Mobster's Angel (Mobster Series) (11 page)

In a split second, I
’m off my feet and tossed onto the couch.  Even with a hangover and having retched his guts out, Vito is strong and fast.  I let out a girly squeal, surprised.

If there were three of me, I still wouldn’t equal one Vito.  I
’m trapped beneath him, flat on my back on the couch.  He smiles down at me, inches from my face.

“Show me those moves,” he orders
, playfully.

I’m s
tunned and immobile. “I don’t feel like it.”

He
scrunches up his face into a perplexed expression.

“You don’t
feel
like it?” he repeats, mocking me.

“No, I don’t.” I attempt to be
convincing.

He moves his hand.
I know what he is going to do.

“Don’t!” I tell him.

He doesn’t listen.  He trails his fingers over my belly and digs in, tickling me.

“No!  Don’t!” I say in a fit of laughter.  I
writhe and squirm, trying to get away.  He tickles me relentlessly.  I push at his shoulders, shove at his hands, and swish my back against the couch in trying to wiggle away.  He’s just way too strong, and I’m laughing way too hard.

A click from the front door halts us both.  I look at the door upside down and Ronnie comes through.  He stops, staring at us for a second.
  He blinks and closes the door.  Vito lets me up.

“Hey, how was class?”  I ask, adjusting my shirt that rode up during my struggle.

“Okay.”

“Did you get the homework for us?”

“Yeah.  I wrote it down for you.”  He pulls a ripped sheet of notebook paper from his composition book.  He hands it to me.  Ronnie is quiet for
Ronnie.  His face is stoic, and he’s not the bumbling funny guy he usually is.  “Uh, Kirk said to call him.”

Vito’s face turns from mirth to lethal in less than a second.  I read the homework assignment and my phone beeps.

It’s Antonio.

I’m picking you up. B there in 5

“Yeah, uh, I spoke to him a few minutes ago.  He’s coming to pick you up,” Ronnie tells me, looking at the text over my shoulder.

“Oh, okay,” I say
, surprised.

A bang on the door let’s us all know Tonio is here.  I get up off the couch to open it.  When I see his face, his wrath is clear.   He gives me a look that says it all.  He’s fuckin’ pissed.  He storms in, but changes his demeanor when he sees Erin.

She gets up and hugs him.

“You didn’t have to come here.  Ronnie or Vito could have taken me home,” she says sweetly.  It’s obvious that they have grown closer with the engagement and the wedding coming up.  Tonio loves her like she was his own sister, not Megan’s.

“I need to talk to Vito anyway.  It’s no problem.”

“Hey,” Ronnie says.

“Hey, Ron,” Tonio says back.

He turns back to Erin.  “Get your things and I’ll be back in a minute.  Vito,” he orders.

Tonio and I walk to my bedroom. 

“What the fuck?” he spits angrily.

“I didn’t bring her here, Ronnie did.  I was
barfing my fuckin’ brains out.”

“Because you got plastered!” he counters.
“I don’t want her here, especially not alone with you. You got me?” he orders.

“Got it,” I say with reluctance.

“You need to meet O’Neill at
the house
, tomorrow, 5pm.  Regular place.”

I know better than to ask why.  This is an unusual
request; I don’t deal with
the cleaner
.  I keep my mouth shut.

Back in the living room, Ronnie and Erin are watching T.V.  “You ready
?” Tonio asks her.

“Yeah,” the sweet
, angel-like girl says.  “Bye,” she adds, addressing Ronnie and me.  Then her eyes find mine and she says with sincerity, “I hope you feel better.”

Tonio closes the door with one last angry glance at me.

*****

“Ronnie,” Erin grumbles
. “There isn’t one punctuation mark in this entire essay. Have you heard of run-on sentences?”  She has a red pen in hand and is correcting Ronnie’s work.  The pen moves with speed and aggression as she finds every little error.  She’s so cute and determined.

“That’s why I’m here,
Kid.”

We
’re in the study group with the other high schoolers’ in the H.S.+ program.  I’m sitting next to Kirk.  He’s not too talkative or mobile today.  In fact, I think he is scared stiff.  He must have heard some shit about Ronnie and me… our background. 

“Kirk!” I say
louder than I should.  I move quickly, scaring him.  He jumps, almost right out of his seat.  I chuckle.  Erin shoots me a ‘don’t’ look.  I can’t help it.  It’s fun.

Two studious girls at another table turn their noses up at me in a chastising gesture.  I stare back and they turn away.  The entire group at our table is
gaping at me, except Ronnie and Erin, who are engrossed in Ronnie’s essay.

One of the girls, I don’t know anyone else name but Kirk’s, says for my benefit
,  “I thought this was a study group, not tutoring.”  Her friend nods in agreement furiously.

Erin was paying more attention than I
thought.  “Feel free to move to another table, Lisa.”

Oh, shit!  My girl looks mad. 
Wait! I’m fucked.  Did I just think, “my girlfriend?”

“No
, it’s fine!  I didn’t mean it in a bad way.  We could all use some review.”  Prissy Lisa is backpedaling.

Every
one is quiet after that and we all do our own thing.  I peer down at my essay.
What should you know about your enemies?
I thought that this was an interesting writing prompt for class. It seemed directed at me.

Enemies are typically disloyal and
selfish.  If your enemy is confident, connected, and competent, talk to people you trust to find out about your enemy and his network.  Never assume anything and get the facts. Call in a few favors. Keep informants close and well fed, and remember, bad information can get you into trouble.

Monit
or your enemies’ moves to really know them.  Observe movements, dig into their pasts, and find out their weaknesses.
 
