Blam. Grapefruit-sized hole in the engine block, setting the radiator to steaming. Blam! Another hole in the door, not to mention the driver.
A couple of goombas scrambled out of the back. I pumped off another shot, and took one of their heads clean off.
I was out of rounds so I dropped the Ithaca and drew the Beretta like I was in a John friggin’ Woo flick. He fired first, but I fired better. He went down with a half dozen new holes in his chest.
“Holy shit,” Don Farino came out of an alley, covered in snow with a .357 Magnum glistening in his hand. “You’re like the fucking Terminator! Jesus Christ, just look at this shit.”
“We need to get you out of here, Mr. Farino,” I said, gesturing toward the dented Lincoln. I grabbed the wheel well and bent it out enough that it wouldn’t rub the tire when we rolled. “I doubt they went to all that trouble to take down a low-level punk like me.”
“Well, if you’re tired of being a low-level punk, I might have an opportunity for you. You have Capo Lanza’s number?”
We piled into the car and I threw it in drive. “Somewhere, yeah.”
“Give him a call. He’s been hitting me up for a guy what can do a special job for him. After seeing the way you handled those Loggia buffoons, I think you’re a perfect fit.”
My heart thudded in my chest. Capo Lanza had Don Maloik’s ear. If he recommended me…
I’d be a made man at last. I grinned as I drove off down the snow-covered road.
“Let’s get you home, Mr. Farino.”
