THUGLIT Issue Nine

by Jen Conley

  So Connie at the door at this hour could not be good. I got to the door before he could ring again. I left the chain, opened the door only two inches.

  "What the fuck, Connie?"

  "Carlo, they got Sal. Sal's dead."

  I unchained the door and let him in. He was wearing the green and white leather Eagles jacket that he always wears. I saw blood spray on it. "Who, Connie? Who got Sal?"

  "I don't know, Carlo. They was waitin' for us at the Seven Keys. As soon as he stepped on the sidewalk all hell broke loose. They was in the alley across the way. All these shots. Boom boom boom everywhere. Next thing I know, Sal's down. They're gone down the alley." He paused, seeing it again in his head. His voice a whisper, "I never even got off a sho..." For the first time he noticed the blood on his shirt and jacket. "Oh, Jesus Christ…" He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face and hands. "Had to be Benny's guys though, Carlo. Nobody outside the crew knew we were gonna be collecting at that club tonight. No-body."

  We stood there dumbfounded. I pushed my left hand through my hair, the right still harboring the Beretta.

  "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" I kicked over our ottoman, then fell silent again.

  "Carlo. I gotta be honest with you. They're comin' for us, right? Obviously. So, I… I…well, I'm gettin' outta town. And so should you."

  I looked at my oldest friend. Even with only the dim light from our shitty table lamp, I could still see the scars. His torn up eyebrows, the half moon under his left eye, the broadened nose, the facial crevices of an aging warrior. A flood of memories of what we'd seen and done together made me look at my own hands, my money makers, battered and forever swollen with the onset of arthritis.

  I knew it pained Connie to say this. He'd never known anyplace but South Philly. The furthest he'd ever gone is Atlantic City. We'd been together for over thirty years. So why go? Why now, when we need each other more than ever? The answer, I knew, was in the whisper.

  I never even got off a shot...

  We both knew.

  Connie had been failing, and fast. 'Punch drunk' we called it growing up. We'd seen those guys around the neighborhood, made fun of them. They just couldn't process fast enough anymore. The world moved too quickly. And Connie, all his life, relied on his natural fighter's-quickness. In his day, the guy was a cobra. A natural athlete. His high school batting average has still never been bested. So losing Sal, right in front of him, well, it rattled him. He lost confidence, I could see it. He didn't want to be a liability to me. And me, with a family to protect...

  I couldn't believe it had come to that. So he was going to protect us as best he could. By leading them away. It's the only reason he'd ever leave my side, or me his.

  "Yeah. I guess you're right, Connie. We gotta go til this thing blows over. You got somewhere?"

  "Gotta cousin down the shore. You?"

  "A mountain house. Babe's family…"

  Knowing not to ask more, "A'ight then. See you onna flip side."

  We embraced, clapped each other on the back. In all our time together we had never been separated by more than a few blocks, and we knew then we may never see each other again.

  "Paisan."

  "Paisan."

  Connie turned quickly to the door. Even then, it wouldn't do for us to see the welling in each others' eyes. He poked his head out slowly, scannned up and down the street, and then he was gone. The screen door drifted closed behind him.

  I stood gazing at the door. I had just said goodbye to the only man in the world that I would trust my life to. It really pissed me off that Benny had managed to do that, separate the inseparables.

  I watched as the cigarette smoke swirled in the disturbed air, then disappeared.

  My contemplation broke as my thoughts snapped to my family upstairs. "Babe…" I went whispering up the narrow stairs. "Babe…" As I reached my daughter's room, I slowly opened the door. I was greeted by Babe, a snub-nose revolver shakily pointing at me. My daughter, Lisa, not in her bed. "Jesus Christ, Babe. Put that down. Where's Lisa?"

  At the sound of my voice, Lisa slid back the closet door. Babe lowered the gun. "What's goin' on?"

  "Girls, we gotta go. Lisa, honey, we're taking a little vacation. Pack a small bag as quick as you can. We're leaving tonight. Babe, come on. Let's pack, quick."

  "But Dad, the soccer tournament tomorrow..."

  "Carlo?"

