The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(107)
Austin
Ross and I were in the media room, halfway through watching a slow-motion replay of Brenton Southgate’s twentieth fight from a few years back, when the knock came on the door. Ross had told everybody not to bother us, and most of the time everybody in the gym had their own shit to get on with, so Ross muttered a few choice words as he paused the playback and opened the door.
The light from outside flowed in and I looked over my shoulder to see Ken Horn standing there. He looked more serious than a heart attack.
“What the fuck did you do, Austin?” he asked.
“What needed to be done, man, fuck them.”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Ross.
Ken stepped in the door and Ross closed it behind him. “Oh, he hasn’t told you?”
Ross looked from Ken, to me, and back again as Ken walked over and half sat on a desk before continuing.
He pointed at me. “This crazy asshole killed a Bertolini soldier, fucked up another two, Renato Picolli and Renato’s nephew too.”
“What the fuck?” said Ross.
Ken threw up his hands.
“Fuck them,” I repeated. “I didn’t fuckin’ shoot that guy. They never should have pulled a gun on me.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Ross said again as if I’d ignored him.
“They called me into a meeting on Wednesday, said the Picollis were in charge of the MMA match fixing now and I was supposed to throw the Southgate fight. I told them to go fuck themselves and it went south from there.”
“Dammit, Austin,” started Ken and then shook his head. “These aren’t random guys from a nightclub. These aren’t people you can disrespect, let alone what you did. Renato is a made-man, and now his jaw is wired shut.”
“So I did you a favor, now nobody has to listen to his stupid fuckin’ voice.”
“No, he’s still got plenty to say, man. That’s why I’m here.”
I stood up. “You really wanna do their dirty work when it comes to me?”
Ken held up his hands. “Whoa there. I haven’t forgotten where we came from. Maybe you have, but I haven’t. I begged them to let me bring you in.”
I waved him away. “Fuck that. Like I told Renato, or Pussyface, or whatever he goes by now, the deal is off. I’m done with them.”
“You don’t get it, man. This was no bar fight, no ‘haha, you got me this time, next time I’ll get you’ fuckin’ bullshit. This is way beyond that. If I don’t bring you in, then other guys are gonna come. Lots of guys, with lots of guns and maybe some fuckin’ rocket launchers.” Ken pointed in the general direction of the rest of the gym. “Everybody out there will die and you’ll still end up coming in. You want their blood on your hands?”
“Holy fuck, Austin.” Ross sat down.
I ran my hand over my chin as I thought about this clusterfuck.
“Let’s say I go in. What am I walking into? They shoot me there instead of here?”
“No. They said that wasn’t on the cards anyway. You make too much money for them, you know, when you’re on a short leash. Gavino Bertolini himself wants to talk to you. Both of you. You’ll get through this if you can control yourself.”
“You believe that?” I asked.
“I do.”
After a long pause, during which Ross cussed me out with his eyes, Ken leaned forward.
“Please, Austin. Come in and talk with Gavino.”
“Fuck it, let’s meet him,” I said.
The Bertolini headquarters turned out to be a big old mansion on a large estate on the east side of the city. Ken drove us through the gates and right up to the courtyard in front of the doors and from the moment we stepped out of the car, I counted at least three guns pointing at our heads at any given time.
“Easy… easy,” Ken said under his breath as he walked close behind us.
I had no choice, really. It seemed like they’d learned their lesson from yesterday and the people with guns were well out of reach, leading us down the wide hallways and trailing behind.
Even when they led us into a smallish room, the odds were impossible. Ten guys, armed to the teeth, lined the walls of the sparsely furnished area.
Behind a desk sat an older guy right out of the old gangster movies. Hell, he might have even been one of the guys out of the old gangster movies for all I knew, except he was carrying an extra hundred pounds or so of fat these days.
In front of the desk were two steel-framed chairs, bolted to the ground, with handcuffs permanently attached to loops on the backs. Off to the side was one of those old TVs and DVD players, on the trolley they used to roll into the classrooms at school on the days when the teachers especially didn’t give a fuck.