Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) (17 page)

Syringes, a lighter and
a spoon lined with the brownish crystals of heroin residue were on the bedside
table next to a lamp, the only light source in the room. I walked over and
rapped the hooker on the head with the butt of my gun. She sat up with a groan,
holding her temple and peering up at me with red rimmed eyes.

           
“Get out,” I said. She saw my piece and leapt off the
mattress. Grabbing her clothes in a bundle, she ran out into the hall, not even
bothering to get dressed.

Danny hadn’t even
budged. Wrapping a hand around one of his ankles, I yanked him off the
mattress. He landed face first on the carpet and slowly pushed himself up to a
sitting position. He blinked at me with a dazed expression. He was fucking high
and didn’t even recognize the danger looming over him. I grabbed a handful of
his greasy, brown hair and started pulling, forcing him to stand. He yowled and
tried to break free. Once he was upright, I punched him in the nose, which
burst open. Blood spewed down his chin and dripped onto his bare chest. A few
drops landed on the carpet.

           
“What the fuck, man?” Danny cried, sounding congested. He
tried to take a step back, but I held on tight to his hair.

           
“Do you know who I am?” I growled at him.

Danny blinked again and
looked at me. His eyes widened with panic when recognition set in and I could
see how constricted his pupils were.

           
“Oh shit!” The unmistakable odor of fresh urine filled
the air. I glanced down to see a stain growing on Danny’s boxers. His legs were
wet with piss. I curled my lip in disgust.

           
“Yeah, oh shit. Where the fuck’s the money you owe
Marco?”

Danny glanced around
the room, nervously licking his lips, unable to look me in the face.

“Look
at me!” I released him, but only so I could punch him again. His head snapped
back and he fell backwards onto the mattress. Blood leaked onto the sheets,
which had probably been white ten years ago, but now had a grayish hue like
they were constantly washed in dirty water. Taking advantage of Danny’s prone
position, spread eagle on his back, I shoved my gun in his crotch. His mewling
and flailing immediately ceased and he finally met my gaze.

“Either
you have the product or you have the money. If you don’t have either, I’m going
to have to take something of yours.”

Danny was completely
quiet. The only sound in the room came from the radiator releasing a hiss of
steam.

           
“Jesus Christ, Danny. Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.
We could melt your skinny ass in a spoon and people would get high.” His blood
encrusted nostrils flared at the threat. “Did you forget who you work for?
Marco told me to make sure you never forget.” I pressed the gun further into
his urine soaked shorts.

           
“Wah…wait, I have some of the money.” He pointed to a
pair of tan cargo pants on the floor. I quickly bent down and picked them up.
After checking for any weapons, I tossed the pants to Danny. He fumbled through
pockets, pulling out a wad of cash. I did a quick count of the wrinkled bills
and estimated there was roughly two grand, three shy of what Danny owed Marco.

           
“You’re way short and you still owe a grand from the last
drop.” Danny was one of our main dealers for the Kensington area. He received a
drop every week and was expected to return five grand each time; on top of that
he earned two thousand dollars.

           
“I know man, tell Marco I’m sorry. I’ll make it up, I
swear.”

           
“Do you have any product left?” I asked, placing my gun
back in his crotch.

Danny shook his head
no, the color draining from his face.

           
“You know Marco has had me kill people who owe less than
four g’s, but you’re in luck, he doesn’t want you dead…yet.” I dragged the tip
of my gun down Danny’s thigh, stopping right above his knee. “But you need to
be reminded about who you owe money to.” I pulled the trigger, blasting a hole
above his kneecap. Blood spilled down the sides, soaking into the blanket
riddled with multiple cigarette burns. Danny screamed and grabbed his leg. “You
have two weeks to come up with the money. Call in favors, ask your mommy, or
whore your ass out to the gayborhood. And don’t hide again. You know we will
find you.” I left him writhing in pain. The hallway was deserted. While a
suppressor muffles the sound of a gunshot, it doesn’t silence it. Fortunately
in places like this, people didn’t take it upon themselves to investigate a
shooting or someone screaming and waited for police. I spotted a sign for the
stairs and made a quick exit. As I was getting into my car, the first police
cruiser arrived, immediately followed by an ambulance. I waited until all
responders were inside before firing up the Mustang and leaving the parking
lot.

Once I got home, I
texted Marco three letters:
TCB
, code
for took care of business. He’d want more information in person, but it was
close to four in the morning and jet lag was bearing down on me. After quickly
showering and throwing my clothes in the washing machine, I collapsed on to the
empty bed, the emptiness triggering an all too familiar ache. I wished Nat was
there for me to curl up next to. She always helped calm the beast these jobs
turned me into. I pulled her pillow close, holding onto it, inhaling a faint
trace of her shampoo that still lingered on the pillowcase since I refused to
wash it and refused to share my bed with anyone else.

***

The week passed quickly
and before I knew it, it was Christmas Eve and we were gathering at my Uncle
Franco’s restaurant for the
Festa dei
sette pesci
or Feast of the Seven Fishes also known as
La Vigilia, The Vigil. This was a huge
family tradition and even though it was my mom’s side of the family who owned
the restaurant, all the Grabanos attended. I drove to my parent’s house in
South Philly and parked a few houses down. They lived a few blocks away from
the restaurant and we were going to walk over together as a family. I walked
inside and called out. Anthony ran down the stairs and held out his hand for a
fist bump. “What the fuck is that shit, come here,” I said and pulled him into
a hug. He squirmed away and smoothed his shirt. He was wearing a red long
sleeved button down shirt that he didn’t have tucked into his baggy black
jeans. Anthony was a couple inches shorter than me, but I figured he’d catch up
in a year.

