Blood and Fire

by McKenna, Shannon

  He was relieved when she unearthed the plastic bag with a shriek of delight. It was a heart-shaped locket, painted plastic, studded with big fake jewels. Then the energy in the room changed. The sound level dropped. Everyone took a simultaneous breath in their conversation. The fine hairs prickled up on the back of Bruno’s neck. Heat raced under his skin as he turned to look. God. He was blushing, for God’s sake.

  Lily was framed in the door, offering shy smiles and nods. She glanced at him. He couldn’t breathe. Her hair was damp, spiraling in lush corkscrewing waves. Her lips were soft, luscious. She had color.

  A shriek of chair legs scraping, and Davy McCloud wiped his mouth, shoved a last chunk of bagel into his mouth, and piled up his plate, glass, cup, and silverware. He vacated his place, gesturing with his chin for Lily to take his chair and sit next to Bruno.

  She smiled her thanks and slid into the chair, looking at everything except for him. Zia Rosa headed over with a cup of coffee and set it before her, having already administered sugar and cream for Lily according to her own personal and inflexible criteria.

  “You eat a big breakfast, honey,” she announced. “Watcha want, omelet, pancakes, French toast? Over easy, scrambled, ham, bacon?”

  Lily looked bewildered. “Ah, whatever’s around is fine. A piece of toast, if there is some. I can do it myself. Please don’t worry about it.”

  Zia snorted. “Girls these days! What are you gonna make babies out of if you don’t eat? What are they s’posed to be built out of, air?”

  Lily choked on her coffee.

  “Zia, you start in on her, and I’m wrapping duct tape around your head,” he warned her, but the damage was done.

  “You shut up, boy. I wasn’t talkin’ to you.” Zia barreled back to the stove to dish Lily up, a woman on a mission.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Should have warned you. She’s got this thing about grandkids. Huge pain in the ass.”

  Lily started to reply, but Zia Rosa came marching back, bearing a platter of food that made their eyes widen in awe. A huge omelet was splayed over the plate, stuffed with cheese, vegetables, and sliced ham. A mountainous heap of fried potatoes teetered over it. Three pieces of toast. She laid it down, crossed her arms over her bosom, dark eyes narrowed. Daring them to defy her. “Mangia,” she said, her voice steely.

  Lily looked intimidated. “You’ll help, right?” she asked him.

  “Sure.” Looking at her at that close, intimate range, smelling her shampoo, it made his body stir. Gave a man an appetite.

  There was a commotion outside the kitchen, and voices outside, one of which made his heart jump. Kev. Bruno’s chair shot back. He leaped up as his adopted brother strode into the room.

  Kev’s dull green canvas raincoat billowed around his knees. His dirty blond hair had grown out past his shoulders, loose and tousled. He looked grim and as tired as a guy ought to look after flying from New Zealand, but even so, he looked better than Bruno had ever seen him.

  Months of traveling the world with Edie, his bride-to-be, had agreed with him. He was filled out, had color. He looked a lot more like Sean now, his biological identical twin, than he ever had before. Except for the scars that seamed half of his face from cheekbone to jaw.

  Edie was making the rounds of hugs, but Kev cut through the crowd. He made his way to Bruno, grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, and jerked Bruno up until their faces were inches apart. “What the fuck is going on?” His voice suddenly silenced all other conversation.

  “Uh . . . long story,” Bruno said.

  Thud. Kev shoved him against the wall, which made the various bruises on Bruno’s ribs hurt like hell. “I hear you met some femme fatale and started slaughtering people for her? Dead bodies on the streets? Posses of commandos coming to blow your ass up? Over some chick you just met?” The words hissed out like water from a fire hose.

  Bruno was taken aback. “Ah . . . ah, not exactly.”

  “Let go of him!” Lily chopped at his adopted brother’s huge, unyielding fist, which pressed painfully against Bruno’s Adam’s apple.

  Kev’s fierce stare swung to Lily, taking in her furious face and fiery eyes. “This is the femme fatale?”

  “Femme fatale, my ass!” she snapped. “Put him down, you jerk!”

  Kev let go. Bruno ducked out of arm’s reach, rubbing his larynx.

