Nero(8)

“Okay, boss, I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“Lucca, get rid of this piece of shit and don’t come home with that blood on your fucking shirt. Whatever slut you got at home tonight don’t need to be turned on by that shit. Capiche?” He was mad at his son. He shouldn’t have let his fucking hand get bit. He had risked everything the boss had worked for his whole life.

His son gave him a quick nod. The boss could tell he was disappointed in himself. The only reason he knew was because he wore the exact same face the boss made when he fucked up. His son was growing more and more like him every day. He knew he was sure as hell just as scary as him; it was just the lack of experience.

He got out of the town car and went up to his house. He needed a fucking drink after that mess. He picked up the bottle, poured the brown liquid into his glass and then went to his cigar box and pulled one out. Sitting down behind his huge desk in his big leather chair, he started to settle. There was nothing like whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other to calm his nerves.

An hour passed, and his thoughts became less gruesome. He led a hard life running the family and this city; however, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He belonged at the top, and everybody else knew it, too.

A knock came at his door, ruining his alone time.

Sighing, he let out a harsh, “Come in.”

“Boss, I ain’t got good news.” He was holding a laptop in his hand.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and handed Sal his glass. “Fill the glass to how bad the news fucking is.”

Sal went over to the alcohol station where he quickly poured the glass half-full. After a second, he decided to say fuck it and filled the glass to the rim.

“Fuck, Sal, bring me the damn glass and tell me the bad news already.” The boss understood, whatever it was, it was nothing he wanted to hear in this lifetime.

“Good news for you, you get a fucking front-row seat, boss.” He opened the laptop and pressed a button on the keyboard.

He knew exactly what he was watching, a surveillance of the alleyway. Luckily for him, it also showed behind the diner next to his casino.

The first few seconds showed nothing. It was almost as if Sal hadn’t pressed play yet. Then a young girl came out from the back of the diner with a trash bag, walking over and then throwing it in the dumpster. A second later, he saw her run behind the dumpster and into the darkness. He could no longer make her out.

“Fuck.”

“Oh, wait, boss, it gets better.” The boss didn’t like his fucking tone.

He saw the whole murder play out. Nothing changed from his mind; he knew what the fuck had happened. He downed the shot glass. He knew exactly what was going to come once the town car sped away, and damned if the girl didn’t run out from behind the dumpster exactly how he’d played it out in his mind. Then she was gone.

Sal slammed the laptop closed.

“Who is she?” He knew Sal better have some fucking answers.

“Elle Buchanan. She works at the diner next door. We do have another problem, though, Bo—”

“Fuck, Sal, how much worse could this shit get?” He was over it. He knew the girl would die, so what the fuck was the problem?

“She’s a senior at Legacy Prep High, boss. She’s still seventeen for the next month. I know you’re against whacking kids, but she’s practically an adul—”

“What the fuck did you just say?” He didn’t like what had just come out of Sal’s fucking mouth. This family was built on rules, and not even he liked to break the family rules. Furthermore, out of all these rules, this was one he would never break.

“Sorry, boss, I shouldn’t have said it. I just want to protect the family.” Sal started to get nervous; you never disrespected the boss.

He stood from his chair and looked Sal in the eye. Flexing his jaw, he said, “I fucking say how to protect this family, capiche?”

Sal swallowed then nodded. “Capiche. So, how are we going to handle this?”

He walked over to pour himself another drink. “Leave the laptop. I’ll destroy the tape and handle this myself.”

Sal left the room at that. His boss had said he would handle it, and he knew he would.

Taking the full glass with him, he sat behind his desk again. He had an idea. Not only could he take care of the girl, he could see where an upcoming soldier’s loyalties lay.

He pulled out his cell phone, and within two short rings, he heard a girl’s squeal come over the line.

“Yes?”

“Tell the girl to scram. I have a job for you, son.” With that, he ended the call.

The girl’s squeal helped solidify his notion that his son could get the job done. He would find out what exactly the girl had seen and if she needed to be taken care of on her eighteenth birthday.