Broken: Boxed Set

by Wilde, Leah

  I took the long way home as I replayed our conversation. I wanted to suss out some wrinkle that would throw the whole thing in jeopardy, so we could start over from square one. This shit was patently ridiculous. I wasn’t James fucking Bond. Spying, sneaking, pretending, that was shit for the comic books, not for real life. And this was as real as it got. There were millions of dollars and hundreds of lives at stake. It would all be dependent on me to keep it safe. There had to be another way.

  I’d tried a dozen different arguments to sway Jawbone from his plan, but he wasn’t going to be convinced. “This is the only way,” he’d said. “And it’s the best way.” Throwing the full extent of our current resources into the war would end in a bloody stalemate with no guarantee of any degree of success. But once we had that money, our options would be limitless. We could buy out lower ranking family members, sway local businesses and smaller gangs to our banner, or even hire mercenaries to beef up our ranks before attacking the Capparellis head on. There were a million ways to play it once we got to that point. But it all hinged on executing the deal. That was the corner we had to turn.

  Well, fuck. If that was the way things had to be, then so be it. I was going behind enemy lines. I just hoped I would live long enough to have my revenge.

  # # #

  When I awoke the next morning, I was calm and steady. “You’re going to have to scrub everything,” Jawbone had warned me, “your whole life needs to disappear. They can’t know who you are or where you’ve been. The second they find out you’re affiliated with us, it’s over.” Prospects had come by the apartment to take away all my things. Jawbone had arranged with a few local cops we had on payroll to fake arrest me, so there was a plausible reason for my disappearance just in case the Capparellis happened to have eyes on my neighborhood. I buzzed my hair short and traded my leather cut with the Broken Bones patch for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that would blend in anywhere. I was disappearing, one piece of me at a time.

  I looked around my apartment. Except for the bare mattress I was sleeping on, it was empty. Dust had begun to colonize in the corners. The closets yawned, wide and bereft of anything but a few loose hangers. There was no trace that I’d ever lived here.

  I got up and strode to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Blue eyes gazed back at me from the mirror. I ran a hand through my air, marveling at how unfamiliar it felt to be cropped so short. I could have been anybody.

  I locked the door behind me as I left the apartment. Jawbone and Gordo were waiting out front in a small, unmarked sedan. I remembered that car; I’d boosted it a few years prior. We used it on random errands for the club from time to time when we wanted to go around without drawing too much attention.

  As I slid into the backseat, I saw Gordo’s beady eyes focus on me in the rearview mirror. He smiled that meaty, gawping grin of his. “Hey, Batman, ready to go undercover?”

  “Just drive,” I muttered.

  He shrugged and pulled out down the road.

  Jaw looked back at me from the passenger’s seat. “You feelin’ alright, Dom?” he asked.

  To be honest, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Every emotion seemed to be in competition with the next. This was the culmination of more than a decade of waiting for the right moment to do what I’d spent so many night dreaming about. I should have been happy, or excited, or at the very least a little bit energized.

  But there was no guarantee of success. This plan was dangerous as hell. It would require the best of me. I had to be on my feet, keep my awareness up, and manage to pass information back to Jaw and the rest of the club as often as I could. Plenty of chances to get caught.

  “Never better,” I grumbled. He nodded and shifted back forwards. We drove the next few miles without saying a word to each other. Gordo reached to flick on the radio, but Jaw gave him an icy glare and he stopped with his hand halfway to the knob. It wasn’t that kind of moment.

  I watched out the window as the city passed me by. This had been my home ever since I left the foster care facility. These streets were my streets. These bums were my bums. I felt like I was losing it all. If I left behind everything I knew, then what was left?

  I knew the answer. My anger.

  Just like that night in the basement of the clubhouse, that first agonizing night, I was relying on my anger to power me through this ordeal. I could run away at any time. That was the antidote in my hand. But I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. One thing mattered, and one thing only. Soaking the ground in Capparelli blood.

  “Stop here,” I said suddenly. Gordo ground to a halt.

  “What?” he said in surprise.

  Jawbone looked back at me with a curious eyebrow raised. “We’ve gotta meet up with our contact,” he said warningly.

  “It’ll be quick,” I told him. “I promise.”

  I stole out of the car before he had a chance to say another word. I crossed the street quickly, head down and hands stuffed in my pockets, then mounted the curb and hustled across a patch of grass. It was a freakishly cold morning, cold enough that an icy sheen lay across the green blades. My footsteps crunched as I slushed through.

  The traffic on the highway overhead morphed into a giant’s yawn when I stepped underneath the concrete arch. For anyone else, this rough-and-tumble patch of dirt, garbage, and upturned shopping carts nestled at the foot of the overpass might have been meaningless. But it meant something to me.

  I pushed aside the rotten, decaying sleeping bags hung up on the clothesline. There it was. A ramshackle wooden cross had been thrust into the earth above the gentle swell of a dirt mound. Slim’s final resting place.

