Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(58)
Fuck that. Sal’s a dead man, period.
I see Chris nearby and wave him over. “Get Sarah home for me, okay? I’ve got business.”
“No, you don’t.”
I spin on Spada, who’s come up to join the discussion. “You think I’m letting that motherfucker get away with this?”
“Just wait, Angelino. Give it some time.”
“I’ve done enough waiting.”
I give Sarah a quick kiss and then head out into the parking lot, the rest of my crew following automatically.
“So what’s the deal, boss?” Mitch asks as we scope out the parking lot.
“His car’s gone.” Not that I’m surprised. I didn’t figure he’d hang around.
“Yeah, I saw him heading out right after you gave him what for.”
“Then we go find him.”
Another voice pipes up. “Boss, you sure we should go after him? I don’t think Spada wants—”
“You think I give a shit what Spada wants right now? This is personal. And you’re either in or you’re out. Pick one.”
Nobody bows out. “Then let’s go.”
#
I get three of my guys in the car with me and send the rest out in separate cars. We text back and forth, and for about a half hour there’s nothing. I stop at a gas station to fill up, grab a couple sticks of beef jerky, and then, making it look like an afterthought, buy a plastic container and fill it up with gas, too. It’ll come in handy. This is the perfect time to execute the plan I’d already formulated to get back at Sal.
About fifteen minutes later I spot De Luca’s car outside one of the bars where I know he hangs out from time to time. It’s not his regular meeting place; I figure he thought we wouldn’t think to look there.
He’s not in the car. Which probably means he’s inside the bar, sucking down still more alcohol.
I pull in to a parking spot across the street and tell the guys what I’m planning to do. Glances are exchanged, but nobody says anything.
“You in?” I snap, and then relax a little. “The way I figure it, we’re doing him a favor. I guarantee you he’s way too fucking drunk to drive.”
That gets them laughing, and we get out of the car. I get the gas container out of the trunk and pull the handkerchief out of Mitch’s pocket.
“Hey!” he says.
“Keep your pants on,” I tell him. “Yours is cotton. Mine won’t work—it’s silk.”
Mitch gets my drift and nods, a flash of “holy shit” rising in his eyes. But a second later it changes to a kind of unholy glee. “You’re really going to do this?”
“Damn fucking straight I am. Nobody calls my wife a cunt at her wedding.”
That’s not even the tip of the iceberg as far as beefs I’ve got with Sal, but they know that. I open the gas container, tuck in the handkerchief, and set the handkerchief on fire with my lighter. One toss and it’s inside the Porsche. A few seconds later…
The explosion is louder than I expected. That’ll bring the cops coming. But then I laugh, teeth clenched, because it’s damn satisfying. I can feel the heat all the way across the street, and damned if that Porsche isn’t a lot more flammable than you’d think.
The door to the bar slams open and several people come out, including De Luca, who starts screaming when he sees his car up in flames. He hasn’t caught sight of us yet, but it’s only a matter of time. As much as I’d like to hang around, I wave to the guys and we get the hell out of Dodge.
#
I don’t feel a bit guilty about it. Not, that is, until I get home and find Sarah pacing back and forth across the living room, still in her wedding dress, mascara smeared in black streaks down her face, wringing her hands. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody literally wring their hands before.
“Oh, thank God,” she says, sobbing as she flings herself at me. “I was afraid you—” She breaks off, which is probably for the best. I feel bad enough without her telling me exactly what horrible fate she imagined for me.
“I’m fine, honey, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
She rubs at the tears on her face. “I was just scared. I…” Obviously relieved, she flops down on the couch, satin and lace poofing up around her. “God. It was such a beautiful wedding until…” Her gaze flares into mine. “I hate that son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I sit down next to her, put an arm around her. “I’m sorry, babe. I wouldn’t have invited him except Spada insisted. I have to keep the peace with him, at least for a little while.”
“I know. It’s not really your fault.” She leans into me, burying her face against my jacket. “I mean, it kind of is, but…”