Target on Our Backs

  "Weapons on the table," Genova demands, his voice bordering on a growl as he tries to contain his animosity.

  I step forward and stand there, right in front of the table, reaching into my pants pocket, retrieving my same black ink pen. I set it on the table, but Genova pays me no attention.

  He knows I've got nothing else.

  He's not talking to me, though.

  He's looking right at Lorenzo.

  Lorenzo, who treats his gun like American Express. Don't leave home without it.

  Sighing dramatically, Lorenzo reaches into his waistband, pulling out the Colt M1911. He waves it in the air, as if to say 'you got me', before setting it down on the long wooden table.

  Seemingly satisfied, Genova finally looks at me, but Lorenzo clears his throat, interrupting. "Weapons on the table."

  Genova glances back at him. "What did you say?"

  "I said weapons on the table," Lorenzo says. "Come on... don't even try to pretend that I'm the only one in this room packing heat today."

  "This is my house," Genova says. "I'm in charge here."

  A smile turns Lorenzo's lips. "Got me there."

  Genova tries to veer the conversation. "Vitale—"

  "But," Lorenzo chimes in, stressing the word, as he drops his feet to the floor, suddenly sitting straight up. "Correct me if I'm wrong—"

  "You're wrong," Genova says.

  Lorenzo ignores that. "But these things, these meetings, are governed by a set of rules, rules put in place long before you took over… long before these meetings were held in your house. You don't just make this shit up as you go. Even the president has gotta follow the Constitution."

  Genova shakes his head. "This isn't a fuckin' democracy."

  "So I've been told," Lorenzo says. "Word around town is you're a bit of a dick-tator."

  That sets Genova off. I can see him tense, his anger flaring. Before he can react, though, the others interject, pulling out their guns and laying them on the table.

  Rules are rules.

  We all have to follow them.

  Begrudgingly, Genova pulls out a gun from a concealed shoulder holster. He sets it right in front of him, still within reach, as he glares at Lorenzo, not liking that the man one-upped him.

  The smile returns to Lorenzo's lips.

  His feet go right back up on the table.

  "Now, if there aren't any more objections," Genova says pointedly, "I'd like to get on with this meeting. I'm not getting any younger here."

  Lorenzo laughs under his breath.

  "You find something fuckin' funny about that?" Genova snaps. "What are you even doing here, Scar?"

  Lorenzo hates that nickname. I can tell it by the look on his face. His lip twitches, the rest of him betraying his smile. It's frozen on his face. "Honestly? I don't know. All of this, if you ask me, is total bullshit. You're just whacking yourselves off under the table, getting off on the theatrics, like we're on fucking Broadway. Dance, little soldier, dance. It's a joke. I'll never understand it. But Ignazio here requested a meeting, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn't show up?"

  He's got the others completely thrown off. They're so used to order, used to people just falling in line out of fear, that they don't know how to handle Lorenzo. He brings chaos, the kind they don't like. He's not afraid of them. They don't matter to him.

  Seems Genova has nothing to say to that. His gaze yet again seeks me out. He wants this over with. He wants Lorenzo out. "What do you want?"

  He's done playing games.

  Done dealing with all of this.

  He's just… done.

  "I've been thinking about what you said to me a few weeks ago," I say. "About loyalty, and honor, and knowing who your real friends are."

  Genova relaxes just a bit. "Is that right?"

  "I've come to realize, thanks to you, that I can't just sit around anymore and expect things to happen… I need to go out there and go after them. I need to fight for them. And I need to show those around me what their friendships mean to me. So I'm ready now."

  "You're ready?"

  I nod. "I'm ready to finally see this through."

  With those simple words, it's like the last five minutes are erased from Genova's memory, his irritation and impatience gone. He's getting what he wanted.

  Or so he thinks.

  Leaning back in his chair, he regards me with a sort of awe. "So you're ready to join us, huh?"

  "I've never been more ready," I say, "to finally leave my mark."

