He was sick, and I hated him with a fucking passion.
But dead men didn’t pay their debts, and the Don would be annoyed if I murdered a man without orders.
“You owe more than thirty,” I said through clenched teeth. “You owe him fifty, you lying sack of shit. How about from now on, you assume I know everything.”
He sucked in a sobbing breath. “Okay, okay, yeah, I got it. You know everything. I owe him fifty.”
“How much do you have in here?”
“Twenty,” he said, and flinched away from me. “I swear to fuck, I’ve got twenty.”
“Tell Ralph to get the money.”
“Ralph,” he snapped, almost pleading. “Man, the safe in my office, the combination is 22-33-24. Bring down everything in there.”
Ralph got up lazily and shrugged. “Sure boss,” he said, and walked off.
“That’s an awful combination,” I said, and put more weight on the asshole’s chest before pulling away. I stood up and seethed for a minute, and I glanced back at Tara. She stood near the door and it looked as though her body were tugging her outside, but she was torn between watching me hurt the pathetic asshole on the floor, and getting away.
“Come here,” I said.
She hesitated, but then she obeyed, like someone else owned her feet. I steered her to a table and sat her down, then went behind the bar and poured two drinks. Larry climbed unsteadily to his feet, dabbing at his bleeding head. I threw back one of the whiskeys, refilled it, then carried both glasses to Tara. I put one in front of her, and took the chair on her left, where I could still see Larry.
“Drink,” I said without glancing at her.
She lifted the glass and sipped it without a word.
I hated this. I had a pit in my stomach. Not because the violence bothered me—frankly, Larry deserved it, and I would’ve been glad to do more. No, I hated this because Tara was here watching, and she only understood a quarter of what was going on.
Larry sat at the bar without speaking. He groaned a few times and poked at the steadily bleeding wound on the back of his head. His collar turned red, and his ponytail looked like it was dyed pink.
Ralph came back a few minutes later with a duffel filled with cash. He dropped it on the table in front of me. “You got any extra for an old working man?” he asked.
I laughed and that helped break some of the tension I felt. Ralph was a clever bastard and had some serious balls. I reached into the bag, took out a stack, and handed it to him.
He winked at me and tucked it into his waistband.
“What the fuck, Ralph,” Larry said. “That’s my money, you fucking bastard.”
“And you don’t pay me enough,” Ralph said, shaking his head as he returned to his stool. “Messing with the goddamn Valentino family. They sent fucking Ewan and there you are, bitching about your money. You’re lucky you’re alive, you moron.”
Larry’s face turned crimson as Ralph settled himself and went back to looking at his phone.
I stood up and slung the bag over my shoulder. I nodded at Tara, and she followed me.
I lingered in the space between the table and the door and looked back at Larry.
“I’m going to say this once.” I watched him carefully, and he didn’t move, like he was afraid I’d change my mind and end his life at any moment. Which was probably smart of him, since I was considering it. “Pay the Don what you owe, or I’ll come back, and we won’t have a conversation next time. I will take great pleasure in ending your life.”
He nodded like a chicken eating worms. “I will. I’ll pay. As soon as I can.”
I turned and left. I felt like I had a rotten stink stuck up my nostrils as I got back into my car and threw the bag into the back. Tara got in the passenger side, and I peeled out, ripping into traffic.
Tara didn’t speak and I wasn’t ready to break the silence. I drove aggressively, but aimlessly, circling around the block with nowhere to go.
That was a punishment, all right. The Don knew how I felt about guys like Larry—and he knew it would piss me off to deal with that scumbag and not end his worthless life with prejudice.
“You want to talk about what happened back there?” Tara asked, and it surprised me. She didn’t sound so much afraid as curious.
I glanced at her and tilted my head. “What the fuck do you think happened?”
“You look upset, is all,” she said, biting her lip. She looked away, out the window to the brick houses that flashed past. “I don’t really understand who that man was in there or why you seem so upset about it.”
“That man was a lowlife piece of shit,” I said. “And I’m upset because I didn’t get to kill him.”
She shivered slightly as she shook her head. “That’s not it,” she said. “You could’ve killed him, if you really wanted.”
“You make murdering sound so easy,” I said. “What do you know about it?”
“I know you killed my dad and burned down my house,” she said, eyes turning hard. “So I don’t really think taking a life is all that much of a problem for you.”
I let out a wild, angry laugh.
