Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
And I feel stone cold inside as I stare into the piece of shit’s eyes.
All the nights she cried. All the nights Willie did.
All the nights that kid keeps crying, trying to hide it from me, but I know he lies there missing the mother that isn’t gonna get undead.
My lip curls and before I think further on it, I flex my finger. It’s as easy as that. I’m not a small guy, but I’m surprised at how firing it feels, at the sensation of the recoil, at how he instantly falls back while his head explodes, the chair folding under his weight, making him hit the concrete floor with a thump at the same time as wet hits my face.
There’s silence after that hunk of dead, useless flesh hits the floor.
It’s over. He’s dead. Just like that.
The four guys at my back say nothing while I take my sweatshirt off and use it to wipe the splatter off my face and then turn it inside out and wipe the gun down with the opposite side.
While I do that, I hear a match being struck. I look over my shoulder and see Dario light a cigarette, then use the flame to light the smoke dangling from Tino’s lips.
Dario Ferrano, calm as can be at fifteen years old, watching me shoot a man, point blank, no hesitation, like a cold-blooded killer. Sulphur hangs in the air, mixing with a stench. The stench of things that cannot be undone.
My eyes move to what’s left of Max’s face.
I take him in for a good minute as I watch the bastard’s blood crawl over the plastic tarp taped to the floor under him. The number of trails multiplies, running like little rivers through creases in the plastic. The boys knew that whatever happened tonight, it would stain the concrete floor, so they planned ahead.
I continue to wipe the gun down with my shirt, my hands steady, then using my shirt to hold it, I place it into Max’s open palm, closing his fingers around the gun before turning to walk past the four silent guys to the sliding door. Before I lift it, I turn to them.
I don’t know if they had plans to stage it like that.
“You’re sure you got this, or you need me to do something to help?”
“We got this,” Tino confirms.
“Thanks,” I say and shake his hand.
I then shake his brother’s and then the hands of the two Ferranos before turning to leave.
“You wanna go get a drink or something?” Nino calls out. “He’s not goin’ anywhere so we can do that now.”
“Gotta get home to my brother,” I reply.
“Want a ride?” Tommy asks.
“He needs to be alone,” Tino says, like he knows what’s going on in my head.
I swallow thickly. “Gonna walk. But guys, from my heart…” I thump my chest with my fist.
“We got your back, Kill,” Dario says. “Meet us tomorrow for a beer.”
“I’ll see. I think Willie might need me to hang with him for a night. I’ve been busy, but wanna make sure I give Willie time.”
No one says anything else, but reading their eyes, they know I’m grateful.
With their help, I’ve taken out the fucker that took the life of my mother, that has terrorized my brother. She may have been a shit mother, but she was ours – the woman that brought me and Willie into this world. She was also Nan’s child. And Nan deserved justice.
I lift the door with my elbow, not wanting my prints anywhere, and I go.
I walk for a good three blocks before snow starts falling and the shakes kick in. I’m sweating now. Shaking and sweating the rest of the way home. And my chest feels strange.
As I walk the rest of the eight blocks to my new apartment, pictures roll through my head. Mom with brains on her face. The sound of the water dripping onto the floor while I take it in, shielding Will, then the water sound transcending to rain. Rain at her funeral with Willie, crying, holding a rose in his hands. Forgetting to avoid the thorns and getting a bleeding thumb.
Dario’s father passing him a fancy handkerchief to hold onto and stop the bleeding.
Blood trailing through plastic in that storage unit.
The sound of me closing the door.
The sound of Gina’s door squeaking as she opens it, me telling her to call the cops and asking Trey to keep him busy. I then whisper to Gina to tell the cops there’s been a murder.
Sitting outside the apartment door, smelling those fuckin’ awful smells in the hallway until the cops and fire department get there. Me in the funeral home, surrounded by flowers that smell fake, flowers from friends of the Ferranos – most of them unknown to me.
Back to when me and Dario drank in his father’s office until five o’clock in the morning until Mr. Ferrano came in and told us to go to sleep. Mr. Ferrano came over with Dario when I called and then he spoke to the cops, told them where we’d be for the foreseeable. The man then woke me four hours after I passed out to go make her arrangements. I sat there looking at coffin catalogues with my friend’s connected father. I didn’t find out until later that Dario’s dad paid without my knowing. When I contacted the funeral home afterwards to ask about paying the bill, they told me he’d covered it.