  A smile lights his face as he holds his hand out. He's reaching toward me, extending his hand, like it's an olive branch, like a simple shake is going to erase all of the hostility in the past. I look at it for a moment. I look at his stubby little sausage fingers wedged into all those gold rings. He's got no callouses, no scars, no marks… he's got blood on those hands in the figurative sense, but literally? He's probably never even shed any blood.

  Reaching across the table, I take his hand. His grip is firm, forceful, like he's trying to intimidate me, like he's reminding me of exactly who here is boss. I tolerate it, tolerating his show of force, until he goes to pull away.

  And that's when I'm done.

  I'm done with the lies, the games, and the backstabbing. I'm done with the petty bickering, the egos, and the cowardice. I'm done with men who demand you honor family but in the next breath order the death of the ones you love. I'm done with it all, every bit of it.

  I'm done with this life.

  I'm ready for another.

  I move fast. I don't give him a chance to react. The second he tries to let go of my hand, I squeeze it tightly, yanking his hand and twisting his arm. My free hand snatches up the pen, and I fist it. Swinging with all my might, all the force I can muster, I shove it right into his neck, stabbing him with it.

  It knocks him off kilter, as I let go and instead grab the back of his head. I slam his face into the table, as blood spurts from the hole in his neck.

  BAM

  Reaching over, I snatch up Lorenzo's gun. The others I'm not so sure about, but his? It's loaded. He knows it needs to be when you're outnumbered.

  BANG

  BANG

  BANG

  It's like fireworks going off. The dim room lights up with the gunfire, and the three other heads of the families drop. A single shot right to the forehead, close enough blow their brains out the back of their skulls. They barely have time to even know what hit them.

  Because men like them, with their cushy jobs and positions of power? They never expect anyone to be brave enough to actually take them out. Because there are rules, rules we all must follow.

  You never kill a boss without permission from the others.

  Genova lifts his head up, trying to react, but he's dazed from the blow, blood still pouring from the wound. He scrambles for his gun, his eyes meeting mine. Terror like no other shines from him.

  He knows he's fucked.

  "You owe my father ten-thousand dollars," I tell him, "but I'll take payment in the form of your life instead."

  BANG

  "Now that's what I'm talking about!" Lorenzo shouts, his voice tinged with a sick sort of excitement as he drops his legs to the floor and sits up. "I knew you still had it in you, Ignazio!"

  I turn to him as soon as he says that, as soon as the man starts to stand up. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him right back down so hard the chair tips over. I shove him backward, onto the floor on his back, and hover over him. I point his own gun right at his face, my finger on the trigger, lightly pressing against it.

  He goes deathly quiet, not even breathing, as he stares me right in the eyes.

  In his face, I see nothing. No emotion at all. There's no fear to be found. No worry. No alarm.

  It isn't because he doesn't think I'll do it.

  He knows I will.

  He knows I won't lose a moment of sleep over taking his life.

  It's just he's empty.

  He always has b
een.

  He's a shell of a man. There's no soul left inside of him. I'm not saying he's unredeemable, that he isn't capable of love… that's not my place to judge. But darkness long ago consumed him, a familiar darkness, one that I used to know. I know what it's like to be ravished by that kind of hunger, to have a one-track mind for bloodshed. There's no room left inside of him for him to see the light, not when he's so overrun by the dark.

  There's a banging on the locked doors then. Chaos is erupting in the house. None of the men have any idea what is happening, but they've been trained to always protect their boss. They're shouting, and shoving, trying to break inside. The world is crumbling all around them.

  Unlike Lorenzo, they aren't calm.

  "I'm out," I tell him. "You wanted New York? You wanted the power? It's yours. But I'm done, Lorenzo. I'm walking away from it all. And so help me God, if you ever try to follow me, if you ever try to stop me, if you ever try to pull me back in, I'll kill you… I will… and I'll take away everything you love before I do it. Do you hear me?"

  "Loud and clear," he says.

