Almost.
“What’s up, Max?” I said.
“We got a job coming,” he grunted.
Shit. I glanced back toward the bathrooms.
“Can it wait?”
“Not for some pussy, it can’t.”
I gritted my teeth and shrugged. “Fine. What’s the deal?”
“Follow me.”
He stalked toward the front door without another word, and I trailed him, glancing over my shoulder, cursing softly. It was a shame to leave her, but there would be plenty of other young chicks with nice tits. There always were.
We pushed through the front door and out into the cool summer night. I followed him north, up the block, across the street, and stopped in the shadow of a big tree growing in the middle of an empty lot.
“What’s with the secrecy, Max?”
“Sensitive shit. Can’t be overheard.”
That cut through my annoyance. If we had to talk outside the bar, then it probably meant something serious was about to happen.
“What’s the play?” I asked.
He paused and looked at me seriously. “You got a hit,” he said.
I blinked. “Are you kidding?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Word from the boss. Time you started getting your hands dirty.”
I sucked in a deep breath and squeezed my hands into tight fists. I hadn’t been ordered on a hit yet, although it wasn’t like I hadn’t done my fair share of violent and nefarious things. I just hadn’t killed a man, or at least I hadn’t done it on purpose. Every Right Person was ordered on a hit sooner or later, and usually more than one. They were a way to prove your loyalty.
For a while, I was protected from the worst of it because of my father. But my father was gone, and I was just another guy that needed to be tested. And in a time of chaos, there were a lot of questions about loyalty floating around. I knew that if I didn’t perform, my loyalty might be questioned. And that would be very, very dangerous. One false move and I’d wake up with a bullet in my back.
Or not wake up, I guess.
“Who’s the guy?” I asked.
“Some dirty meth head over in Kensington. Robbed one of our people in broad daylight and broke his leg with a pipe or some shit. Nearly beat him to death, but some locals chased him off.”
I shook my head. It was pretty bad when our people were getting beatdowns from drug addicts.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I cursed and glanced back at Drake’s.
“That a problem?” Max pressed.
“No, it’s not a fucking problem.”
“Good. Tom should be here with his van in a minute. We’ll drop you close to where the guy’s staying and leave you with a piece. You do it, you ditch the gun in a drain, and you lay low for a few days. Got it?”
“I know how it goes,” I grunted.
Before Max could give me more bullshit, a white van pulled around the corner and slowed to a stop in front of us. Max pulled open the back door and climbed in, looking back out at me. I hesitated, knowing full well what it meant if I got in that car. It meant I was going to kill a man, probably a deserving, violent asshole, but a human nonetheless. I was going to pull the trigger to defend my people.
I sighed. Sometimes, it wasn’t good to be a Right Person.
I climbed into the van, and Max slammed the door behind us. We sped off into traffic and the night.
––––––––
Hours later, the afternoon sunlight was bright against my frayed nerves. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and the sound of the gun going off in my hand, the smell of fear, the claustrophobia of the crack house room I found the guy lying in, and the overwhelming terror I felt as I moved back out into the street replayed through my mind, keeping me awake. I sweated through one pair of sheets and had to replace them, though that didn’t make me feel any cleaner. It felt like I had blood caked all over my hands, though that couldn’t have been true. I took the longest, hottest shower of my life after I got back to my apartment.
A life of crime wasn’t what I wanted when I was a kid, but I was born into it. I was never given much of a choice. I had the stomach for it, I loved the rush, and I had the skills, but there was still something revolting about the way the Mob worked, with their callous disregard for human life. There were parts I loved about being one of the Right People and parts I hated, and the murder was one of the things I despised the most. Violence was one thing, but murder was something else completely. But I understood it. I understood why it was necessary to do things we didn’t want to do, and so I performed my duties without complaining. I could kill a man when I had to, even if I didn't like it. I could break his knees it smash his face. It was part of who I was.