Check out if they have a record, who they like, and what may be good leverage to hurt them if needed.  And watch your back.

K
nowing your enemy is a dangerous game.  Be patient and don’t let anything blow up in your face.  If they’re your enemy, you’re probably theirs.

I don’t give a shit about what people think. Since Erin came along, I only worry about what she thinks.  I’m not comfortable with her pulling apart my essay. I struggle to find the confidence that I generally always possess.  I feel exposed with Erin.  That’s not normal for me.

“Vito, do y
ou want me to check yours?” Erin asks.

“Nah.
I’m good.”  I lie.

*****

At the apartment, I shower, do some homework, and then it’s time to leave.  I get in my car and drive.  I know precisely where I’m going.  It’s a house way on the outskirts of Palmetto.  It’s Mafia owned and maintained.  When events or meetings happen that can’t take place at the restaurant, we go there. 

The house appears to be empty on the outside.  Inside,
the house is completely wired with security cameras, filled with hidden firearms, and ready for an apocalypse. There’s a huge conference table with leather chairs for all of the dons, bosses, underbosses, and head-enforcers.  In a back room is a commercial kitchen; next to it is a game room equipped with a pool table, a poker table, and some couches.  The warehouse is for larger meetings or for people that we don’t want to know about this location.

I know about it because Tonio’s father used to make us clean it like fuckin’ maids until we were fifteen.  He said it ha
d to do with responsibility, getting your hands dirty, and doing shit you just didn’t want to do. 

The O’Neill mini-van is already there when I arrive.  I park in the driveway and walk through the backyard. I hesitate at the back door, not sure what this is all about. 
Did I do something that’s going to get me whacked?

I walk inside slowly.  The house is completely silent.  I move with caution and pass through the kitchen.  The cellar door is open.  I stand at the top of the cellar stairs and gaze down below.  A light is on. 
Fuck it.
  I say to myself. 
If it’s my time, it’s my time.
  Running wouldn’t stop shit.

I tread down
stairs. The wooden steps creak as I go.  It sounds loud to me, but that could be because I’m on alert and don’t know what the fuck is going on.  O’Neill must be in the room on the right because I hear noises and movement.

I look in.  Patrick is hovering over a long metal table.  There’s a body on it.  It’s a
man with a suit on. Patrick senses me and glances up.  Our eyes meet and he continues his task.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
Okay.
  “Come in.” 

Patrick removes the jacket from the body.  It gets stuck on the corner of the table on the side I am standing on.  I help him remove it. 
He then unbuttons the white collared shirt and I help him remove that too.

He picks up a saw-like tool and holds it
up high.  “This is a bone saw.  It’s the same kind doctors use for amputations.  Any saw will do if you have to work at the scene.” 
Okay
. He lowers his face mask and begins sawing at the arm of the man on the table.  Drops of blood fly, hitting the mask as he slices through skin and muscle.  I take a step closer, watching.  Within a few minutes, the arm is removed. He walks around the table to the other arm.  I shift out of the way for him.

“She’s told me about you… how you helped and cared for her,” Patrick
tells me as he works.  “You saved her from getting burned too.”  The arm slips off the table before he’s done.  I reach out to hold it steady for him. It’s gory.  “She’ll be sixteen soon.  I don’t like all that stuff you bought for her last year.  It’s too much. She doesn’t need all that. Be smarter with your money.”

“Yeah, you told me
before.  I remember it clearly,” I say with sarcasm.

Patrick told me to stay away if I was starting to have feelings
for her when we were at the casino in Chicago.  They were sending her away to California. Her dad thought it would help her overcome all the shit she had been through.

I did
exactly as he said.  I never contacted her while she was at school, not once.  There were so many times I wanted to send just a text, but I didn’t.  I didn’t even know she was back until she showed up in my composition class at college.

The arm
falls off and I place it to the side with the other.  Patrick lifts the mask and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.  Blood drips off the sides of the mask and onto the floor. “There’s a laser bone saw too that slices and coagulates, no mess.” I nod politely. He continues. “I sent her away and her mother dragged her back.” He pauses and puts the saw down.  “I’ve made so many mistakes.”  Patrick unbuckles the guy’s pants.  “You have to take off the clothes or fibers get stuck in the saw,” he informs me.

Okay.

As much as I don’t want to take some dead dude’s pants off, I help.  Patrick walks into the main area of the cellar and flips the furnace on. 

“Take the clothes and throw them in the fire box,” he orders.

Okay.
   I gather up the corpse’s clothes and head to the furnace.  I open the little door and shove the clothes inside, one article at a time.  They burn as I go.  I stand there watching, thinking about this bizarre situation.
Why am I here?
I shut the small metal door and go back.  The floor is now covered in red.  Patrick is working on the legs.

“
Grab some gloves and wrap the limbs in the plastic.” I nod.  I see large sheets of plastic tarps in the corner. I tug on some gloves, grab one, unfold it, and lay it on a table against the wall.  I pick up the arms and place them in the center; blood coats my hands.  I take the recently removed leg and do the same thing.  “Burn the gloves, wash your hands, then use duct tape to secure the plastic.”

I
toss the gloves in the furnace and walk to the sink on the wall.  It’s stained a light pink in the basin.  I use the soap that’s there.  It stinks.  It’s some type of industrial strength stuff.  I go back to the packet of limbs and wrap the duct tape around and around, making sure nothing will leak.  Patrick is now wrapping the torso in plastic.

“
Your place has already been decided. That’s what makes you no good for her.”

What the fuck? Chopping up a body and cryptic talk.

“There’s a mop over there.  Pour some bleach in with the water.”