2. Damiano
“Pronto.” Ready . I answer the call through my Range Rover’s speakers, knowing it’s Salvo.
He’s on the very short list of people whose calls I answer. Salvo, our boss Rob, and any of the girls from the Cat’s Meow, our strip club. No one else. If the rest of the world wants me, they can text. Even then, there’s almost no chance I’ll respond.
“The girls want to know when you’ll get here.” We meet up at the Cat most nights.
“Aww, do they miss me already?” I was at the Cat a few hours ago to pick up the bag I’m on my way to deliver.
“Apparently.” He sounds annoyed, which makes me smile.
“Tell me, which girls specifically?”
Salvo starts rattling off names, but I don’t care who he says. They’re all perfect—fit as fuck, friendly as fuck, and not a single one of them expects me to stick around and cuddle after. But if there’s a chance to push Salvo’s buttons, I’m in. And fucking with him about the Cat girls is the only thing that gets him riled up.
“What about Amber? She ask about me?” I rarely fuck around with Amber since she’s Salvo’s favorite, or with Rob’s favorite, Megan. The rest of them, though? They’re my favorite.
Salvo huffs. “So, when the fuck will you get here?”
Not soon enough.
“Well, some of us”—meaning me—“have to handle the dirty work so that the rest of us”—meaning him and Rob—“can sit around getting your dicks sucked.”
“Come on, man, you know I prefer to stand when getting my dick sucked. And anyway, like you even want us there with you.”
He’s right. I prefer to work alone. When Rob or Salvo joins me on a job, too much of my attention is on their six, making sure they don’t get in over their heads. They tell me again and again to fuck off and stop babysitting them, that they can hold their own. And they can. But it doesn’t change the fact that my primary focus will always be on their safety. So it’s a fuckton easier for me when they’re at the Cat getting their dicks sucked while I’m out cracking skulls.
“I’m meeting Joey’s guy in thirty minutes, then I’ll head to the Cat.” I check the rearview mirror to make sure no one’s following me. No reason anyone would be tonight, but it’s a habit. “We’ll be there in an hour fifteen, maybe less.” I cruise through a yellow light that was probably already red.
“ We ? Who’s with you?”
“Paulie will be in two minutes. I’m picking him up now.” I turn onto Lincoln and double-park next to a set of plastic lawn chairs claiming dibs on a shoveled-out parking space. I don’t bother to honk to let him know I’ve arrived. I’m here exactly when I said I’d be here, so he better get his ass into my car or I’ll leave without him in three minutes.
“Paulie? Why the fuck are you picking up Paulie? You don’t like that guy.”
I don’t like anyone. Except for Salvo and Rob. And the Cat girls, I like them a lot. “He wants to talk.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So since when do you give a fuck if someone wants to talk to you?”
“Since Rob told me to give him an hour of my time.”
“Huh.”
Salvo didn’t know about this? I didn’t think there was anything Rob or Salvo did without the other knowing.
“Any idea what he wants?”
“No clue.” I crack the window open for fresh air. There’s a faint smell of bleach in the car from a cleanup two days ago. I’m definitely trading this Rover out for a different one when I leave the Cat tonight. “And I don’t fucking care. Rob’s the boss. If he tells me to talk to someone, I’m talking to them.”
“Well, if Paulie needs advice about hurting people, he went to the right guy. But if he wants advice about the ladies, be sure to send him my way.”
“No one’s coming to me for dating advice. You either. What the fuck do you know about dating?”
“Dating? Jack shit. But wooing the ladies? I am the undisputed heavyweight champion of woo.”
I can’t disagree with that. There are probably two girls sitting on his lap as we speak, another rubbing his shoulders. Maybe another one making eyes at him from across the room as she grinds on some customer’s lap.
Salvo may be annoyed that some of the Cat girls asked about me, but we all know they fight over who gets to go home with him each night. Some of the girls actually worked out a rotation schedule a few weeks back to keep it fair. It’s posted on the wall in their dressing room right next to the main stage spotlight schedule.