  I opened my mouth to say something and immediately felt stupid. If this was a movie, maybe some sad music would have been playing as I gave a heartfelt speech. But it wasn’t anything like that. It was just a quiet moment with the cars rumbling past and the swish of the breeze filtering underneath while I stood in front of Slim’s grave and remembered where all of this had started. With him. Because of him. Because he saved me.

  Now, his killers would pay.

  “I’ll get ’em, shorty,” I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all I had. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ID. It was the last piece of me I had. Stooping over, I laid it on the ground next to the cross and kicked a bit of dirt on top of the plastic card. Then I turned and went back to the car.

  “Everything cool?” Jawbone asked as I got back into the vehicle.

  “Let’s go,” I said, ignoring his question. We drove.

  # # #

  The man in front of me was a ratty, shivering wretch. He looked emaciated, skin turned into a bony white from hours spent doing God knew what. Judging by the looks of him, he was an H junkie. The pallid tone of his face was probably earned the hard way, through days and weeks spent cooped up in a drug den with a needle in his arm.

  “Stefano,” said Jawbone coolly by way of introduction, “this is our guy. He goes by Dominic.”

  “Dominic,” Stefano repeated, licking his lips. He turned his pale eyes onto me. They wouldn’t stay in one place. His pupils, ultra-dilated, zoomed around and around in their sockets crazily. Maybe I was wrong about the H. Based on the wild motion, he could have been adding some speedballs to his drug diet. Either way, he was a mess. “Nice to meet you, Dominic,” he finished. “It will be a pleasure working with you.” The way he said the word pleasure was disgusting. It slithered from his tongue like earthworms, wriggling around in my ear. I hated this bastard already. Matter of fact, I hated the whole damn situation. But it was what had to happen.

  “You know the deal, right?” Jawbone asked. One of his eyebrows twitched upwards, waiting for confirmation.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Stefano said in a hurry. His head bobbed up and down rapidly. He licked his lips again. “Very simple. Dominic is our new friend.” He grinned evilly. His teeth were like a yellowed and crooked row of tombstones. I shuddered.

  Of all people to help me weasel my way into the
Capparelli organization, we had to go with this guy. I didn’t trust the bastard as far as I could throw him. Less, actually. He weighed at most a hundred pounds dripping wet, so I could probably chuck him a good distance. That might even be a better plan than the one at hand, which involved more trusting than throwing. What a shame.

  But we had to use Stefano, because we had leverage over him. The dumb fuck had been caught stealing from a minor warehouse we used to offload whatever low-risk cargo we had to stash for a while when the police started snooping too closely.

  A few of our guys had stumbled on him with a trunk full of Broken Bones contraband, and the motherfucker had started squealing immediately. He’d offered to turn over every piece of Capparelli information he knew. He had drug shipment routes, upcoming contracts, and a whole mess of other shit he was willing to reveal in exchange for his sniveling excuse of a life.

  Jawbone had had a better idea, though. We’d let him keep his hide intact, but in return, he had to get me in. Well, who better to kick start a betrayal than a betrayer, right? At least, that was how Jaw had sold it to me. I didn’t like it, but once again, he had me in a corner. I couldn’t see a better route. So Stefano it was.

  The mechanics of introducing me to the family were relatively simple. I would be a new recruit, a distant cousin from out of town. We had a general idea of how their recruiting apparatus worked. Grill a new guy a little bit, give him some minor jobs to test his mettle, and if he passed muster, things generally went smoothly from there.

  It wouldn’t be hard for me to pose as someone else. I was an outcast to begin with. I had no past.

  “You know what’ll happen if you fuck this up, right, friend?” said Gordo from where he stood behind me. He was cleaning his gun. It was an unnecessary display of force; this ratty son of a bitch was already full of gratitude for our mercy. But Gordo couldn’t help himself. That kind of shit was just in his nature.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Stefano shot back nervously. “It will be nothin’ but smooth sailing. Dominic won’t lose a hair on his head.” He smiled again. I wished he wouldn’t.

  “That’s what I like to hear. I’d hate to have to break you.”

  “Anyway,” I interrupted just as Stefano somehow managed to turn a shade paler. “What now?”

  Stefano leaped at the chance to change the subject. “Ah, yes, now I take you to meet the boss.”

  “Antonio?” I said. I would have been stunned to get inside access that quickly.

  “No, no,” he replied. He shook his head back and forth like a wet dog. “The boss of my unit. A capo, he is called. His name is Emilio.” Another lick of the lips.

  “Emilio,” I mused, rolling the name between my lips. This was the man I needed to impress.

  “Stefano, give us a second, would you?” Jawbone asked. Stefano spun immediately and walked out of the alley. I heard the spark and catch of a cigarette as he leaned up against the wall facing the street.

  Jawbone turned to me once Stefano was gone. “You ready?” he said, eyeing me up and down.

