Chapter 11
ELEVEN
DECLAN
A few cars are parked in front of the clearly rundown building. The black asphalt they’re parked on radiates an ungodly heat under the midday sun, causing visible heat waves to rise from the cracked surface. The dingy red neon sign on top of the building flashes rapidly, depicting the name of this fine dining restaurant. Who the fuck thought “Sloppy Joe’s” was a good name for a cafe?
“Our intel puts this guy inside. Dom surveilled the joint last night and notified me the moment this guy crawled out of whatever gutter he’s been staying in.” My brother’s voice fills the interior of his luxurious Audi, drawing my attention away from the shitty little diner we’re parked in front of.
“Name’s James, better known as Jimmy Rodriguez, ex-con pinned down for drug distribution back in the day, been out on the streets for the better part of nine years now. Had an uncle named Joe who left him this five-star eating establishment in his will. Despite appearing as a legitimate business owner, Jimmy still spends his weekends supplying local dealers with his product. Jimmy boy seems to have a refined taste for the ol’ booger sugar,” Rome says as he places a finger against one of his nostrils and sniffs loudly. Then he smiles that boyish grin I grew up with. His extravagant display nearly draws a chuckle from me, but I tighten my lips and remain silent.
His eyes, darkened and puffy from the slight bruising around his nose, narrow and his smile fades before he returns his attention to the manila file in his hands. No small amount of pride washes over me once more as I see the evidence of our earlier altercation this morning. Even now, seeing him wince with each deep breath he takes, and the bruises on his face getting darker, I feel the urge to smile.
“Seems he took to real estate investments a couple of years ago,” he murmurs and flips over one of the pages. “Or at least, had some properties listed in his name. One is a warehouse not too far from here where he cooks his product. It took my guys some time to connect the dots between Antonio and Jimmy, but they finally found the money trail linking the two. Antonio purchased the warehouse for our little entrepreneur in exchange for a safe place to hold up while he was in New Orleans. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t the warehouse. My guys already raided it after Jimmy showed up here this morning. Niente .” He shakes his head. “Well, besides a boatload of coke.”
“So, this is a bust then?” I growl, annoyed that he’s wasting my time with this shit. Then he smiles at me as though he was anticipating my question.
“This isn't the only place Sloppy Joe left him.” He nods toward the rundown cafe. “There are properties all over South Louisiana with this guy's name on the deeds. Meaning there are too many to search all of them. Wherever Antonio stayed, and Matteo is likely staying, has been kept buried deep. Our friend here is the only one who can tell us exactly where that is.”
He flips the file shut with a quick flick of his wrist and opens the glove compartment in front of me. After shoving the file inside, he quickly grabs a golden-colored Colt and pulls it out. It shines brightly under the midday sun, almost blinding me as I look at it. Though the black grip of the weapon looks beautifully crafted with the Morelli family crest, I can’t stop the humor rising within me as I study the ridiculously shiny gun. He starts to check the clip as I fail to hold back a snort.
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, astonishment filling my tone. “Should I start calling you Bond, James Bond ?” I taunt in a mock British accent. He looks me dead in the eyes as he pushes the clip back into place before opening his door.
“It’s okay to be jealous, not all of us have style, Fratellino .” He wiggles his dark brows before stepping out of the vehicle. I chuckle and follow suit, climbing out before standing and leaning against the roof of his car. There’s a small grin tugging on my lips as I watch him tuck the pistol in his side holster, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s carrying. When you’re a king in the criminal underworld, there’s no need to hide the threat you pose.
“You call that style? Whatever you say, 007 ,” I jeer, laughter filling my voice. I track him as he closes his door and steps around the car. Pushing my door closed, I mirror his movements.
“Yes, this ,” he gestures to himself before frowning my way. “Is style. Something you have clearly lost since leaving home.”
I refuse to let myself react to his mention of home. This lighter-hearted conversation is something I didn’t know I needed, and I don’t want it to be ruined by my dark thoughts. I grab the lapels of my vest and pull them back. Tilting my chin down, I glance at myself. I'm wearing a fitted black T-shirt, dark worn-down denim jeans, black steel-toed boots, and my Glock 19 tucked into the concealed holster just below my leather.
