All I know is that I die at seven today if I pick up the bag. I've tried every angle. Take it, I die. Don't take it, I get dragged into an alley behind Dante's and turned into a chew toy for Gino and the rest of the crew. Running isn't even an option. I'd be sleeping under some piss stained bridge, no cash, no heat, no food. Worse than scum.
So yeah. I have to kill Tommy.
It's that or die again.
I hit up Vic, the kind of guy who'd sell you a grenade if you smiled right. He owes me from way back. I helped him with something that had too many teeth and not enough leash. Now it's time he returns the favor.
I meet him behind a tire shop on West 9th. Still smells like rubber and gun oil.
"Need a piece," I tell him.
He gives me that long stare of his. "What the hell you planning, E?"
I don't answer. Can't.
"You planning to make a move or something?" he asks, too casual.
"What?"
He snorts. "You always been a little off, but this? This is suicidal."
I shrug. "Still breathing, aren't I?"
He opens the trunk of a rusted out Buick and tosses me a Glock. "You didn't get this from me."
"I need info on Tommy too. Where he lays low."
"That'll cost you."
"You owe me."
"Not that much."
We stare each other down for a second. Then he sighs.
"Word is, he's got a spot behind Bianchi's bakery. Old storage loft. Nobody goes in or out unless he calls."
That's all I need.
I stake it out for three hours from a busted apartment window across the street. My hands don't stop shaking. At some point, I stop trying to calm them. Let them shake.
When Tommy shows up, it's like watching death walk. Slick jacket, stupid smile, always whistling. Like he doesn't run half the city's dirty money through his fingers.
I wait until he's inside. Give it ten minutes. Then I move.
I cross the street with my hoodie up. Pick the lock with shaking hands. Walk up three steps at a time.
He's not expecting me. That's his mistake.
He turns just in time to see the gun.
No words.
I pull the trigger.
Three times.
Chest. Shoulder. Neck.
He drops like a bag of bricks.
I don't wait. I search his pockets and leave any easily identifiable jewelry. I settle for cash, also taking some wads of cash on the table. I leave the body and leave with adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel more alive than the last time Gino made me snort a line of coke.
I go home, burn my clothes, and wear new ones.
Then I go to the pickup spot. The bag is still there with nobody touching it. I walk straight to Gino. Hand it over.
His mood changes. He seems not to have heard the news yet, and he smiles as if the secret to eternal life was contained in that bag. He takes a couple stacks and gives them to me saying I earned this. Just a couple hours ago he was beating me up, but now he was celebrating me. Whatever else was in that bag was sure to be valuable.