Page 37 of Refrain

“You ready, you little shit fuck?” The man holding the gun flicks the trigger. Once. Twice. On the third attempt, he pulls it.

My hands rush to cover my ears, but the resulting sound is too soft. Just an impotent click quickly followed by raucous laughter.

Sothisis Arno. Cold, green eyes stare through his opponent as he offers the gun on the palm of his hand. “Your turn.” A heavy accent shapes each word—distinctive of one of the city boroughs. “You feeling lucky, motherfucker? Or do you finally want to talk?”

I can’t see the other man’s face from my position as he chokes out a watery laugh that fails to convey any bravery.

“I’m not no fucking snitch, asshole—”

“You hear that?” Arno asks the group of men surrounding the morbid table setting. He throws his hands into the air and releases another chilling chuckle. “This motherfucker ain’t no goddamn snitch.” He turns the gun again, holding it out trigger-end first. It’s a familiar gesture that makes my blood run cold. “Then prove it,” Arno snarls. “Put your goddamn money where your mouth is.”

The other man finally takes the gun and presses it to his temple. An eerie hum echoes throughout the room, building in intensity. At first, I almost believe that it’s the man’s heart beating that loudly—but no, a glance down reveals that the steady thump is being made by Arno as he taps his fingers.

“Tick fuckingtock,” he growls.

The man pulls the trigger.Click!The poor fool can barely smother a sigh of relief, though he can’t hide his body’s reaction—a small puddle is forming around his feet.

“My turn.” Arno snatches the gun and brings it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the opening. He shoots, and another blank shot rings out. “Bang,” he says. “There are still three chances left. You want to keep playing or fucking talk? Though I will say that this is the part where the game starts gettingfun…”

“Okay, okay.” The man shakes his head. “I didn’t see nothing—”

“Then what the fuck are we talking for?” Arno reaches into the pocket of his jacket and draws a gun that I suspect has every chamber loaded.

“Arno…” Suddenly, Espisido’s closer, his shoulder jarring mine, as a ripple goes through the ragtag group of spectators.

They’re watching with more than just amusement now, like a pack of dogs anxious for the first drop of blood to be spilled.

“And there he is.” Arno hones his gaze in our direction, still aiming the gun.

It’s like a million words pass between him and Espi—judgment, arrogance, assertion, guilt.

“Where the fuck are my manners?” Arno wonders gruffly. “Allow me to set the stage.Thismotherfucker sucks dick for the Cartel, and one of their warehouses went up in smoke less than two hours ago—”

Smoke. Fire. I struggle to piece the details together in context with what happened at the Russian club.

“Little Benny here was meant to be guarding the door—obviously, he fucked up. But he saw something.” With little fanfare, Arno aims the barrel of the gun squarely over Little Benny’s forehead and caresses the trigger. “I went out of my fucking way to invite him to my party, but he seems to think he’s too good to talk. I might have to make iteasieron him to keep his fucking mouth shut.”

The man in the hot seat races to display his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey! Hey! I didn’t see nothing, but Iheard,okay!”

“Who?” The sound of the weapon cocking gives a finite backdrop to Arno’s command.

“Some bitch. I don’t know who, but she gave the orders—”

“Some bitch?” Arno raises an eyebrow. “A woman?”

Little Benny frantically nods. “Yeah. She kept to the back, but I heard her.”

“You didn’t see her?”

“N-no,” Benny admits. “But she had an accent. Some kind of Spanish—”

“Spanish,” Arno echoes. After a harsh moment of silence, he puts the loaded gun away. “What else?”

Benny shakes his head. “That’s all I got before they started wiping people out. I barely got the fuck out of there with my head—”

“Story time’s over,” Arno interjects. “Boys. Take our friend here and show him what other games we like to play.”

The command snaps two of the spectating thugs into action. They rush to the table and grab Benny by either arm before dragging him to his feet and past us, into the hall.

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