“I have style,” I frown back at him. He tosses his head back and laughs in my face.
“Okay, Wednesday Addams. If Death had a fucking wardrobe, he would model it after your clothing choices.” He smiles as we start to walk around to the back of the building.
I scrunch my nose. “Says the guy who has crows tattooed on the back of his hands,” I scoff.
Rome stops walking for a beat and I follow suit. He glances at the back of his hands before meeting my gaze. Violet eyes twin to my own shimmer with an emotion I can’t read.
“They’re not crows,” he murmurs. “They’re doves.”
“ Black doves?” I ask, almost dumbfounded.
He nods. “They symbolize freedom within the suffocating confinement of darkness.” He averts his eyes before turning and walking away from me. “I got them after Papà died,” he throws over his shoulder.
His admission triggers an ache spreading within my chest that I want to rub away, but refuse to. All the while, he never slows down as he strides away from me. I shake myself and rush to catch up with him. It might not make much sense to outsiders, but I understand him. Sometimes it’s hard to find your way out of the darkness if you don’t have something guiding you. And even if it’s the presence of death that helps you out, you hold onto it with both fucking hands.
Rome stops at the back door and waits for me. I step up to him and give him a silent nod, letting him know without words that I see him. I understand the meaning of his fleshy art. And without speaking I feel as though something has finally settled between us. He may still be my reminder of the past, but I sense our shared connection—the one we forged out of the darkest part of our lives. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that he’s a survivor of our childhood too.
Rome nods before clearing his throat. “Alright, why don’t you let me handle this one? You’ve been out of the game for too long. When was the last time you were on a shakedown?” he asks with a teasing gleam in his eyes.
I roll my eyes and shove him out of the way, letting him watch his Fratellino interrogate one little informant.
I twist the doorknob and push the door open like I own the joint. Stepping into the small back room that serves as a breakroom, I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of greasy fries and stale bread. Ignoring the grimy walls and floors, I search for Jimmy. Then I spot a half-open door that appears to lead to an office.
Without actually meeting the guy, I’ve already decided what type of lowlife he is. And because I know his type, I know I’ll find his lazy ass hiding inside the office even though it’s the lunch rush. Guys like him don’t care how they treat their staff. He probably only keeps this place as a front to launder all his coke-covered money anyway. So it stands to reason as to why the place is such a shithole.
I push open the door silently and am immediately delighted by the sight of the man I’m hunting for. Or at least, I am until I see what he’s watching on his computer. Jimmy is so engrossed in the monitor, depicting what appears to be a woman using the ladies restroom in this fucking cafe, that he doesn’t even realize he’s been caught sexually assaulting one of his waitresses.
I rip my gaze away from the monitor and focus on the pit stain sitting in the office chair. Then, I shove my booted foot into the side of his desk, kicking as hard as I can. The force I use sends his desk hurtling into the wall next to him with a deafening crash. He scrambles away before all the shit on top of it starts falling onto his lap.
I’m met with beady black eyes and a sweat-soaked forehead as Jimmy pulls his wide stare toward me. His greasy light-colored hair is on the longer side, swept away from his face in a haphazard topknot. His long nose points the way to his thin lips, framed by a patchy blond beard. Just by looking at this man, I can see his addiction painted on his homely face.
I smile like a feral beast as I hear my brother step up beside me. “Like I said, your style has all but vanished completely,” he says calmly. I ignore him as Jimmy starts to stand, stumbling over his words.
“Wh– Who the fuck are you?”
I take two big strides toward the sweaty little fella and grab onto his grease-stained red polo. I cock my head to the side as I bare my teeth at him in a mock smile.
“We heard you have some info we’re looking for,” I say in a calmer tone than I feel.
Jimmy demonstrates how easily he's going to break as he fumbles over his words. “Wh– Whatever you need, man. You need me to rat on someone? I– I’ve seen everyone’s dirty laundry. Who is it? Is it Georgie? I got the dirt if you got the bucket.” He swallows thickly, so easily willing to rat on his friend. I almost pity Georgie until I realize that he's likely no better than the shitstain in front of me.
But I know that as soon as I tell him who I actually need information on, he'll clam up tighter than a tick’s ass. Even rats know to keep their mouths shut when there are bigger predators at play.