  "Babe. Our room. Now." I turned and forced a smile for Lisa. "Sorry, kiddo."

  She's not a kid anymore. She's 16. She's old enough to put two and two together about what her old man does for a living.

  Babe and I went down the hall to our bedroom. I immediately dropped to the floor, looking under the bed for the empty duffle bag we stored there, and the Glock.

  "Carlo! You're scaring me. What the hell is goin' on?"

  "They got Sal tonight. Me and Connie, we gotta split. You and Lisa, you gotta come too."

  "Whatta ya mean 'they got' Sal? Who got what?"

  "For Christ's sake, Babe, Sal's dead. Benny's cleaning house. We have to leave, now! Get your shit together. We're leaving in five minutes."

  "What? Five minutes? I can't just leave. My mother, what about her? Who's gonna take care of her?"

  I spun and roughly grabbed Babe by the shoulders. "Honey, I swear to God, we can talk later. But right now, we do not have time to discuss this. We leave or we die. Do you understand that?"

  I'll never forget that look. She stiffened, her shoulders back, her demeanor icy. "No, no, no! This can't be happening."

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This ain't supposed to be the way it is. But Benny, he's crazy. He doesn't play by the old rules. Family is not off limits to him. And he's coming. I can feel it. Now let's get our shit together, get our little girl and get moving. We can worry about the rest later."

  "What do you mean family is not off limits to him? What's that mean, exactly?"

  Babe comes from an old mob family. She knows the rules, and she knows me, so there ain't no use trying to bullshit her. "He'll come after you and Lisa to get to me, plain and simple. And it won't be no tea party."

  The resolve setting in was visible. "That prick! I never liked him. Never! If he so much as looks at my baby, I'll blow his balls back to the stone age," she said, waving the snubby.

  That's my girl. For a second I almost felt sorry for Benny. It's best to stand back when Babe's Sicilian blood gets up. "You got a plan?" she asked.

  "The cabin, baby. I don't think anybody knows about that."

  "The cabin? Nobody's been there since Pop died. That's like five years. I don't even know if it's livable."

  "It'll be fine. Really. It's just for a little while. I'll bring the tool box, in case. Now you and Lisa get ready to go. Five minutes, you got it?"

  "Okay, okay..." She pocketed the snub-nose in her robe.

  The house sits 200 yards off the road in the middle of a monk's tonsure-like clearing, in an otherwise densely forested ten acre plot. On each side the ground has been cleared for twenty yards, ending at a crisp tree line. From the road, the dual rut driveway is barely discernible after five years of growth have done its best to reclaim it. A lone, cracked blue reflector, issued long ago by the local fire department, is nailed to a roadside tree, giving only the informed a hint to the existence of the entrance. I make a mental note to pry if off as soon as possible. The long driveway through old forest is slow to reveal the secret clearing beyond. The invisible drive is traceable now only as a seam through the trees, not at all as prepared groundwork. As the drive arrives at the clearing, the seam is gone and so is any clue of the path to the house. High grass and goldenrod, glistening yellow and green, rippling in the breeze, hide hazards between the woods and the house. I lurch the car to a halt.

  "I want to hide the car in the shed, okay? So I'm gonna go ahead and clear the way. You wait here. I'll guide you in when it's cleared."

  The first couple of days we spend taking stock and hunkering down. I inventory the h
unting rifles and ammo. Babe's father, Don Giovani, being in the life, had installed a pretty good security system, cameras and all. Five years later, we were both surprised with the ease with which the old system fired up. Small miracles.

  We can see 360 degrees around the outside of the house. I familiarize myself with how it works. Babe takes stock of the kitchen. After that, we're mostly quiet and waiting. An old jigsaw puzzle passes the time.

  Finally we decide to ride into town for supplies and a newspaper. When we get back, Babe gives a tour of the grounds, sharing childhood memories with Lisa. After some minor work on the rowboat, we even get in some fishing at the lake bordering the property. Babe tells us how her father taught her to shoot and hunt out here with her two brothers; a bittersweet moment, as Lisa has never met her uncles. They were lost in the family business—my business, before she was born. Babe stifles the tears as we walk on.