“If Paulie asks me about wooing the ladies , I’ll be sure to send him your way.”
“Grazie. You expecting any trouble tonight?”
“No. Should be a quick exchange. Don’t think I’ll even get to shoot anyone.”
“Well, the night is still young, my man. Where’s it going down?”
“Same as two times ago. Horner Park.”
“I’m never fucking late, man, so hurry the fuck up.” I slam the car door closed.
Paulie is dragging his ass so slow that we’ll barely be five minutes early. Which means we’ll be ten minutes late. The fuck is his problem?
I stand outside my Rover and stare at him through the front windshield. I watch as he pats his pockets, looks around inside the car. Opens the door. Steps one leg out. Then the other. Finally pushes his door shut, but then actually stands there watching the soft-close feature engage. He puts another cigarette in his mouth, feels around for his lighter. “Yeah, man. I’m coming.”
No one, in the history of all eternity, has moved this fucking slow before. Ever.
This entire meetup would take all of two minutes if Paulie would just hurry the fuck up. I’ll hand the Bagliateri guy a duffel bag, he’ll hand me a duffel bag. Maybe we’ll shoot the shit for a few minutes, maybe we won’t—depends on who Joey sends—then I’ll be back at my favorite booth at my favorite place with any one of my favorite Cat girls.
Paulie’s taken only one step away from the car. Maybe he’s scared to meet up with Joey’s guy? He doesn’t usually get his hands dirty, so maybe he’s trying not to piss himself. I hope the fuck not. Pissing himself and then trying to get back into my Rover is going to be a big fucking problem for him.
“Get back in the car if you want, come with me if you want. I don’t give a shit. But if you’re coming, start hauling ass now .” I stomp away toward the field.
Every other month, I set the location for this exchange. I like this isolated, barely lit part of the park. No cameras, no cops, no witnesses. If Paulie’s coming with me, he’s got to approach at the same time I do. Last thing I need is for him to creep into the meeting late, spooking Joey’s guy into thinking there’s an ambush. So either he gets there when I get there, or I’ll zip-cuff him to the car door handle.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Let’s go.”
I probably should have him hang back. The whole ride here, he was squirrely as fuck. Asking where we were going, asking if we could stop for a smoke when I wouldn’t let him light up in my car, asking me to pull over so he could take a piss.
He’s jittery too. And as slow as he’s moving now, the guy was talking a mile a minute in weird-ass short bursts. I actually checked to see if his pupils were constricted because he sure as shit was acting like he’s jacked up.
But at least he’s moving now. It’s a ten-minute walk from the parking lot to where we’ll meet, two picnic tables and an old barbecue grill missing its grate, smack-dab in the middle of a field. Only a sharpshooter could take a reliable shot from the woods or from the parking lot on the far side of the field. If someone comes charging out of the trees, I have plenty of time to take them out.
Joey’s guy is already at the picnic area, having approached from the parking lot on the opposite side. At dusk like this, I can’t make out his face from this distance, and it’s entirely possible I don’t know him. But that doesn’t matter. He’s in the right spot, and there’s a familiar duffel bag on the table.
Paulie’s twenty feet behind me. I hate when anyone’s behind me. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“Gimme a fucking break, Dom. We’re right on time.”
Motherfucker.
“We are n—”
Wait.
His voice is too close. How is he right behind me now? I turn to look at him.
A blast scorches my shoulder. It throws me forward, like a searing hot battering ram struck my back.
I stumble toward the ground, knowing full well a second jolt of pain will shoot up my arm when I try to brace the fall with my right hand, but my left hand is already busy.
It’s moving on autopilot.
It’s pulling my Glock 41 from its holster before I even hit the ground.
It’s aiming in Paulie’s general direction as I roll onto my back, my right ear ringing from the familiar thunderclap.