  I stand up and set his gun down on the table before extending my hand toward him. He doesn't hesitate to take it. I pull him to his feet, and Lorenzo reaches over, snatching up his gun right away. My muscles stiffen from alarm. I don't trust Lorenzo. I can't. I can't trust anybody.

  But I need him, and that makes him the closest thing to a friend as I've got.

  I need him to keep people off my trail. I need him to do exactly what it is that comes natural to him… create havoc. I need him to be such a nuisance that I play second fiddle to the hell he causes. I saved his ass once… now it's his turn to help save mine.

  I may have taken out the heads of four families, but I did nothing to bring this to an end. The callous hunter simply killed more lions.

  It won't be long before more Kings, new Kings, come in.

  Lorenzo slips his gun back in his waistband as he looks around the room, his gaze trailing along the four bodies. I don't look at them, my focus at the door. It's bucking from the force of someone banging against it.

  "You know this will never really be over, right?" Lorenzo asks, strolling over to stand beside me. "These things don't ever end. Nobody's going to just forget about you and what you've done, especially after this."

  "I know," I say, looking at him, "but I'm banking on the fact that they'll be so busy with you that by the time they come for me, I'll have lived my life."

  "And your wife? Your baby?"

  My eyes narrow. "How do you know about that?"

  "Got it from my brother. Guess your wife told his girlfriend." He cuts his eyes at me. "For real this time."

  Huh.

  "They'll be fine," I say. "I'm not worried about them."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I seem to remember us having a deal, Lorenzo… you said you'd make sure my wife didn't get hurt, and I'm holding you to that."

  "Touché."

  "Besides, I was one of the worst out there… I was out for blood, and it was personal… but when it came down to it, even I couldn't do it. Even I couldn't take out my enemy's kid. So they'll come for me, someday, sure, and when they do, they'll probably get me. But Karissa, she's under your protection, and that's the only reason I'm letting you live."

  "Not the only reason."

  "Yes, the only reason."

  "Come on." He steps around me, to stand in front of me. "After all this, you still can't admit we're friends?"

  "I'll tell you what, Lorenzo," I say, looking around him, at the door. "You get me out of here unscathed, and then I'll consider telling you how I really feel about you."

  "Oh, that's easy." He makes a face, like I'm unnecessarily worrying, as he reaches into his pocket. "I've got a grenade."

  I look at him incredulously. "You've got a grenade."

  A grenade.

  He's carrying a fucking grenade.

  And not a smoke grenade, like logic would say he meant. The son of a bitch pulls his hand out of his pocket, and he's clutching a round green grenade. It's small, maybe the size of a golf ball, but there's no mistaking what it is.

  "What, like you've never carried one before?" he asks.

  "Can't say I have."

  "Ah, well, they come in handy," he says, shrugging me off. "Just pull the pin and ka-boom, bye-bye problem."

  I don't even know what to say about that.

  I don't know where he got his hands on it.

  Cuba, probably, like everything else.

  "And how is a grenade getting me out of here? Preferably with all of my limbs."

  "Easy," he says. "Just watch."

  Lorenzo turns around and heads straight to the door, flipping the lock before stepping back. I move away from him, back toward the table, and reach over, snatching up one of the guns still lying there. I check it, finding it loaded, and turn back to the door in just enough time for it to fly open.

  Men appear.

  There are only three of them. The rest, I figure, probably fled the gunfire. They burst in, wielding guns, and I point my weapon right at one of their heads, my finger on the trigger.

  Lorenzo holds his hands up in front of him before they can think to fire, before they can see the bodies, before they even have time to riddle out what happened. He holds the grenade with one hand, a finger from the other slipped through the pin, ready to pull it.

  "Gentlemen," he says loudly, "unless you want blown to fucking pieces, I suggest you vamoose."

  Panic seizes them. Two run. The last one just stands there, staring at us. The loyal one. No, he's not afraid to die, not if it means he takes us out long with him.

  He points at Lorenzo.