  I didn’t blink or fidget. “Yes.”

  “I hope you wrote up a will,” Gordo shot in. “Make sure all your loved ones are gonna get your precious stuff.”

  “Fuck off, Gordo. You’re not helping,” Jawbone barked.

  He raised his hands in self-defense. “I’m just sayin’, this is dangerous shit. You’re goin’ behind enemy lines. Who knows what could happen? I wish the best for you, of course,” he went on, “but I’m a realist.” He placed a hand on his chest like a professor lecturing. “A man must face reality, no?”

  “Gordo, shut the fuck up,” I said evenly. He shrugged and went back to piecing his gun together again. He thought he was a funny motherfucker sometimes. I’d never been a big fan of gallows humor.

  But I had to admit, he wasn’t wrong. There was a damn good chance that I wasn’t coming back from this. One slip-up, one mistake, and I’d have my head staked on a pole in Antonio Capparelli’s front yard. The underworld I operated in didn’t take kindly to traitors.

  I’d be damned if that happened, though. This business would end in one way and one way only—with everything the Capparellis had ever touched being burnt to the ground.

  “Time to go,” Stefano called from the front of the alley.

  “One sec,” Jawbone said. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. “Good luck, brother,” he told me. I could feel him putting all the certainty and strength he could into his voice. I didn’t need to be convinced. I knew what was happening. I knew what we wanted. And I knew what the outcome would be.

  I was going to get revenge, or die trying. There was no such thing as an in-between.

  Jawbone nodded once more, then he and Gordo turned and left the alley at the other end. I took a deep breath. One last moment of silence before plunging into the breach. I was leaving everything behind. The life I’d spent so many years putting together from nothing, it was just ash in the wind now. From this point forward, I was whoever I needed to be. The goal was all that mattered.

  I tightened my belt and walked out towards Stefano. Game time.

  “Let’s go,” I growled as I emerged from the alleyway.

  Stefano looked me up and down. “No weapons on you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I knew better than to come strapped into the Capparelli stronghold. All I had was my fists. That would have to be enough for the time being.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, and he started to lead the way down the street.

  I followed him for a few dozen blocks, weaving between pedestrians and street vendors. The sun had set an hour before, and the last of the light was vanishing from the sky. Neon signs flicked on, advertising bars and restaurants, while the people of the city flooded its streets in search of whatever it was they were looking for.

  Slowly, we left the heart of the downtown area and moved further and further into a slummier part of town. Out here, there weren’t quite as many signs, not quite as many people. The burble of happy crowds gave way to groaning homeless types and the rusty cranking of beat-up cars as they trundled by. I’d never spent much time out this way. It wasn’t exactly an area that was known for being friendly to Broken Bones like me. Even the bums in this district were liable to be working for the Capparellis as lookouts. I kept my head down and followed Stefano.

  He came to a halt in front of a boarded-up restaurant. The dust and graffiti on the wooden slats covering the windows suggested it had been closed for a long time. There was no front door. Cobwebbed shadows beckoned from within.

  “Here?” I asked. Stefano shot inside without answering. I sighed and moved in behind him.

  The interior was brutally dark and had a nasty, musty smell that attacked my nostrils as we walked deeper into the building. We moved towards the back and I began to hear raised voices.

  “Fuck,” I cursed as I stumbled over some broken furniture in the darkness.

  “Shh,” Stefano hissed back from up ahead. I couldn’t see him at all. I just followed the sound of his footsteps, moving as quickly as I could behind him. I heard the creak of a door opening and a dim light speared out into the building. I could see a stairway sloping down from the entrance. Stefano held it open and gestured for me to go down first.

  I didn’t like this situation. Basements meant no alternative exits. There was always the chance that this plan had been doomed from the start, that we were being set up. I half expected to walk down and find one man with a gun, ready to torture me until I gave up my brothers and then end my life once I had nothing more to offer.

  What I saw was almost worse.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and discovered the source of the raised voices. Twenty or thirty shirtless men stood in a circle around an open area. They were all sweating, howling, slapping their hands against their thighs or stomping their bare feet on the concrete floor as the sounds of meaty thumps echoed upwards from the center of the circle. A few men shifted, of
fering me a glimpse of what lay within.

  Two fighters were squared up across from each other in the open space at the heart of the cluster. They were shirtless and slicked in sweat. One man was massive, nearly seven feet tall, with legs like tree trunks and biceps riddled with anaconda-like veins bulging beneath the skin. Across from him was a much smaller man, not even six feet tall, who lacked the muscle tone and ferocious expression of his opponent. He looked downright terrified.

  Suddenly, the big man let loose a ravenous wail, smacked his fists against his chest, and charged forward. The little guy tried to move out of the way, but he had hardly budged an inch when the first punch collided with his jaw. I heard the sound of teeth breaking and saw the enamel fragments skitter against the concrete. Two more punches landed in quick succession, each uglier and more powerful than the last. The small man never had a chance.