Page 54 of Shame

“It’s nothing. Let’s go again. I’ll be more careful.”

“I’m done for the day, dude. You’re like the Duracell bunny these days, but I’m spent. Look, you should do some fucking soul searching. I don’t know what’s with you, but it doesn’t take a genius to see something’s eating you. Do yoga, meditate, I don’t know. Do something to find your balance again. You’re walking on a razor’s edge.”

I know he’s right. I’m building strength, speed, but my mind’s not where my punches hit. I just can’t see myself sit in a lotus position, humming some nonsense and introspect. I’d be bored in a minute.

“Sure. Thanks for the tip. I’ll look something up.”

As weeks turn into months, I begin to despair. I drive through town every day, aimlessly, hoping to catch sight of her. I ask for her in bars, in grocery stores, in pharmacies, everywhere. I don’t have a picture, but I know her face and her body by heart and describe her to one uninterested stranger after the other. Nighttime, when I’m not working, I focus on the hookers, thinking they have to know her. Someone out there knows where she is. I just have to find them.

My hate toward Salvatore and his whole organization grows exponentially. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have had to flee. We could have been happy. I know it. I would have taken care of her, my Colombian flower.

The morning of the big hit I wake with a jerk. Today it’s been exactly five months. I want to resent her for never telling me that she was leaving, but I don’t have it in me. She was just a scared little girl, so badly hurt by life and by the wrong kind of men.

I make a cup of strong black coffee and pour a good portion of sugar into it. It was how she liked it, and I’ve taken after her habit. It’s sweet and strong. Like her.

I put the thoughts of Carmen aside and focus on what’s on the agenda for tonight. It will be spectacular, like how it went down in the good old days, a mob war, like New York in the seventies. I need to focus, because tonight I’ll bring them down.

A group of loosely connected people of different nationalities and backgrounds have threatened shop owners in a suburban area, forcing them to pay for ‘protection’. Since we control, supposedly, every part of town, this can’t fly. A few weeks of stakeouts have gathered enough information, and tonight we strike. They’re fifteen. We’ll be far more. Everyone will be there, including Salvatore’s closest men. All of them. Eric Reed, Nathan and Christian Russo, Ivan Sokolov, Ray, Big Sean, and on and on.

Tension has risen in me with every passing month, frustration brewing under the surface. I might not ever find a way to get Salvatore himself behind bars. God knows I’ve looked for an in, for information, proof of his illegal businesses, of all the people he’s having executed, of the gambling, the drugs, the prostitutes, but I’m drawing a blank. What I have witnessed, what I know, means nothing. His squadron of ruthless lawyers would slaughter me in court.

I can’t take him out, but I can hurt him for the foreseeable future. I can put away a good chunk of his closest men, his fucking nephews in particular, Nathan and Christian.

Tonight is fucking it. I have proven myself over and over again since half a year back. I know I’m in. I’m trusted. I’ve killed whoever they’ve pointed me at. I’ve taken on missions of my own. I have so much blood on my hands it’ll never go away. The disappearance of Carmen stole away my remaining humanity. I’ve locked it up and thrown away the key.

I feel doomsday looming. Tonight I’ll execute whatever revenge I can on fucking Luciano Salvatore, whom I hate with every fiber of my being. I’ve spent night after night at his house, drinking his booze, laughing at his jokes, watching him humiliate one girl after the other. Some I recognize, some I don’t. There’s a darkness in him, a lethal air around him, as if he’s a cobra who could strike any minute.

I’ve cheered for new deals, gambled with his men and plotted my revenge.

On the other side of town, I gather some liquid courage in the shape of a couple of vodka shots, then I go to the payphone in the back of the run-down bar, cup a hand over my mouth to distort my voice, and make the call.

When I get back home, I stand in the shower for a long time, my heart still pounding like a jackhammer. The detective was very interested. I gave him everything except my own identity. They’ve got names of my partners, the address where we’ll strike, the time, as many names of the competition as I know. And that’s it. That’s all I can do.

At quarter to eleven, I get a text. A car is waiting outside. I check my gun for the hundredth time, and make sure I have extra clips, grab my leather jacket and jog down the stairs. Hopping into the large black SUV, the windows tinted, I cram myself into the backset, next to Ivan. The car is full of men, some serious, some joking around. By our feet lie a couple of bags filled to the brim with semi-automatics, AR-15s.

The engine roars to life. It’s a fuel consuming, very fast Mercedes. A V8. I tense and my heart starts pounding as we move. What I’m about to do will put me on top of Salvatore’s hit list. I’ve been promised protection, and honestly, whatever happens, so be it. I just want him to know it was me, that the little driver they overlooked, made fun of, and teased, is the one who made them fall.

They’ll be stripped of everything. Their fancy flats, money, power, and will spend the rest of their lives in orange jumpsuits in state prison. I don’t even hide the smirk as I look around and take in their faces.

Nudging Ivan, I lean in. “This’ll be fun as fuck.”

He regards me, his face, as always, might as well be cut in stone. “You find slaughtering people fun, you little sicko,” he says in his grave voice.

I’m at a loss for words. I always figured him the same sadistic ass as the rest of them, intimidating as hell with his near-constant scowl. He’s impossible to read, that man, and he just surprised me greatly. Well, he works for the monster, so there’s enough wickedness in him. He belongs behind bars. They all do.

The engine dies and the car rolls a few more feet before it stops. Behind us are two more cars filled with our people. We’re at the street crossing the alley behind the house, a three-story building with a storage and a bar on the bottom floor. Apartments on the next two. Everyone has turned silent as the semis are being distributed.

An almost erotic tension rises in me. I’m not aroused by killing, but my body can’t quite tell the difference when everything clenches up in a ball of excitement in the pit of my belly.

We have guys at the front. We’re entering from the back. The back door should be locked, but a key has somehow been obtained. This raid has been meticulously planned. The plug in my ear itches and I push at it, making sure it sits snugly. Everybody is quiet and efficient as we move toward the back door, two guys positioning themselves at the far ends of the alley, their weapons hanging in a strap over their shoulder, coolly waiting in the shadows for anything and everything.

There’s a crackle in my ear and a low voice. “Go.”

The guy with the key slides it into the lock. Glancing at us, he then nods, twists it and pulls the door open, jumping back and out of the way. With our guns ready, we move into a dark corridor, key-guy staying at the door. From afar come voices and music, people having fun, relaxing on a Friday night. Suddenly there’s a shot, and then the repeated loud smatter of semi-automatics fills the air. People scream, a guy comes rushing around the corner, blood on his face, his eyes huge and frightened. I have time to notice that they’re the same hue of blue as mine, then a round of shots end the light in them forever. We advance and slam open door after door, killing everything with a pulse, making sure every square foot is clear. No one is getting out of here alive. I’m on high alert, wondering when the cops will arrive, because this will be over way too soon.

That’s when I hear it. Over the screaming and the shooting - sirens wailing louder and louder. I glance around me, at the faces of my partners as they become aware of the noise. From behind us come voices, orders are being barked out. My heart is nearly beating its way out of my chest. I wonder if I look as guilty as I feel.

Something slams heavily against my back and I fall, hitting my chin on the hard floor, slamming my teeth together. Dazed, I look at feet running past me. There are grunts, loud voices. I try to get up when I’m slammed back to the floor.

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