  For this moment at least, we are not runners. We are a family enjoying our time together. In their smiles and laughter, under the warmth of the sun, among the tall pines and the humming cicadas, I find myself both grateful for this gift and remorseful for what I have wrought on them.

  On the ride up, I collected the cell phones and kept them off and locked-up. With no television or internet in the cabin, we are all suffering e-withdrawal. The newspaper has gone to start the fires. The bookshelf has been plundered of all the James Patterson and Stephen King we can stand. Staring at the fire becomes the prominent activity.

  "Dad, when are we going home?"

  "I don't know. When it's safe."

  "When will it be safe?"

  "I don't know, sweetie. When I say it is."

  "Well, how are you going to know?"

  Nerves on razor edge, I nearly explode on her when I realize she has a good point. How will I know?

  "You're right, honey. Tomorrow I'll make some calls. I'll see what's going on. We'll go into town. You and your mother can shop."

  Babe, sitting next to me on the worn couch, pulls closer, squeezes my arm and gives me the first, albeit weak, smile I've seen in days.

  The fire crackles on.

  I drive an hour and a half before I feel I have a wide enough berth from our hideout to turn on the cell phone. I let Babe and Lisa out to stroll the shopping district of downtown Mansfield, then drive back to the Maple Lanes bowling alley. I pull around back. It's quiet, not visible from the street and I can see anyone coming. A good place to make calls. As soon as I turn on the phone, messages flood in, the phone pinging for each one. My first call, of course, to Connie.

  "Where the fuck you been?"

  "Where I said I'd be. You?"

  "Me too. You're cell's been off."

  "Shit yeah. Hasn't yours?"

  "Well I'm talking to you ain't I? So, no, it's ain't. Why?"

  "Jesus, Connie. They could be tracking it. That's why."

  "Holy shit! Ya think?"

  I think he may have been smirking. "Come on, Connie. Don't do anything stupid, alright? Let's be quick. You hear anything? Is it clear?"

  "They're pressuring everybody, Carlo. Friends, family, the fuckin' butcher, you name it. No let up. It's just a matter of time 'til they figure out where I'm at. But I think you're good."

  "Shit. You got someplace else to go?"

  "Yeah. I'll keep movin'."

  "Good. Me, I'm gonna stay put. I can't keep dragging Babe and Lisa around. It's pretty safe where I am. I can see 'em coming a mile away. I'm gonna get a burner, you do the same. I'll text you the number tomorrow then you ditch that phone. Got it?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Alright. We're gonna get through this, Carlo."

  "Shit yeah, man. Benny's a punk and a pussy. These guys he's got left, they don't know their ass from a hole in the ground. We've done better guys than them. Don't you forget it, Connie. Don't you ever fuckin' forget it."

  "Fuckin-A right, Carlo. Fuckin-A right. See you on the flip side, my man."

  "Yeah. Just keep moving and no phone. And that Eagles jacket. Ditch it.

  "But I love this jacket."

  "Yeah, everybody knows that. It's a poster that says 'Connie's right here.' See ya soon."

  My bravado has done nothing to convince even myself.

  At the house, I redouble my efforts to secure the property. I spend the day rigging some old-school surprises. Partly in the hopes of gaining even a slight advantage over the goons coming after us, but mostly just to convince myself I'm doing all I can to protect my family.

  On the third night since the call to Connie, the burn phone pings. A text message:

  Benny sends his regards. Connie cried like a bitch before he finally died. You'll watch your family suffer before they die. We're coming motherfucker.

  I stare at the message; read it again and again. My heart sinks. The tears begin to come. I clench my jaw and will them back. The knot in my throat threatens to suffocate me. That my dear friend Connie is dead, I am sure. The manner of his death I don't even want to contemplate. My mind races, along with my heart. A cold sheen of sweat breaks on my forehead and for a minute I think I'm going to puke. I close my eyes, take a couple of very deep breaths and the emotional crisis passes.

  RUN rings in my mind.