  But Kev didn’t attack again. “And then you don’t call,” he said, more quietly. “What in the fuck is that about? Why didn’t you call?”

  Bruno glanced around. Everyone was listening for his excuse.

  “Uh. Didn’t want to worry you,” he mumbled.

  A harsh sound came out of Kev. “And when you got my text? Did you figure I’d just let it go, stop being worried? Aw, shucks, he didn’t answer me, so I guess everything must be fine. Let’s just go back to the beach. Is that what you thought?”

  Bruno swallowed. “I wasn’t really thinking,” he admted, shamefaced. “I was, ah . . . I was—”

  “Too busy getting jerked around by your dick?” Kev suggested.

  Lily shot up a few inches taller. “You asshole!”

  “Kev!” A shocked female voice from behind made Kev jerk and glance over his shoulder. His lady, Edie, was staring at him, appalled.

  Kev looked sheepish. Edie, a tall and willowy brunette with shadowy gray eyes and long dark hair, gaped at Kev as if she didn’t recognize him. Everyone in the room stared. As if Kev had sprouted an extra head.

  Kev flung his hands out and glared back. “What? Can’t I get upset? Everybody else around here freaks out. Why not me?”

  Bruno rubbed his aching neck. “He’s not usually like this,” he explained to Lily under his breath. “He’s usually, you know, Mr. Zen. Supercalm. I’m the hyper one.”

  “So let me take a goddamn turn,” Kev snarled.

  Con spoke up from his perch at the end of the long bar. “Glad to see you still have it in you, bro.”

  Kev turned to his brother. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Connor took a meditative sip of his coffee. “A little emotion,” he said, finally. “It’s a good thing. Haven’t seen a whole lot of that out of you. Like Bruno says. You’re always . . . supercalm.”

  “And that’s a problem?” Kev demanded.

  “No way,” Sean piped up, his voice as flat as Connor’s. “No problem. Just a random observation.”

  Kev stared wildly from one brother to another. “What the fuck? What is this? What do you guys want from me?”

  “Niente. Non è niente.” Zia Rosa bustled into the middle of the room and barreled into Kev’s big body. She gave him a bear hug.

  He hugged her back, fiercely. “Ciao, Zia.”

  “You two are just tired, that’s all,” Zia Rosa said. “And hungry. Sit down.” She shooed them over to the far end of the long table, as far from Lily and Bruno as possible. “I got food, lotsa food. Ah, honey, lemme take a look at you.” She grabbed Edie’s chin, pinched her cheek. “You’re fatter,” she said approvingly. She stared into Edie’s eyes, clucking her tongue. “You got that look, honey. The eyes, with those dark shadows? Eh? You losin’ your breakfast?”

  Edie shook her head, smiling. “No, Zia. I was just on a series of airplanes for the last thirty-six hours,” she said. “My stomach’s fine.”

  “Hmmph. We’ll just see.” Zia Rosa bustled off to procure food, clearly eager to test that hypothesis personally.

  Bruno shepherded Lily back to her seat and sat her down, snagging a piece of toast to gnaw on, just to have something to do with his hands. Kev shot him a telling look from his end of the table. A look that said, I’m not through with you yet. Lily took a bite of her omelet, staring as Zia Rosa built two plates up to staggering proportions.

  “So, the baby thing,” she said. “It’s just her schtick.”

  “One-trick pony,” Bruno said. “Never fails.”

  She gave him a look that made his heart skip and hiccup. “She gets a spectacular reaction when sh
e teases you. Who could resist?”

  Bruno decided to shrug that off. “She’s hell on wheels.”

  Her hand seized his. “It’s just a Ranieri thing,” said. “That hell-on-wheels thing. Must be genetic.”

  They stared at each other. The energy between them felt like physical pressure. Lily tore her gaze away. “Your brother’s no joke, either,” she commented, her voice sharpening. “Wow, what a charmer.”

  “I swear to God, he’s never like that,” Bruno protested. “He must have taken up smoking crank. He’s always been so mellow.”

  “Would you fix my locket?” A small hand grabbed his sleeve and tugged, and he looked down into Rachel’s beseeching eyes. “It broke!”

  Bruno turned his attention to Rachel’s dilemma. It was simple to fit the two pieces of plastic back together and apply pressure until the joint hinge popped back into place. “Good as new.” He handed it to her.

