by Evelyn Glass
“I never should’ve gotten involved with the Family,” Nate says, dropping onto the couch. “It was a big, big mistake. I thought, I’ll earn some extra cash. But I was earning enough cash hacking bank accounts, so maybe I just thought it would be fun, tasting a little danger! But danger is the opposite of fun, lemme tell you. Danger is—”
“Nate, please. Time is a factor here.”
“I know what’s going on,” Nate says. “I’ve got my finger on the pulse, ma’am, firmly on it and I can feel it beating and I can taste the nastiness in the air and—and I know it all. I’m a know-it-all but not in a negative sense, no way. Okay, so you really want to know what’s going on?”
“Yes!” I feel like I’m talking to a master of riddles whose sole desire is to make it impossible for me to get a straight answer. I stay standing, leaning over him, back aching from where my belly’s getting heavier. But my heart is aching more than my back, so it doesn’t matter. “Please, just tell me everything quickly and clearly.”
“Okay!” Nate waves his hands like I’m a fly buzzing around his head. “Here’s the scoop then—and know I’m only telling you this because Chance is the only one of them I sort of like—here’s what’s going on. I learnt much of this later, when it was too late to change anything. But maybe…I don’t know, maybe I should’ve told Chance. Maybe I was—”
“Nate!” I scream so loud my throat makes a tearing noise. “Seriously, now.”
“Okay, okay. Right, so basically it’s like this: Giovanni is the puppeteer and all of you are his puppets, every single one of you. He’s been playing everyone the entire time like some grand orchestrator. The Big G was the one who suggested to your father that you might be offered to Julian in lieu of payment in the first place, the Big G was the one who told Julian that it’d be a good idea. Believe it or not, Julian didn’t want to marry you at first. He was against the idea. He was in love with some upstate high-class hooker, some sexy lady with sexy eyes and—alright, alright.” He lifts his hands when I feign as though to hit him. “The Big G orchestrated your ‘marriage’ and then went one step forward and suggested to Julian that he arrange for you to be kidnapped by some men that Giovanni hired, all the while knowing that his hired goons would abuse you and then kill you.”
“But why?” I ask. I feel like my head is spinning. “Why do all this?”
“Family reasons,” Nate says. “The Big G wanted an excuse to be done with Julian. They had some beef going back to the eighties and the Big G was certain that Julian was planning to try and take his place. It didn’t matter if Julian was going to. All that mattered was that the Big G thought he was going to. So this is what his original plan was: make it known that Julian was the one who gave you to those men, let the men kill you, and then offer Julian up to Michael as a sort of payment. This way the Big G kills two birds with one stone. He solidifies your father’s loyalty while getting rid of a rival.”
“But what about Chance? Why was Chance there that night?”
“They’re all scared of him,” Nate says simply, looking into my eyes with a strange expression. “I don’t know how much you know about Chance, but—”
“I know he’s dangerous. I’ve seen him work. And he told me about how he worked his way up in the club.”
“Then you know he makes them wary. He doesn’t drink with them, doesn’t hang with them. He just kills. He’s efficient, deadly. The Big G had to get rid of this police officer anyway. Usually, they’d dump him somewhere, hide him, but he decided that it would be better to get Chance investigated for it. Here’s the tricky thing. He didn’t want Chance to go down, or get killed. He only wanted to scare him, to remind him that he needed the Big G if he ever needed help with the law. He only decided to go against him when he saved you. That’s when the whole kidnapping angle came into play; the Big G was the one who informed the police.”
“So he’s been scheming this whole time. The man in charge has been playing his troops off against each other.”
“Yes,” Nate says. “That isn’t very Boss-like, is it?”
“No.” I make to leave, then an idea strikes me. “Nate, have you got a phone?” He nods. “Give me your number. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
I explain my idea to him quickly.
He nods. “Okay, okay. But just in case.”
