Instead of responding, I grab the Wild Turkey at my side.
“Zaccaro, I don't suggest you take the pills with that, I've seen some crazy shit…” he warns, and catches his cigarette from falling from his lips.
“I'm not. Keep your damn pills.”
He chuckles. “You're gonna continue taking that prescription crap the sombitch at the hospital gave you yesterday? Well, I’ll tell you, last night’s little tit-for-tat has nothing on what tonight’s bastard did...” The doctor’s voice trails off, waiting for me to elaborate on what he assumes is a kickass story. Carson wants to know what brought me here tonight, instead of the very first hospital from Reese’s apartment.
“Keep talking, I'll bring your ass in for those miracle pills.” My teeth are bared in a quasi-smile.
“Take me in, Zaccaro. I ain't practicing no more either so how are you gonna explain these stitches. Impeccable if I do say so myself.”
I raise my bottle to the doctor who’s had his medical license revoked, and then I let the whiskey burn down my throat. Agitation and the feeling of being out of control clutch at my heart. “Hurry up.” I’ve gotta find Reese…
“Don't get us confused. Zaccaro, you're the wannabe Superman with a death wish. If I go any faster, and skip a stitch, one of your organs will fall out.” He laughs at his own joke.
It's almost midnight as I step out of Carson’s house. A plume of smoke follows. He insisted that I take a bag of Famous Amos cookies and a 100% Apple Juice box for my energy. These days the good old doctor just spends his time watching his grandkids or patching up criminals who don't want the harp of answering questions about battle wounds at the local hospital. I've promised that the boys on the beat will leave his block alone for a while and I chuckle to myself. This shit would have never flown in the past.
“Straight and narrow,” I mumble. Not anymore.
If I hadn't almost bled out, there'd be no need for Carson. Now I get into my Audi. Under the pale light from the streetlamp, I notice the leather is caked with blood. I get into the driver’s side, toss my bottle of whiskey into the back and give my face a few slaps. I dial Reese for the hundredth time. No answer.
I leave another voicemail.
Then I try Tony. My pops takes his ass to sleep at a decent time. I scroll through my text messages for Lolita's number, recalling how she'd texted me and a good number of people, with photos of her nuptials.
I dial her number. No answer. Even if she's asleep, she's going to have to wake her ass up. There's no trust for that woman.
Outside of the car, in front of my father’s house, I reach into my pocket to grab my prescription meds. Nothing is there. I pat my blazer pockets, but none of them holds my bottle. I took them to Carson’s. I had to have taken them to Carson’s…
“Fuck!” My fist swipes out at the crisp air as I walk up the long passageway and to the front door. I rub my hand over my face before pulling out my key ring to sift through all the extras for Tony's house.
Only the moon’s illumination from the skyline above guides my path toward the stairs.
The sound of moaning diverts my direction; I backtrack down the stairs and down the hall. Through the sunroom that divided half of the house, the sounds of sex get louder.
I stop at the entrance to the sitting room. Tony is reclining against a chair with Lolita straddling him. She's in a silk robe which falls over her shoulders.
“Tino!” Dad shouts.
“I need to speak with your wife. And I have no intentions of waiting.”
Lolita second-guesses climbing off of him and chooses to cling to his thick body.
“What the heck is your problem, Valentino? You come into my house, demanding to speak to your step—my wife!” His thick jaw shakes and he adds, “I've raised you better than this.”
“I'm a little over being polite. In my field, I've seen more ass than should be allowed at illegal drug labs and what not so needless to say, I’m not looking.” I turn my gaze onto her shocked one. “Lolita, get presentable. I need to speak with you.”
She arises abruptly, tying her knot before turning around. “Sounds like you have something to say. Say it?”
“Lo,” Tony chides. “Go upstairs, pay us no attention. I'm gonna go kick the ass of this ungrateful son of mine.” Then my father looks me up and down. “Looks like somebody beat me to the punch.”
“Reese is missing. McGregor… he's after her.” My eyes lock onto Lolita's, though I'm calculating and analyzing her entire body language.
Yet her body reads no discomfort at the thought of someone wishing ill upon her daughter. “If McGregor is searching for her, then she's fine. Perfectly safe.”
“How do you know?”
“Gianni Giugliano has to have taken her.”
And in this instant, the pain that's threatening to consume me is dead. No need for Carson’s magic narcs. No, Wild Turkey will do. Two months ago I told that motherfucker to leave us the fuck alone.
“Elaborate,” I say through gritted teeth.
Her pupils slide to the left. Either Lolita is preparing a sordid story of deception or it's because my father, my motherfucking blood has transformed into her strongest alley.
“Evan, give Lo a moment to go dress,” Tony reprimands.
“No!” I shout. “Lolita, tell me what the fuck is going on here!”
Her voice is its usual sultry rasp, no worry for her only child. “Well, I can't tell you how McGregor found Reese. That man is a bum. It isn’t as if