  She draped the chain around her neck and turned, holding up the clasps. “Would you close it for me?” she asked, conscious of the honor she was doing him.

  Bruno fitted the clasp together and got a blinding smile for his trouble. Rachel was beautiful, yet he had a heavy feeling in his gut. Something about the necklace, her slender neck . . . he couldn’t put his finger on the feeling and wasn’t sure if he wanted to. It wasn’t good.

  An old memory, heaving up out of the deeps. The bulk of it still hanging below the surface, like one of those deadly icebergs that brought down the Titanic. Aw, fuck it. He’d have the bellyache anyway, might as well dredge up the memory that went with it. At least then he’d have a scrap of data, not just nausea. Sort of. Memory was so damn malleable and tricky. It couldn’t be trusted.

  He sank into himself and followed the feeling back to its source. The pendant, the clasp, Rachel’s neck. That day that Mamma gave him her necklace. There, that was it. That was the source of the ache.

  It was the same day she’d put him on that Greyhound bus bound for Portland. It had been late at night, and they’d been riding in a taxi all over town. He remembered watching the meter creep up. Wondering why she was burning money, like they had any to spare. Mamma kept looking behind them, like they were being followed, but they weren’t. No headlights on those wet streets. Just pools of streetlight.

  At the bus station, she’d bought a ticket and hustled him to the gate before he knew what she’d planned, before he could put up a proper fight. She gave him the lecture, said her piece, about how she was leaving Rudy, that she’d get away, she swore to God, but he had to be good, she had to know he was safe first. She still had things to do.

  What? he’d asked, blubbering so hard the snot ran down his face. What the fuck do you still have to do here? Why not just come?

  Watch that language, punk, she scolded, herding him toward the entrance of the bus. Then she unclasped her necklace, the antique pendant that she never took off. She put it around his neck. It was warm from her body heat. Keep this safe for me, she said and hugged him from behind until he thought his ribs would crack. The bus driver said something snotty about hurrying up. Mamma mouthed off to him, but without her usual spark. Then she shoved him up the steps—go, go, quick, quick! into the sweetish, stale stink of the bus. Row after row of strangers’ grotesque faces peering up, full of hostility, indifference.

  The bus took off, swaying and lurching. He’d looked out at her face, staring up from outside. Stark and pale, dark eyes huge, receding into the distance. The last time he’d seen her in lif.

  He’d worn the necklace from that minute on, like a talisman. When Mamma died, he’d become terrified to let it get cold. He’d gotten the notion somehow that as long as the gold pendant stayed warm, he could imagine that it was her warmth. The last of her warmth.

  Even though all the rest of it was in the hard ground.

  Then Rudy and his goons came to the diner that morning, eighteen long years ago. Rudy had recognized the necklace and ripped it off his neck.

  And that was that. Gone. That warmth had gone cold.

  “Did you see my locket?” Rachel was crowing to Val, lifting up her dark curls, twirling and preening for her father. He held out his arms and she climbed up onto his lap, getting her due of kisses.

  Like a drumroll on the edge of his consciousness. A crescendo of anxious urgency. Something he was supposed to do, see, understand, but what? It swelled, louder, until it filled him up. No room for his lungs to expand. Feelings pounding on the door of his higher brain functions from below. Demanding to be translated into conscious thought.

  He tried to relax, open up, fishing for it. Running over everything he’d seen, thought, remembered. Mamma. Rachel’s necklace. Mamma’s necklace, warm from her body. Rachel’s delicate neck, like the stem of some heavy-headed flower, so beautiful it could break your heart.

  Did you see my locket?

  He closed his eyes, trying again, following vaporous trails of emotion, of thought while the drumroll got louder, the knocking more desperate. The scent of his mother’s perfume, mixed with the tang of fear sweat. Her icy hands, fumbling in the dark, struggling with the clasp. Her hands had been trembling. She’d kissed the back of his neck.

  Go, go, quick, quick.

  “Zia,” he said. “Remember Mamma’s necklace?”

  Zia Rosa turned from a tray of cupcakes that she was frosting. “Yeah, sure. The one Rudy took. Your great-grandmother’s from the old country. A courting gift to your bisnonna from your bisnonno .”

