Chapter 6
“Sorry it took so long to get back to ya, kid,” Johnny says from the other side of the phone. “It’s been a little busy around here.”
“I left you a few messages.”
“I know. Look, your father told me you’d be calling. It’s just a goddamn circus these days. I gotta watch who I’m talking to and who I’m around. Now, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. My dad said you had something for me. Where do I need to go to pick it up and when?”
“Right. I have it over at Kat. You gonna be okay to be seen over here, Father?” he asks with a slimy laugh.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell him. I haven’t seen Johnny in a long time, but he seems exactly the same. “When?”
“I’ll be there around ten o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Have you heard from my dad?”
“No. He’s under the radar, kid. You know. I’m sure he’ll pop up like he always does. We can talk later.”
“Okay.”
I look at my watch and see that it’s already nine-fifteen. The drive to Kitty Kat—the topless bar my dad works out of sometimes—will take about forty-five minutes.
After changing into a pair of black jeans and a white T-shirt, I slip on some white sneakers and head to my car.
It’s been a week since my father left and told me he had something for me. Johnny didn’t reply to any of my calls until now, so I’ve been sitting on pins and needles, wondering what the hell this package could be.
Yesterday, a man confessed to murder in my confessional booth, and today I’m walking into a nudie bar to talk with the underboss of a crime family.
I say a little prayer and make the sign of the cross as I drive. The sins of my father are not mine. The sins of that man are also not mine.
That’s not to say I don’t have my own, but I’m not taking on anyone else’s.
After I park, I pocket my keys and make my way over the thick cracks in the sidewalk that lead to the front door.
Inside, the bass of the music thrums through the room, and two women on a small stage in the back sway their hips in front of a handful of men who sit and watch.
“I.D.?” a voice to my right questions.
“I’m looking for Johnny,” I tell him as I reach into my back pocket.
“Oh yeah? Is he looking for you?”
I pull out my wallet and hand him the Pennsylvania license I didn’t relinquish when I got my Massachusetts one.
I told them I lost it, but I wanted to hold onto it as it’s the one with my real last name.
Not what I go by now. Not Gallini. When I came back home, I changed my name to allow distance between my father and I.
However, in a place like this, my last name holds power.
“Yeah, he told me to meet him here.”
He takes my license, but only continues to scrutinize my face. “And who are you?”
My brows furrow as I gesture to the card in his hand.
His small, dark eyes aim daggers at me before he gazes down at it. After just a second, those beady eyes flicker back up at me, a bit larger this time.
“I see. I’ll show you to the office.”
I take my ID back and follow him to a small hallway that houses the bathrooms on each side, and the office at the far end.
He gestures at the dark green door before turning around and walking away. I continue on and knock, waiting to be told to come in.
The door opens, and a man with a large belly and a scowl etched on his face stands there staring at me like I’ve made a mistake.
“I’m here to see Johnny.”
He runs a hand over his slicked back, black hair, looking me up and down before angling his head over his shoulder. “You expecting someone?”
Johnny’s head pops over. “Oh, yeah. Let him in. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, effectively dismissing the man who seems hesitant to let me in considering he hasn’t budged.
“Yeah, okay,” he finally says, opening the door a little wider and brushing past me.
“Come on in, kid,” Johnny says, making his way to a messy desk.
“People around here seem friendly.”
He snorts. “Don’t worry about them. Everyone is kinda on edge right now.”
He shuffles through some papers before finding a key, and then unlocks a drawer at the bottom of the desk.
I gaze around the room, noticing a lot of my father’s stuff on the walls—old pictures I remember seeing growing up, a wooden sign hoisted behind the desk with our last name carved into it.
“Why is everyone on edge?” I ask as he continues to unlock drawers, seeming a little frazzled himself.
“Oh, you know. Ah, here it is.”
“I actually don’t know. Does it have anything to do with my father being gone?”