“Matteo Pelosi, where is he?” I ask with precision in my tone, making sure he doesn't mistake my words for anything other than a threat. As expected, Jimmy loses all blood flow to his face, his eyes widening. He vigorously shakes his head in denial.
“Never heard of ‘em.” His words are garbled with panic. I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and shake my head.
“Oh, Jimmy, my man, I don’t like being lied to. So I’ll try one more time before you force me to do something that neither of us wants to happen.” I pull him as close to me as possible, letting him see the death that lingers behind my violet eyes. “Where are you hiding him?”
And just like that, our little rat throws away any chance he had of walking out of here unscathed. But to be fair, that likelihood was lost the moment I saw what was on his computer.
Jimmy’s face turns beet red as he blusters. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you need to get your goddamn hands off me. I know people, my man . Lots of people who can fuck you up,” he spits. I gnash my teeth as a droplet of spittle lands on my cheek.
“You mean people like the Morellis?” Rome says calmly from somewhere behind me. At the mention of our famous name, Jimmy stops struggling in my grasp and looks at Romeo. I’m not sure what he sees waiting there, but whatever it is, it intensifies his struggle.
Without another word, I let go of him before grabbing his shoulder and sending my clenched fist into his gut. He gasps for breath and doubles over before I grab the back of his shirt. Fuck it. If this is the route we’re taking, I might as well make an example out of this chump.
I pull him until he’s stumbling over himself to catch up. Dragging him behind me, I walk past my smirking brother and out of the office. Mere seconds tick by before I’m rounding the corner to the kitchen. The twenty-something-year-old short-order cook glances at me before his glazed eyes widen. I say nothing, but convey my threat with one look. One look that says, “Try anything and you’re next.” Without a fight, he holds his hands up and runs toward the front but not out of sight. From back here, I’m able to see the entire cafe through the serving window. Even now, I see the waitresses peering back at the commotion I’ve caused.
Ignoring them all, I drag my new plaything to the filthy prep station. Jimmy nearly falls to his knees as I jerk him roughly toward the high countertop. I pull him upright before slamming him face-first into the hard metal. His head bounces in a way that has me smothering a chuckle. He grunts before his body slumps slightly.
“Don’t you go passing out on me now, Jimmy boy.” I shake him.
“Careful, little brother. You’re going to render him useless before he can tell you anything,” Rome says from behind me. He’s eyeing the bubbling hot oil next to the grill with his nose curled up and nostrils flared.
I roll my eyes. “He’s fine,” I say as I shake Jimmy, who has started whimpering like a motherless puppy. “Aren’t you, Jimbo?” I pinch his cheek hard enough to make him flinch away from me.
“I swear, I don’t know where he is,” he cries, as I eye a dirty butcher knife still covered in the remains of old tomatoes.
“Oh, now see, you’re lying again,” I taunt him as I grab the discarded knife by the handle. “You said you’ve seen everyone's dirty laundry. How did he put it again, Rome?” I ask my brother as I turn the blade over, hoping to find it dull enough to hurt.
“I believe the words 'dirt' and 'bucket' were thrown around,” Rome says as he tilts the basket sitting inside the bubbling oil to the side, peering at the quickly burning fries within. His upper lip curls as he quirks a regal eyebrow at the crispy potato slices.
“You said that you had dirt if I had the bucket, Jimmy. Well, consider this your shovel,” I threaten as I show him the pointed tip of the butcher knife, holding it a breath away from his left eyeball. He cringes and tries to wiggle away, but I’m holding him too firmly. “Don’t make me ask again,” I growl.
Jimmy shakes his head and clamps his mouth shut—a bold move from someone facing certain dismemberment, a fact he’s about to learn very quickly.
“Oh, Jimbo,” I sigh as I pull the knife away from his face. I watch his features start to relax slightly, as though he thinks this is over. But I prove him wrong as I bring the knife back and slam it down just as hard.
Jimmy screams and sobs below me as blood flows out of the new hole in the middle of his face. With one quick move, I’ve managed to slice the tip of his nose completely off. I throw the bloody knife to the side, right next to the useless hunk of flesh that used to be my new play toy's sniffer. Looks like Jimmy will be forced to give up snorting the disco glitter for a while; he can thank me later for his forced sobriety.