“Thank you,” I call over my shoulder, as I pace from the apartment. “I have to get to the compound. Before they hurt him…” As I run down the stairs, I whisper under my breath, “Hurt the father of my child.”
A shiver crawls down my spine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chance
I’ve had the shit kicked outta me before, more times than I like to think about. Knuckle-dusters and barbed wire and blades and a couple’a bullets here and there. But that’s always been on the job, where I can hit back, where it’s me or the bastard who’s hittin’ me. This is the first time I’ve ever been trussed up like a goddamn Christmas turkey with some brave assholes hittin’ me when I can’t hit back. I’m tied to a chair in the back room of the compound, which is a bar called The Italian on a rundown corner of a rundown street. Everyone everywhere knows to avoid The Italian unless you got an invite. Everyone everywhere knows that The Italian ain’t a place you wanna be caught in. The backroom is full of boxes and bottles of whisky and illegal cigarettes and shit like that, Family shit, some of it spilling onto the floor. The only light is a dim electric bulb danglin’ from a wire. Which is good, ’cause it means I can’t see all the blood drippin’ from me onto the floor.
“Where is he?” Giovanni mutters, taking his pocket-watch from his breast pocket and glancing at it. He does all this with a flourish. Mr. Fuckin’ Gentleman.
There are around ten goons crammed in, two of ’em laying into me and the other eight just watchin’. There are one or two who look like they’re enjoying it, maybe Giovanni’s pets, but the rest just look uncomfortable, maybe even a bit scared. Perhaps they think the famous Chance is somehow gonna bust outta these zip-ties and take vengeance on ’em. Ten men, dressed in sharp suits, slicked-back hair, some of ’em with gold chains and watches, all of ’em made men most likely. Maybe this is a show the Boss is puttin’ on. I think: Look, fellas, we caught ourselves a Rainbow Chance. When I laugh, I flash bloody teeth.
The two men beatin’ me stop for a second. One is taller’n the other, with a steep nose and low eyebrows and a mouth which can’t decide if it wants to smirk or frown. The other is short’n fat with a big silver chain hangin’ down from his waistband. The silver-chain bastard stops ’cause he looks freaked out. The smirky-frowny bastard stops ’cause he looks like he’s pitying me. Might think I’ve gone mad.
Giovanni has been looking at his pocket-watch pretty much nonstop. When the sound of his goons’ fists hittin’ my face stop, he snaps, “What’s the problem?”
He marches forward, leaning down close to me, and growls into my face, “You stole that girl from a Capo, boy, stole his prize, and killed an undercover cop. What the fuck’s the matter with you? Do you think you can insult the Family like that and get away with it?” Giovanni turns to Frown Smirk. “Well, what’d’you think? Can he insult the Family like that and get away with it?”
Licking his lips, Frown Smirk says, “No, Boss. That ain’t right, is it?”
“Then carry on.”
They do as he says, laying into me, but they don’t hit me as hard as they were before. Their hits are half-hearted, show hits so that the Boss don’t get angry. It takes a certain amount of coldness to be able to do a man, over and over, when he’s tied to a chair. I’m sure these men have it, when it comes to their day-to-day jobs, ’cause at least then they’re beatin’ a man for some reason. At least then they’re doin’ it ’cause they’re trying to get information or trying to persuade him to do somethin’ the Boss’s way. Now it’s just like I’m a punching-bag made of flesh and they’re just takin’ their pound, over and over, tryin’ to make me nothin
’ but a mess of blood’n bone. And they can’t even say to each other when it’s all done, “At least he’ll work with us now,” or, “We showed him.” A few of the men’s hands twitch for their waistbands. They wanna put a bullet in my head and be done with it.
“Okay, okay.” Giovanni cuts his hand through the air, stoppin’ the men.
