Chapter Twelve #4
We’re on a highway when I come back to myself.
Headlights of following cars stream erratically through the outline of the trunk.
My head is banging uncomfortably against the carpeted tire well with each bump of the road, and I can feel the shaking of the frame underneath me.
I push myself into a different position and touch plastic filled with something soft and still warm.
For a moment I think of laying my head against it, until I touch a patch of sticky wetness and realize what I’m touching.
Garbage bags.
I gag in the dark and try to crawl as far away from them as I can. I press myself against the far back of the car until I can’t go any farther. The metal presses into my back and I can only support my neck awkwardly with my arm, but I stay like that for the whole ride.
When the car lurches to a stop, I am sore and light-headed. I hear the doors slam, gravel crunch, and then the trunk opens. Anton is standing over me. We’re in the driveway of my house.
“What did you have to go and do that for?” he shouts.
I shake my head. I don’t know why I changed the gun, or even how I did it. I look at my hand and see that it’s smeared with a dull, dark red.
My bare hand.
“This is supposed to be a secret. You are supposed to be a secret.” Then he notices my hands too. They must have left my gloves in the restaurant.
His jaw clenches.
“I’m sorry,” I say, climbing woozily to my feet. I am sorry.
“How do you feel?” Barron asks me.
“Seasick,” I tell him, but it isn’t the recent car ride that is making me want to puke. I know I’m shaking, and there’s nothing I can do to control it.
“I killed those men because of you,” Anton says.
“Their deaths are on your hands. All I want to do is bring back the old days when it meant something to be a worker.
When it was good, not a thing to be ashamed about.
When we owned all the politicians, all the cops.
We were like princes in this city back then, and we can be again.
“Dab hands, they used to call us,” he says. “Dab hands. Experts. Skilled. When I’m in charge, I’m going to bring back the old days and make this city tremble. That’s a good goal, a worthy goal.”
“And just how are you going to do that?” I ask. “You think the government is going to roll over because you’ve murdered your way to the top of a crime family? You think Zacharov could have the world by the balls, but he’s all ‘No, thanks’?”
Anton hits me square in the jaw. Pain explodes in my head and I stumble backward, barely keeping my balance.
“Hey,” Philip says, pushing Anton back. “He’s just a bigmouthed kid.”
I take two steps toward Anton, and Barron grabs my arm.
“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and pulls my sleeves down over my hands.
“Hold him,” Anton tells Barron. He looks at me. “I’m not done with you, kid.”
Barron’s grip on me tightens.
“What are you doing, Anton?” Philip asks, trying to sound reasonable. “We don’t have time for this. Plus, he’s going to wake up with those bruises. Think.”
Anton shakes his head. “Get out of my way, Philip. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I’m your boss.”
Philip looks back and forth between me and Anton, weighing Anton’s rage and my stupidity.
“Hey,” I say, struggling against Barron’s hold. I’m exhausted, and I don’t struggle hard, but that doesn’t stop my mouth. “What are you going to do? Murder me, too? Like those men? Like Lila. Come on, what did she really do? Did she get in your way? Insult you? Not grovel?”
Sometimes I am very stupid. I guess I deserve the punch that Barron holds me in place for. The one that catches me just under my cheekbone and makes my vision go white. I can feel the blow all the way to my teeth.
“Shut up!” Anton shouts.
My mouth floods with the taste of old pennies. My cheeks and tongue feel like they’re made of raw hamburger, and blood dribbles over my lips.
“Enough,” says Philip. “Enough already.”
“I decide when it’s enough,” Anton says.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I say, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “Lesson learned. You can not beat the crap out of me now. I didn’t mean it.”
I look up in time to see Philip light a cigarette and turn away, blowing smoke into the air. And to see Anton bring his fist down on my gut.
I try to twist out of the way, but I’m already too hurt to be fast, and there’s nowhere to go with Barron’s hands clamped on me.
Bright pain makes me sag forward, moaning.
I’m grateful when I feel him drop my arms so I can slide to the ground and curl my body around itself.
I don’t want to move. I want to lie very still until everything stops hurting.
“Kick him,” Anton says. His voice is shaking. “I want to know you’re loyal to me. Do it or this whole thing is called off.”
I force myself to sit up and try to push myself upright. The three of them are looking down at me like I’m something they found on the bottom of their shoes. The word “please” repeats in my mind. “Not in the face,” I say instead.
Barron’s foot knocks me to the ground. It only takes a few more kicks for me to lose consciousness.