  “That was a locket, right?” he asked. “One that opened?”

  She frowned. “ ’Course. Magda kept a picture of you in there. Same one I got in my wallet. A lock of your hair, too, remember?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know it could open at all,” he said. “It never opened for me. Maybe it was soldered shut.”

  Lily touched his wrist, a worried line creasing her brow. She’d caught his vibe. It made her uneasy. “What is it?” she asked.

  He seized her hand. “Tell me again, Lily. Exactly what your father said at the hospital when you saw him last.”

  Lily sighed. “Bruno, please. I’ve been over it a thousand times. He told me that you had to lock something, but he didn’t say what, and I have no idea what he—”

  “No.” He cut her off. “No, just repeat his actual words. Word for word. No paraphrasing. Verbatim. Please, Lily.”

  And the drumroll crescendo was suddenly audible to her, too.

  Her face paled. She swallowed, blinking as her eyes flickered to the side, narrowing in concentration. “He said . . . he has to lock it.”

  “He has the locket,” Bruno repeated softly.

  Her eyes went wide. She pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh, God, Bruno. Oh, od. Magda had a locket? And she gave it to you?”

  He nodded.

  “Well? Where is it?” she burst out. “Who has it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s gone,” he said.

  She looked around, frantically, as if the locket should be lying around in plain view. “What do you mean, gone? You mean lost? Stolen?”

  “Both, in a sense,” he said.

  Zia took over for him. “That filthy figlio di puttana Rudy, he took it,” she informed Lily. “That day they came to the diner and attacked Bruno. Three big guys, against one twelve-year-old boy who just lost his mamma. Teste di cazzo.”

  Lily turned to him, her eyes wide. “Good God. How did you—”

  “Kev,” Bruno said. “Kev beat the living shit out of all three of them. In about thirty seconds. Bam, pow, and it was over.”

  Lily glanced over at Kev. He gazed back, impassive. “What about Rudy, then?” she asked. “What happened to him?”

  Kev got up, snagged two unoccupied chairs from the other end of the table, and hauled them over to Bruno and Lily’s side. He took the frosting-smeared knife from Zia Rosa’s hands and placed it on the bar. He positioned the chair behind her. “Sit, Zia,” he said.

  The others were starting to gather around, too. Kev
pulled up the other chair, seated himself opposite them.

  “What happened then was that we loaded the thugs into the back of Tony’s old pickup and covered them with a tarp,” Kev said. “Then we hosed blood into the gutter while Tony drove away with them.”

  “And with the locket,” Lily repeated, as if desperately hoping to be contradicted.

  No such luck. “And the locket,” Bruno echoed. “Rudy put it in the pocket of his jeans. Tony didn’t know. Kev had no clue. I was in shock.”

  “Were they, um, alive?” Lily asked, delicately.

  “They were when we loaded them up,” Kev said. “More or less.”

  “Wishing they weren’t,” Bruno commented. “Rudy had a fork sticking out of his crotch.

  Every man in the room recoiled instinctively.

  “I doubt they lived out the day,” Kev said quietly. “Knowing Tony.”

  Zia snorted in disgust. “After attacking Bruno? Not a chance.”

  Bruno felt lightheaded. “Zia, do you have any idea where Tony took them? I knew better than to ask.”

  Zia Rosa shook her head. “You know how Tony was. If anyone got in trouble, he wanted to take the rap. Plus, I was a woman.” She rolled her eyes. “He figured, three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. He took those guys out into the woods somewhere, put ’em down like dogs, and put ’em in a hole. And we ain’t never gonna know where.”

  “He left around six A.M.,” Kev said. “He got back late in the evening. We don’t know which direction he went, or how far he drove.”

  Davy harrumphed. “That’s a lot of woods.”

  They all pondered gloomily how much woods.

  “He might have put them on his property,” Bruno said. “That way, he’d have been more or less sure not to be seen or stumbled over.”

  “True,” Kev said. “But that’s still a hundred and forty acres of rough ground lots of it steep mountain slope. A lot to dig up, without any assurance that they’re actually there.”

  Bruno sagged. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed. “One little clue, and bam, the door slams shut in my face. I wish I hadn’t even thought of the goddamn locket. It’s worse now than it was before.”