?”
Nobody speaks. Danny Migelli moves toward us slowly. Maybe he is trying to be intimidating; maybe it would have worked if he wasn’t only a few years older than me. He doesn’t run this show. The way his eyes dart to the right side of the room, to the other entrance I was looking for, belies that fact. Thank you, Danny Migelli. Migelli is waiting for someone to walk through that door. His boss?
Migelli walks up to one of Mike’s friends and holds the gun against his head. My heart starts to beat wildly in my chest. The guy swallows hard, and his hands clench behind his back.
“What’s your name?” Migelli asks the guy.
“Ethan.”
“Ethan, did you take my bag?”
“No,” Ethan says, his voice steady, but he’s breathing hard through his nose.
“Did you see who took my bag?” Migelli asks slowly like he’s talking to a child. He twists the gun in small half circles against Ethan’s skull.
“No,” Ethan answers again, and this time he looks like he is about to cry.
“Then you are of no use to me,” Migelli says.
BAM.
My body jerks and my ears sting from the velocity of the shot. I blink my eyes rapidly, not sure if what I’m seeing is real.
Ethan’s body slumps forward, and he falls to the floor. Mike and the guy next to Ethan are splattered in blood. Mike looks at Ethan’s body, and his jaw clenches. If I don’t do something, I’m going to die. Migelli is going to make his way down this line until it’s my turn, and I will have the same answer as the dead guy before me. NO. Because I don’t know who took that fucking bag.
“What’s your name?” Migelli asks the guy next to Mike.
“Jonah.”
“Well, Jonah, did you take my bag?” Migelli asks, trying to look bored. But his eyes still dart to the right every couple of seconds.
Jonah’s eyes dart to the side, flicking Mike a quick glance.
Migelli sees it and back hands Jonah with the butt of the gun. The sound of splitting skin and crunching enamel turns my stomach. But Jonah doesn’t go down; instead he swings around and spits a mouthful of blood into Migelli’s face.
“Fucker!” Migelli screams, swiping at the blood with his black suit sleeve. The look of shock on his face almost has me laughing at him, but I bite my tongue and look down quickly to hide my smirking face.
The Asian guy walks up behind Jonah and presses the gun against the back of his head. Jonah freezes and works his jaw.
“Wait!” Mike barks out quick and sharp.
Silence fills the room. All eyes are on Mike except the Asian guy who is staring at the nose of his gun lodged against Jonah’s blond mohawk.
“Speak and make it quick,” Migelli says, wiping his face with the white handkerchief from his suit pocket. He still has a splatter of blood on his cheek, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“We don’t have the bag, and we don’t know who took it. But we’ll find it. Give us a chance to find it,” Mike pleads.
“Why?” Migelli asks.
“Because we don’t want to die,” Mike says on a dry laugh. “Twenty-four hours. If we don’t find it, then you can kill us.”
“No, twenty-four hours and we kill everyone you love. Starting with your whore, Ana. Seems only right that it starts with her. She is the reason the deal went wrong,” he says to Mike. Migelli turns toward Jonah, waving the gun at him. “Then, we start with your girlfriend. What’s her name? Ah Mary, the Sunday school teacher,” Migelli says pointing the gun at Jonah.
Jonah takes a step forward. He looks like he wants to say something but then presses his lips together and just stares at Danny Migelli. Jonah has a girlfriend with the name Mary, who is a Sunday school teacher—the irony isn’t lost on me.
“Thought so,” Migelli says. Then he walks over to me. He taps the nose of the gun against my chin, and I exhale heavily through my nose. I know what he is going to say. The very reason I started this shit is now in danger. My stomach sinks. The black SUV was Migelli’s men watching my house.
“You have a really pretty sister. My men would have a lot of fun with her once I’m done,” Migelli says while tapping the gun harder against my chin. I move my jaw from side to side and swallow hard. My blood rushes in my ears, drowning out any other sound except for my pulse pounding through my veins. You know the moment you make the decision that changes your life? But it’s not now. You don’t take on a bear when your hands are tied. You lay
down and you play dead until it loses interest. And then—when he doesn’t expect it—then, you strike.
The big boss never shows. No one else dies. What will happen to Ethan’s body I don’t know, but by the time the bag is pulled back over my head and I’ve walked the ten steps down the passage, five down the stairs, and hear the crunching under my boots, my breathing is almost back to normal. Mike and Jonah haven’t said another word. We have 24 hours to get the bag back, or our loved ones pay price, and I can’t think of any other hell worse than living without those you love. I don’t doubt Migelli and his men will break Mia before they kill her, so I have to find that bag. I just don’t know how.
We are dropped off at our own black van in the parking lot of the local supermarket, and I stand and watch the tail lights of the kidnappers’ panel van fade in the darkness. Then I speak and I make sure I’m heard. Mike’s eyes go big when my hands close around his throat.
“Where the fuck are we going to find the bag?” I growl in his face.