They step back, the goons formin’ a ring around me, and me just trying to figure out which part of me hurts the most. My face feels like it’s ballooned to twice its normal size, my cheeks all puffy, my lips all puffy, everythin’ all puffy. My hand is throbbing like a sonofabitch from where one of ’em slammed it with his fist, right into the wooden arm of the chair. One of my feet feels like hell, too, but pain is not really somethin’ that’s ever bothered me much. Pain is just somethin’ you have to account for when you wanna make a move. You need to know if your hand is workin’ if you wanna punch a guy, if you’re feet are workin’ if you wanna cave someone’s head in with a curb-stomp. Pain by itself is a fuckin’ joke.
“Why are you smiling?” Giovanni says, sounding annoyed. Good.
“Just thought of somethin’ funny, Boss, is all.”
“I don’t see how disrespecting the Family is funny.”
“It’s just funny ’cause we both know I had nothin’ to do with that undercover cop, and everyone here knows I didn’t kidnap Becky just by lookin’ at the news. Where’re the interviews with her, eh? Where’s the footage of her cryin’ about how awful I was to her—”
“Enough!” Giovanni growls. “I won’t listen to this.” He wheels on one of his men. “Go and find him. I want to get this done.”
The man nods. But I notice it again. A little uncertainty.
Giovanni grins at me, but it’s shaky, like a man unhinged. I’m tryin’ to figure this out, why he hates me so much, what’s got under his skin. I know they’re scared of me, even if they won’t admit it. But surely it’s more than that. And then an idea occurs to me. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous, considerin’ that this man must be almost sixty, but it’s the only thing that makes any kinda sense.
“Did you want her for yourself, Boss?” I ask. “Was that the last step of—of whatever this shit is? You were gonna take Becky for yourself. You were gonna marry her, rape her, what? Maybe that wasn’t your plan at first, right? But when she got outta that warehouse alive, it started playin’ on your mind, maybe?”
Giovanni flinches and I know I’m right.
“You saw her with Julian and you thought to yourself, yeah, that’s a piece of ass I wouldn’t mind havin’ all for myself. And then maybe you got it into your head to arrange a whole fuckin’ show around the thing and—”
Giovanni’s ring catches me just above the eye, openin’ up a line of blood which starts drippin’ down my face. That’s the worst of all, so bad when I try and blink away the blurriness I see nothin’ but a shield of red. He says: “Keep wagging that asshole tongue and I’ll blind your other eye. We won’t listen to your horseshit, Chance. You took that girl and raped her when she was promised to a Capo. You killed Julian and you killed an undercover cop. You’re a damn fool. And I know something else, too. I’ve got connections in the medical world. I know something about your little rape victim.”
He turns to the door. “Where is he!”
“Here, Boss.” Michael shuffles in, face all red, cheeks quivering, hands clawing at his jeans like a nervous kid who would much rather be anywhere but here. He don’t look at me, most likely ’cause he’s only an enforcer and he’s never dealt in real blood before, real murder. He looks at Giovanni or the ceiling. I ain’t been this close to the man since I was a kid, since he told me I was no good and turned me away. It’s strange to think he was once this giant in my mind. Now he’s just some old drunk man. But not a killer. I can see that right away. Not one of my breed. “What do you need?” he asks, voice shaking.
“What do I need?” Giovanni laughs. “I’ve brought you here to give you a couple of presents, Mikey. First, I wanna give you the man who took your daughter hostage and held onto her for damn near two months.” He waves a hand at me. I watch Mikey’s expression, remembering what Nate told me about him being the one who moved Julian into the warehouse. So he must know something’s goin’ on, some lies are being told. But even when he opens his mouth in shock, he closes it a second later. He’s surrounded by Family men, trapped. He ain’t got a choice. I reckon this is the shit goin’ through his head. “Secondly, I want to make you a Capo. After this man unfairly acted against a made man, I knew I’d need a replacement, and who better than you, Mikey? But you must understand that you can’t have one without the other. Kill Chance, and you’re a made man.”