A micro-adjustment now that Paulie’s in my sight. He’s wide-eyed. Surprised you missed the back of my skull motherfucker or surprised my gun’s aimed at your face? Shame on you, Paulie. Point a gun at me and you sure as fuck better make your shot.
He missed.
I won’t.
Here we go.
Bang .
His throat explodes, blood rains down everywhere.
Now both my ears ring. My .45 is a shit ton louder than the .22 that fell from Paulie’s hand as he collapsed.
What the fuck just happened?
I start to push myself up with my left arm.
Pop. Pop.
For fuck’s sake. Now Joey’s guy is firing at me.
Pop .
There’s no cover in this field. That’s part of the reason I picked it.
I one-arm crawl over to Paulie, pull his limp body over, and prop it against me like a barricade.
Was Joey’s guy working with Paulie and now he’s trying to finish what Paulie started, or is he firing at me because he thought we were firing at him?
I watch him for five seconds, evaluate what he’s doing. He’s crouching behind the picnic table, gun in one hand, phone in the other. He pops up and shoots in my direction. Paulie’s body jolts twice from getting hit. Paulie was useless alive, but dead, he’s a decent meat shield. Thanks, man.
If Joey’s guy is here to kill me, I’m a sitting duck. There’s no way for me to leave this field without being completely exposed. He’s fifty meters away. Back in Gruppo Operativo Incursori, Italy’s version of Navy SEALs, I trained to shoot at double this distance. I can take him out, no problem.
But if he’s not here to kill me, if he wasn’t working with Paulie, if he’s just defending himself, and I take him out? Then I’m starting a war between the Famiglie.
I need him to fuck off.
Bang. Reset. Bang.
One shot hits the table next to his head as a warning, the other’s a clean shot to his left thigh. Enough damage that he needs immediate medical attention, but I steered clear of his CFA, so he does some PT and shouldn’t even have a limp. Plus, Joey Bag’s enforcer, Massimo, will take one look at the shot and know exactly what I was doing—telling him to piss off and not trying to kill him. Hopefully that avoids a war.
I hold fire to see what he does.
Exactly as intended, he hobbles toward the parking lot. But then he turns back. Pop, pop. He’s firing in my direction, probably to give himself cover so I don’t shoot him again. Pop .
That last one grazes my side. Fuuuuuck . I was being nice by only shooting you a little, and this is how you thank me?
Second later, his SUV revs then skids in the gravel as it peels out of the parking lot on the far side of the field.
I close my eyes and take three box breaths to regroup.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
Hold for four.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
Hold for four.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
Okay. Stop the bleeding. Get the fuck out of here. Worry about what the fuck just happened later. Go.
I pull my left arm out of my suit jacket. No way I’m getting my right arm out, so I rip the sleeve off. I pull the belt out of my pants, then buckle it into a loop. It’s a bitch to do with only one fully functioning arm, but after a few tries, I have a field tourniquet in place, my bunched-up jacket applying pressure to my shoulder and the right sleeve wadded up against my left side, with my belt cinched diagonally across my chest, snugging both spots tight.
Now I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. That guy isn’t coming back, but he probably called for backup, or if Paulie was working with anyone else, whoever that is might show up to try to finish what he fucked up. Paulie didn’t know where we were heading when he got in my car, but he was fucking with his phone on the ride here, so he easily could have texted someone.
And Rob knew where we were meeting.
I take a few staggering steps toward my Rover.
The adrenaline is wearing off. My heart’s beating a thousand times a minute. My shoulder is burning. I’m panting, struggling to take deep breaths. My hands are cold, and I’m sweating all over. I need to get the fuck out of here in case I go into shock or pass out.
No fucking clue why Rob would have it out for me, but also no clue if it was just a shitty coincidence that he told me to bring Paulie along tonight. All our Rovers have trackers so Rob, Salvo, and I can know where any of our guys are. It’s too risky to go back to my car.
I turn and head across the field toward the far parking lot.