“Will you know where to find him?” Dalton asked.
“I have a good idea.” The first stop was at Romano’s Pizzeria, a little corner joint in Bergen County, not far from the site of the Pig’s Ear that was no longer standing. It had been a long time since his shadow had darkened its grimy doorstep. His old stomping ground brought back a flood of memories, mostly brutality, pain and anguish.
Jack pulled to the side of the road and looked at the brown building crouched on the corner. It looked different to what he remembered. The sickly yellow neon sign had been replaced by a modern, more aesthetically pleasing logo. The sidewalk had been upgraded with garbage cans outside, and an artistic black lamppost flying the American flag. In this neighborhood, buildings might change but the people didn’t.
“Well, this is the end of the road. Time to get out,” Jack said turning to the two of them.
Kelly’s brow furrowed; her jaw dropped. “But what about my story?”
“I have a better one for you.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Speak to Nurse Hanna Cross from Holbrook.”
“But what about you, Dana and…”
“Kelly. You seem like a real nice girl.” He smiled. “Hell, if I was twenty years younger I would chase you around the block, but this is the end of the road. For your safety, for your career, for your future... put me in your rearview mirror and don’t ever look back. Those who don’t are changed forever.” He got this pained expression on his face as he glanced at Dalton. “Tell Karen I’m sorry. After tonight you won’t have to worry. Trust me on that.”
“What? You can tell her yourself.”
He shook his head. “You’ve been a good friend, Dalton.” Jack extended a hand and Dalton looked down at it and slapped it away.
“No. No you don’t. After this, you, me, God and Karen are going to have a little talk.”
Jack smiled. “All right. Go on now.”
“Um. Just one thing,” Kelly said opening the door. “How do I get home?”’
“Uber. I hear it’s all the rage now.”
“And the SUV?”
“It’s in good hands,” Jack replied.
Dalton snorted as he got out. Before he closed the door he looked back at Jack. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”
Jack didn’t respond; his mind was already shifting gears. Like a light switch being turned on, it always happened before the violence began.
“Bye, Jack.”
Dalton closed the door. He turned to Kelly and they took off up the street. Jack waited until they were out of sight before he climbed out. The night offered cover as he made his way over and saw four workers inside. Someone was paying for pizza, and another customer was sitting at a table waiting for an order. The place was a far cry from his childhood days. Back then it was nothing more than a hole in the wall, a family-owned business with strong connections to Gafino.
He cocked his head from side to side and it let out a crack before he entered through the main door. He glanced up at the menu as if he was planning on ordering. One of the staff looked at him and squinted as if trying to place his face but they would have been hard-pressed to recognize him. The original owner no longer worked behind the counter, back then it had been him and his wife. After paying for a pizza the customer walked out and Jack looked over at the female sitting at the table, holding a receipt in one hand and a phone in the other. He didn’t want her calling the cops so he walked over and pulled the gun from the small of his back and flashed it. Her eyes widened and he took the phone out of her hand. There was no resistance. He jerked his head and she exited quickly. The jangle of the bell above the door caught the staff’s attention. He walked over and locked it, then turned and before anyone had a chance to react, he catapulted over the counter, his butt sliding before he landed on two feet.
Keeping the gun raised, he asked, “Angelo Gafino. Where is he?”
Frozen in place, one of them was still holding a wide steel board used for inserting pizza into an oven. Another had pastry in his hand, it drooped over his forearms like putty. The other two had a deer in the headlights look.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” a middle-aged man with a thick beard standing nearest to Jack said. “If you want money. The machine is there.”
Jack reeled off the number Sanders had given Dalton. “That’s this place, is it not?”
They nodded.
“You the owner?” Jack asked.
“I am,” said a man at the rear of the store with a gut that billowed out from his white T-shirt.
Jack jerked his gun towards him in. “I have no problem with you. Just tell me where he is.”
The owner shrugged. “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”
Lies. Jack was used to them. After years of collecting debts, he could see the telltale signs. Hands shaking, diverting eyes, wetting the lips repeatedly because of a dry mouth, elevated pulse in the neck. The list went on. Jack nodded. “This your son?” he asked jerking his head towards a guy no older than twenty-one. The man didn’t reply, and yet he had. In an instant, Jack fired a round into the kid’s knee, dropping him.
His father rushed forward to help his son. “Carlos.”
Jack pointed the barrel at his son. “Last chance. Where is he?”
He caved. They always did. The oversized man lifted his hands. “All right. All right. I’ll get him on the