Johnny wipes sweat off his forehead before huffing out a breath. “What do you know? Or care? You ain’t in this life, kid. Your father hardly talks about you, and I don’t say that to hurt your feelings, but it is what it is.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s going on, Johnny? Honestly. This isn’t new to me,” I say, gesturing around the room. “Just because I haven’t been to this particular business doesn’t mean I haven’t been in others. I grew up with him. I’m not naive.”
He watches me carefully. “Yeah, but you’re—” Johnny gestures around his neck, referring to my clerical collar, which I don’t even have on right now.
“It’s not like I’m a cop.”
He shrugs before falling into the leather chair.
“Someone wants to take your dad out,” he says simply.
“He’s only been the boss a few years, and he’s made some waves lately that some people aren’t too happy about.
” His shoulders rise and fall again. “We think we know who it is, but we’re moving carefully. ”
I slowly fold myself into the chair opposite his, the news of my dad having a target on his back taking me out at the knees.
“Well, what…I mean, is there something I can do?”
He barks out a laugh. “You? I guess you can pray.”
“I’m serious, Johnny.”
“Me too,” he says. “What else you gonna do, huh? You a hitman now? You got pull with some other family? I doubt it.”
“What if he’s already dead?” I ask. “How would you know?”
“We’d know. Don’t worry.”
I let out a deep breath. “All right, well, what did he leave for me?”
Johnny picks up the small box and holds it in my direction. I get up and take it, wanting to dig into it right now, but I restrain myself.
“Thanks.”
“If you need anything, kid, you got my number.”
I nod. “If you hear anything…”
“I’ll let you know.”
With the box in hand, I leave the office and head straight for the bar. I don’t drink often, but right now feels like the perfect time to at least have one.
The bartender—a man with a clean-cut face and thick eyebrows—comes to a stop in front of me. His black shirt is snug around his muscled arms, and I find my eyes lingering a little too long on his body before I snap out of it and meet his gaze.
“Uh, Gin martini, please.”
He doesn’t say anything, instead simply getting to work. The drink is in front of me in no time, so I hand him a twenty and tell him to keep the rest. After he takes the bill, he helps a customer a few seats down.
I slowly enjoy the drink, knowing I won’t get another one.
I busy myself with my phone as I eavesdrop on a conversation taking place next to me.
Apparently the man to my right doesn’t care if everyone knows he is currently mad at his girlfriend for wanting him to spend more time with her and that’s why he’s here.
He then goes on to talk about how hot the dancers are.
Relationships aren’t for everyone. Maybe it’s best to be a celibate priest. At least I won’t have to worry about my significant other going out to a bar and talking shit about me while checking out someone else.
When I take another sip of my drink, I lift my head and look around, noticing a man across from me. He’s holding a glass of amber colored liquid, swirling it around as his eyes focus on me. I glance away before letting my eyes wander back to him, only to find he’s still staring.
I wait to see if he’ll notice and look away, but he keeps watching me, his face stripped of any emotion.
My brows furrow as I continue the staring contest. He smirks like I amuse him and then downs the rest of his drink before putting the glass down.
After dropping a bill on the counter, he gets up and walks toward the bathroom.
This is why I typically avoid bars. There’s almost always a man who wants to act tough or feels like he has something to prove.
I’m not afraid of those guys. They’re usually all bark, no bite, but it’s best to avoid situations that can cause trouble.
And I’m just now remembering which bar I’m in.
Anyone in here could know the workings that go on behind the scenes, which means they’re connected in some way.
I get up from the stool, leaving my glass mostly full, and pocket my phone before grabbing the box I got from Johnny.
When I push open the door, I make my way around the corner to get to my car, but immediately spot a man at the edge of the building.
His back is to me as he lights a cigarette.
I think it’s the same guy who stared at me from across the bar. He must’ve exited through a back door.
While my feet falter at first, I keep moving.
I expect to hear him say something to me, but he doesn’t.
I force myself to not look over my shoulder, and instead get to my car.
When I drive past the building, he’s still outside, this time closer to the street with a phone pressed to his ear.
He watches me as I pass him and a cold chill runs over me.