Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Armando
I walk out of Rocco’s.
It feels foreign to be able to do so. To be able to simply walk outside and breathe in fresh air of my own free will. No prison guard standing nearby while I enjoy my scheduled yard time. No fencing and barbed wire. Nothing but pure freedom.
It’s a strange sensation. After so many years of confinement, the wide-open world has become like another planet.
It’s like I’m a stranger in a foreign land, with no idea of where to go or what to do now that I’m free.
Surrounded by bustling people, their conversations and laughter filling the air, it all seems almost out of body.
“Hey,” I hear Marco’s voice from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and see Marco and Leo following me out the door.
“I’m fine. Really,” I say, actually meaning what I said that I want to be alone.
“I know you’re going through shit,” Leo begins, “But Arturo is right. You’re going to rebuild your life. It will start feeling like normal soon.”
Marco places his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go get a drink or something.”
“Nah, I know you guys have work to do today. I’m not a charity case.” I take the time to look each of my cousins in the eyes. “I’m fine. I just need to go for a walk and get my shit in order. I appreciate it though.”
I can tell by the way they both side eye each other that they don’t want to leave me, but I’m right in the fact that they do need to get to work. La Famiglia is calling.
“Fine,” Marco finally says. “But later. Drinks on me.”
I nod and watch them both hop into Leo’s car without another word.
Grateful that they didn’t put up too much of a fight, I decide to get out of the line of fire of Rocco’s.
I don’t want another person to come out and feel pity for me and feel like they need to entertain me or something, so I begin to walk.
I know this neighborhood so well. Rocco’s and then the florist, Garden of Eden , next door used to be part of my usual routine.
A shave and then buy flowers for Grace. It was a comfortable routine.
And now that I just had my shave, I realize I have no reason to walk next door to the florist. Who would I buy flowers for now?
Shaking my head, I know I need to give up this fucking pity party.
I’m a free man. I should stop moping around.
But the shackles of my past still cling to my wrists and ankles, dragging on my limbs.
It’s hard for me to feel happy or optimistic about the future when I am constantly reminded of the darkness of my past.
There’s coldness inside, and I doubt it will be replaced with warmth.
And that’s when something living surges in me—something primitive and instinctual. If I were a caveman, I’d raise my fucking spear. Because the guy in a grey sweatshirt leaning against the building moves in my direction. His hand reaches into his pocket.
I reach behind me before I remember I don’t have a piece. It’s illegal for a felon to carry, and I’m trying to keep my nose clean.
I’m instantly reminded of when I was jumped back in prison. Able to fight only with what little prison resources I had. Survival at all costs but nothing to rely on other than wit and brawn.
It all happens in a matter of seconds. I bum-rush the asshole, grabbing his wrist before he can point the pistol. The force of my attack launches us both off the stoop and into the gutter. My shoulder rams into the place where his collarbones meet, sending an explosion of pain across my chest.
We’re tangled in a mess of limbs, struggling against each other as I try to get ahold of the weapon. He’s stronger than I am; his face is twisted in a snarl.
Prison has dulled some of my physical prowess. I’m no longer the sharp knife I once was. My reflexes are faster, but my body isn't fine-tuned.
The guy is clearly out for blood, but I’m ready to fight to the death because I know if he gets that pistol free, I’m a dead man.
The struggle intensifies, and I feel my strength waning.
He pries my grip from his wrist, and the gun creeps closer to his own hand.
I know I’m outmatched. I’m not strong enough—not fast enough.
I already feel the cold, hard steel of the gun against my skin.
But I don’t let go. I know that this is a fight for my life, and I won’t back down.
I twist his wrist, forcing him to drop the gun, and then I press my knee into his throat, so he can’t scream for help.
I see the fear in his eyes as he struggles to break free from my grip, realizing I now have the upper hand.
There’s a moment of stillness as we stare each other down, and I feel the tension between us.
It’s a fight for dominance, for power, for our very lives.
We are two predators in the wild, locked in a deadly battle.
The momentary pause on my behalf gives the man just enough time to free himself and attack me again with even more force, pushing us both against the doorway of the closest building, where we topple into the door of the florist. I use it, opening the door to trap his wrist and slamming it closed to dislodge the gun.
The weapon clatters to the floor inside the flower shop, and we both follow the movement. It’s a mad scramble as we thrust the door open and tumble through. I land on the gun first.
I have to squelch my desire to shoot him point blank in the head.
I’m not going back to prison. Besides, I need to know who he’s working for.
Because this is obviously a hit.
I empty the chamber of ammo and use the gun to smack him in the temple. He stumbles back but doesn’t black out. Instead, he tackles me to the floor, and the gun goes sliding again.