  He's going to shoot.

  I aim right for him, pulling the trigger, round after round.

  BANG

  BANG

  BANG

  All three bullets hit him. He squeezes the trigger as a reflex, firing off a round, damn near hitting Lorenzo, who doesn't have enough sense to duck. As soon as the guy drops, Lorenzo looks down at him. Two bullets struck the guy in the chest, the third hitting his temple. "Nice job, Han Solo. Always knew you shot first."

  I have no desire to figure out his nonsense.

  I'm stepping over the guy and out into the hallway in the next breath, heading right for the door. Lorenzo follows me without a word. I can hear his hurried footsteps racing to keep up.

  I veer a different direction, taking the back exit instead, not wanting to be seen. I step out into the back yard and look around, turning toward Lorenzo, about to say something, when I see it.

  I see him.

  I see exactly what he's about to do.

  Clutching the grenade, he squeezes the safety, his finger snaking around the pin. Son of a bitch.

  Not again…

  "Lorenzo," I growl, but that's all I have a chance to say, before he pulls it.

  He pulls the pin.

  Motherfucker.

  I turn and run through the yard, run away from the house, as he tosses the grenade right in the back door. Four seconds. That's all the time we've got. I throw myself down into the grass, covering my head and holding my breath.

  BOOM

  The ground shakes as it explodes inside the house. It's not enough to take it down or even do that much damage, just enough to destroy the walls around it, blowing out a few windows. Lorenzo lands in the grass right beside me, laughing.

  I glare at him as I climb to my feet. "You know, sometimes I really hate you."

  He glances at me. "Only sometimes."

  "Most of the time."

  "But not always."

  I don't dignify that with a response.

  Turning around, I walk away, making a speedy escape from the yard, slipping around a few neighboring houses, to make my way to my car. Neighbors are out, gathering in the street, panicking about the ruckus, about the explosion that rocked the brick house. I know they had to have felt it. I slip through the crowd, keeping my head down, refusing t
o make eye contact with anyone. Lorenzo jogs to catch up with me, making a point to smile and greet people.

  "You shouldn't draw attention to yourself," I tell him, pausing beside my car. "Makes it easier for the cops to identify you."

  "I'm not worried about the cops."

  "You ought to be."

  "Nah, not when I've already got a few of them in my pocket."

  I shake my head. "Good luck, Lorenzo."

  "Hey, wait," he says when I start to get in my car. "Can you give me a ride?"

  "Walk," I tell him.

  "It's like, eight miles. It'll take me forever."

  "Then jog."

  He mutters under his breath before stepping away. "I'm gonna miss these adventures of ours, Ignazio. You sure you won't reconsider, stick around, maybe help me run this city?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Pity."

  "Piece of advice, Lorenzo? It's not the titles that honor the men… it's the men that honor the titles. It'll do you good to remember that."

  He stares at me. "You're quoting Machiavelli to me?"

  "What can I say? It's my favorite."

  Getting in my car, I start the engine and drive away without looking back.

  He wanted control of the city. He wanted to be the boss.

  I just hope when it's all over, the kingdom is still worth having.

  * * *

  Stepping into the deli, I pause, turning my head to stare at the door. Silence. Ever since I was old enough to walk, stepping inside this place was always accompanied by a noise, the obnoxiously loud jingling.

  Today, there's nothing.

  The door closes when I let go of it. Still nothing.

  The bells are gone.

  Huh.

  My eyes scan it for a moment before I turn back around and look through the deli. Guess the sign out front wasn't the only change he made. Most of the place still looks the same—tables and chairs aren't any different, neither is the counter, and I imagine the kitchen hasn't changed, because I know the man would be peculiar about that, but there, along the far side of the wall, is something I've never seen before in here.

  A television.

  I blink a few times at it.

  You see, my father never saw the point of television. He always said it did nothing but rot the brain. My mother, she was more lenient. After all, she loved her soap operas. They only ever had a television in the house so she could watch them.