  I think about packing them all up and pulling a disappearing act. But there is no such thing, I know. Finding the runners is what I do. We'd always be running. Think! What do Benny's guys really know? Connie couldn't tell them anything. He didn't know where this place is. But they found Connie. Maybe they did find out where the house is. Or, maybe they're bluffing. What's the play, Carlo? What's the play?

  I reach for my wallet, and remove a card. It reads Special Agent Kent Worthington, FBI. Do I snitch? Can they protect my family? Is the game over?'

  "Those fuckers killed Connie."

  The girls' heads snap toward me.

  "What? Connie is dead? How do you know?"

  Only then do I realize that I have spoken out loud and that Babe is talking to me. "They sent a message; from his phone."

  "What? Do they know where we are? Carlo, we gotta leave!"

  "No Babe, they don't know. I mean, how could they, right? Connie didn't even know." I second guess if maybe I told Connie too much; about her family's place, being in the mountains. Fuck!

  The silence. The long, long moment. I can't even look at them as they're looking to me for reassurance, me sweating anew with uncertainty.

  "Fuck." I hop up out of my seat, "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" I throw a chair across the room. Lisa flinches and buries herself into her mother's arms. "Fuckin' Benny! I'm gonna kill you, you motherfucker! But I'm going to kill those sons of bitches that got Connie, first."

  Decision made.

  From then on, I can hardly sleep. I've stationed the hunting rifles around the house. In addition to my Berretta, I keep the Mossberg 500 shotgun with me at all times now. I'm convinced they'll come at night, so I only nap during the day, my rage fueling me. The third night after the text message, the driveway camera alarm sounds—and with it, the whoosh of adrenaline. I hustle to the computer. There, in the green-gray dark of the night vision mode, I can see a black SUV maneuvering through the woods. Fucking bastards, I see you, you cocksuckers. I run to the front, open the windows, then back to the monitor.

  "Babe!"

  She heard the alarm too and is already there. "Here." I hand her a sawed off double-barrel shotgun I've fashioned days prior, and a box of shells. When I tried to show her how to use it, she let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she had learned how long ago. "Take this and Lisa and get to the cellar." She knows the plan and turns to leave, stops, turns back and wraps her arms around me.

  She barely chokes out a whisper "I love you, Cah'lo."

  I return her embrace, "Love you too, Gracie..." her given name reserved for only the most intimate times. Off she goes to get Lisa to the cellar.

  I douse the fire and prepare a fixed position in the large fireplace. I arrange the computer so I can see it from there. I overturn the huge plank di
ning table in front of it, and push a couch in front of that.

  I take two boxes of shells for the Mossberg, three fifteen-round magazines for the Beretta, and position myself in front of the monitor.

  Outside, the moon is cloaked in a thin haze and the dense forest has swallowed the seam through the woods. The SUV has stopped. Four men leave it and head out on foot, each with a long-gun visible in the gloom of the monitor.

  The men move silently, hunched over to minimize their silhouettes. Spaced at least ten feet apart, staggered front to back another ten feet, approaching the house on a diagonal. No idea they are being watched.

  I remind myself to breathe. I watch the lead man intently as he exits the tree line and enters the clearing.

  I hear him through the open windows. "AAAHHH!" The lead man is down hard and lets loose a blood curdling howl.

  I allow myself a grin. The trip wire I set has worked. So, apparently, have the nail-boards I devised from roofing nails and wood slats I found in the shed.

  The second man in the string has immediately shouldered his gun, "What is it? What is it? You alright?"

  The first man, recovering, "Motherfucker! Son of a bitch set trip wires. Be careful. There's nail-boards down, too."

  "You hurt?"

  "Yeah I'm hurt. But now I'm really pissed. I'm gonna kill this fuck! Keep moving, but look out for other traps." I watch as he peels a board from his left thigh, but I'm sure it's the one stuck to his left bicep that really hurts.

  I move quickly to the front right room of the house where the men are approaching. The number two man is directly in my sights, but still fifteen yards out. I pull the trigger of the Mossberg and the night explodes. The man goes down. The other three men immediately fire on the flashpoint, but I've already moved on.