           
“Where’s Eva?” Our
little sister was usually the first to greet me.

           
“She’s having a
wardrobe crisis, mom is helping her.”

           
“Huh?”

           
“Yeah, she’s like
turned into a girl all of a sudden. I heard she even likes a boy.”

           
“Who is this guy?” I
asked.

           
“Chill out, Dom. Shit,
even your nostrils are flaring. Eva is twelve, it’s not like they’re going to
be banging.” The thought of my sixth grade sister having sex made me clench my
fists. I heard movement at the top of the stairs and the soft murmur of my
mom’s voice. She and Eva walked down side by side, my mom fussing with the back
of Eva’s dress. It was black velvet with a wide red ribbon around the waist.
Very much still a little girl’s dress, but I could see a subtle hint of curves
and the beginnings of boobs. With her thick dark hair and green eyes like mine,
but with longer lashes, I caught a glimpse of the beauty she was going to grow
up to be.

Eva looked up and upon seeing me, squealed and flew into my arms. “You
haven’t been over in close to a month, Dom,” she scolded when I set her down.

           
“I know, I’ve been
busy.”

           
“No excuse, you only
live like 15 minutes away.”

           
“Let’s make a plan
where you spend the night over your school break. We’ll do whatever you want.”

           
“Like ice skating?”

           
“Sure.”

My dad surfaced from his office in the basement. He wore a black suit
and had on a red shirt that matched Anthony’s. He helped my mom into her fur
coat and we left the house. Philly had its first snow while I was in
California, but it had all but melted. What remained was an exhaust stained
black crust of ice that clung to the curbs like a cancer. It was cold enough to
snow again, our breath puffed out ahead of us in a white cloud. Mom had her arm
tucked in dad’s and he slowed his usual fast pace to walk leisurely beside her.
Anthony and Eva walked behind them and out of habit I brought up the rear,
constantly scanning the neighborhood for any threats, knowing my dad had his
eyes on the front even though he had his head tilted towards my mom as he
listened to her talk about the wrapping fundraiser she coordinated at the
church.

 
A black BMW with heavily tinted
windows drove slowly down our street. The tint was dark and the glare from the
streetlights prevented me from seeing who was inside. I noticed my dad pull
away from my mom and push her protectively behind him.

           
“Dad, who was that?” I
asked, drawing my gun out as a precaution. Anthony pulled his out too and moved
to stand in front of Eva.

“I’m not sure,” he said with a hoarse whisper.

As we approached the corner where we needed to turn I became hyperaware
of every noise, every smell and the best defensive positions available. A
newspaper bin on the corner wouldn’t provide much refuge from flying bullets,
but all the cars parked along the street could. My dad rounded the corner
slowly, he kept his gun lowered, flush against his thigh and it was almost
camouflaged against his black pants. My heart pounded in my ears and time
slowed down as I waited for the first shot to fire. It didn’t take long. The percussion
ricocheted off of the row homes and my dad stepped back behind a house on the
corner. Seconds later a window on a parked Malibu exploded. Bits of glass
rained down on the sidewalk. Eva screamed and my mom ran back to shield her.

           
“Ma, you and Eva get
behind that truck,” I ordered, pointing to an older Ford pick-up. They ran,
their heels clacking on the concrete sidewalk, and squatted by the rear fender
in between the truck and a Mazda sedan parked behind it. “Anthony, cover them.”
He ran and crouched down in front of the truck, the last line of defense. I met
up with my dad. His back was pressed against the house and every time he went
to look around the side of the building, a shot was fired. A bullet grazed the
corner, sending pieces of brick into the air by his face.

Lights started blinking off in homes along the block, save for the glow
of Christmas trees on display behind front windows. Our neighbors knew to
retreat to the back of their homes when they heard gunfire.

I needed to get a clear sight on who was shooting so I sprinted over to
the newspaper rack and slid to a stop, crouching behind it just as a bullet
whizzed by, almost grazing my ear. I was vulnerable here, the thin aluminum
didn’t provide much of a shield, but at least it gave me a vantage point. The
black BMW was parked at the end of the other block, right on the corner. An
Asian man was in the passenger seat, with his gun trained and ready for the
slightest movement.
 
Spying a crunched up
soda can on top of the storm drain near my feet, I quickly crawled over and
grabbed it then tossed it into the air, providing the distraction I needed. As
soon as I threw it, I pivoted around and fired. It wasn’t a kill shot, but with
sirens wailing in the distance, it was enough of deterrence. Rubber squealed on
asphalt as the BMW took off.

           
“It’s clear,” I said
and ran over to the car where Anthony was still crouched down. “We’re good,
bro.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad you had our backs.” Anthony stood a
little straighter, but his face was still pale.

I heard sobs and looked over to see my dad consoling Eva. Dirt was
smeared along the hem of her dress, looking like a dusting of brown sugar on
the black velvet. I brushed it off while my mom smoothed her hair and dad
pressed kisses on her forehead. “It’s okay, baby girl, we’re okay,” he
murmured. The sirens grew louder, indicating they were only blocks away.

           
“Come on, let’s go
before the cops get here,” I said. We hurried along the sidewalk to the
restaurant. My dad kept his arm around Eva’s shoulders the entire time, keeping
her close. When we arrived, Grant, Uncle Al, Dante, Telly, Big Tony and Little
Tony were all outside with their guns drawn.

           
“Was that you?” Uncle
Al asked my dad.

           
“Someone took shots at
us - some guys in a black Beemer.” My dad ushered my mom and Eva inside, but
let Anthony stay outside with the men. “It was a warning only. If they wanted
us dead, they had the opportunity.”

           
“The shooter was
Asian. They got beef with us?” I asked. Uncle Al groaned and hung his head.