Mikey nods, taking a deep breath, steelin’ himself up. I wonder if he’s got it in him. I don’t reckon he has. He ain’t a killer—
“If you’re unsure,” Giovanni says, “it might help you to know that this man, Chance fuckin’ Baylor, raped your daughter, taking her virginity, and something else, too.” He pauses, and leans in close to Mikey, but speaks loud enough so that we can all hear. “Hasn’t you daughter told you? Poor girl, she must be scared. She’s pregnant, Mikey, pregnant with this man’s rape-child. Look at him. Look closely at him. This is the man who raped your daughter and got her pregnant. This is the man who spoiled your daughter.”
He looks at me and I see a change in him. A second ago he wasn’t a killer. Now, he could be.
Giovanni reaches into his jacket pocket and hands Mikey a pistol. I reckon I’m the only one who sees the second pistol in there. Don’t know which gun makes me more nervous. “Do what needs to be done. End this bastard. He’s the fuckin’ threat. He’s been the fuckin’ threat all along. And don’t worry.” Now the prick looks at me with a sly smile that makes me wish I was the Hulk so I could break outta these ties and tear his goddamn head from his shoulders. “I’ll help take care of your daughter and her child. They’ll want for nothing.”
Mikey takes the gun. The man who once told me he didn’t like the look in my eyes gets the same look in his eyes now. A look of death. He walks across the room and points the gun at my head, laying the barrel against my skin.
“You got my daughter pregnant,” Mikey says, voice shakin’ crazier’n ever. “You raped my daughter and got her pregnant. You’re an animal and I’m gonna put you down.”
“Do it,” I say, voice steady, staring into his eyes without fear. “Just know that if you do, that fat, ugly, sweatin’, cowardly bastard is gonna take your daughter for himself and make you watch the whole damned thing. He’s fuckin’ insane, sick in the head. Everyone can fuckin’ see it. Half my vision’s blood-red and I can see clearer than that psycho. So do it, if you want your daughter at the prey of some old man, instead of protected by the man that saved her life.”
“Enough talk,” Giovanni says, standing at Mikey’s shoulder. “Just pull the trigger. It’s simple. It’s easy. Just pull the trigger and you’ll be a real member of the Family. Just pull the trigger and your life will never be the same again.”
“He’s right,” I say. “Your life’ll never be the same again. And neither will your daughter’s.”
Mikey takes a deep breath, finger stroking the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Becky
I’ve only ever been inside The Italian once, when I was a girl and Dad was forced to take me in to talk to one of his colleagues. I remembered it for a long time afterwards as a smoky, sickly-smelling place full of scary-looking men. When I walk through the door, I’m met with a smoky, sickly-looking place, but the scary men have been replaced with empty seats and voices from a room in the back. I pass photos on the walls as I walk toward the room, some of them in black and white, going back as far as the 1920s when the Family first started up. In the next room, I hear men talking. And Chance’s voice! “…your daughter’s.”
However careful I meant to be on my way here, once I hear Chance’s voice I can’t help but crash through the door, causing around ten or fifte
en men to swing around and look at me. Men are all around the room, standing in the shadows, ringed around like a crowd at a circular stage. The production is Dad, a gun in his hand, pointing it at Chance, who looks like a boxer after a tough fight, all swollen and bruised. I want to go to him, untie those zip-ties which are digging into his flesh, but Dad is still holding the gun to his head.
“Dad,” I say. “What are you doing? Lower the gun. Lower it, now!”
Dad tilts his head at me. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home.”
Giovanni makes as if to approach me, hands outstretched, almost like he means to put them on my shoulders. The idea makes my skin crawl. I shout at him, “Don’t you dare fucking touch me you evil old fuck!”
Everybody gasps, even Chance, though his is more of a bloody gargling than a gasp. Giovanni pauses in his tracks, staring at me as though noticing me as a presence in the room for the first time. I suppose when I first came in he just saw me as the vulnerable, scared girl. Hell, maybe when I came in that’s what I was. But I can’t afford to be like that now, not with Chance’s life at stake. Chance…I have to save him. I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I don’t.