Jerking him away from the table, he flails his arms, pulling condiments and half-prepped meals from the counter and sending them to the dirt-stained tile below. Blood and greasy food splatter all over the floor as I pull him over to the grill and slam his head against the prep board, mere inches away from the flaming grill. A stack of raw hamburger patties sits a breath away from his chin as he starts screaming bloody murder, drawing every eye in the building in our direction. I’m sure someone has already notified the authorities, but it doesn’t matter. Rome and I will be long gone before any cops show up.
I look up at my brother as I lean my elbow into the back of Jimmy's neck. Holding out my hand, I ask for my next instrument of torture without so much as a word. Rome smiles before gripping the handle of the fryer basket and pulling the burnt fries out of the scalding hot oil.
“He’ll fucking kill me!” Jimmy screams, fear oozing from every sweaty pore as he eyes the scorching wire basket. I snatch the basket from my brother and dump the fries onto the blood-drenched floor.
I lean down right over his face, barely recognizable past all his blood, and whisper. “And what makes you think I won’t beat him to it?” Standing upright, I press the scorching metal basket against the side of his face.
His screams of agony reverberate throughout the entire cafe, prompting a mass exodus of people toward the doors. I hold the basket tightly against his cheek, witnessing it melt his skin. Wrinkling my nose at the stench, I glance up to see the cook and a few waitresses gathered outside the serving window. Some appear fearful, while others have a glint in their eyes that suggests Jimmy deserves every second of this.
“Please! Please stop!” he screams as piss starts running down his legs and puddles around his feet. “I’ll tell you!” he sobs. I pull the basket away from his face, some melted flesh coming with it as it sticks to the basket. I have to hold back a gag as I look over the blistered, bleeding skin of his face. I don’t care how long you’ve been in this life, this part is always fucking disgusting.
“Sing for me, my little fried birdie,” I taunt.
“H–he might not even be there. It's probably a waste of your time,” he spits out in a rush, saliva flinging all over the hot grill in front of him, sizzling on contact. I push his head closer to the burners and shake him.
“I’ll decide what’s a waste of my fucking time, not you. Talk now or today’s new special will be grilled Jimmy,” I snarl.
“Okay!” He holds his arms up in surrender as best as he can. “He made me give him the location of Antonio’s hideout when he was in town. It's an old abandoned hotel on West Riverside. It was condemned two years ago, but Antonio thought it had potential. That’s all I fucking know, I swear,” he sobs.
I toss the basket to the ground and release the back of his neck. He crumples to the ground and scrambles away from me, cowering like the vermin he is. His hands shake uncontrollably as he touches his mutilated face.
“Well that was fun,” Romeo says as he starts to back away toward the exit.
I stand over the sniveling, bleeding, sack of shit blubbering on the soiled tile. Squatting down so I’m at eye level with him, I deliver my final warning. “Don’t make me come back here, Jimmy.” I maintain eye contact, ensuring he understands my threat for what it is, a life sentence. To emphasize my point, I squeeze what remains of his nose between my knuckles. Dark red blood spurts onto my palm as he howls in agony. When I let go, he nods vigorously, and I rise to my full height.
Glancing out the serving window, I pick up the discarded piece of nose on the bloody countertop. I stare at the waitresses looking at me like I’m the Grim Reaper before glancing down at the little hunk of flesh between my fingers and smiling. Tossing the bloody piece of cartilage into the fryer, I nod at the remaining staff.
“Have a wonderful day,” I say with a grin as I turn away from them. But I quickly turn back with one last thought. “Oh, and Jimmy boy here has some cameras set up in the ladies' restroom,” I reveal Jimmy’s dirty little secret. “I’d take those down if I were you,” I advise, and at their shocked intake of breath, I turn toward my brother still lingering in the doorway.
“How was that for style?” I ask as I walk past him, feeling like this is truly the first time I’ve seen the brother I’ve missed all these years. He chuckles behind me and follows me through the back door and out into the early afternoon.
“You’re right,” Rome says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. In the distance, I can hear police sirens, the sounds making me grin. We’ve rounded the building and are opening the doors of his car as he speaks again. “You have style. Although, I’ve never seen style quite like yours, Fratellino .”