Dear readers: I thank you for your comments on my previous story. I hope I can apply some of your suggestions to this one. In regards to any spelling/ grammatical errors, I ran through it with spell-check and returned no errors. I am English, so perhaps this explains a lot.
However, thank you for reading.
No sex in here, I'm afraid.
---
"Vinny!"
Vinny. That's me. Vincent Carlotti. I'm 6'5" and I spend a lot of time in the gym. I can't remember the last time I saw a weight scale, but I'm happy as I am.
The man calling my name was Joey. Joey runs a bar downtown. He also provides a little protection on the side. People call us Mafia. We're not, we just run a business helping people. Whether they need help forgetting, or help with a couple of guys, we're there. For the right price of course. Joey taught me everything I know. I lived with him from being 3 years old until I turned 26. My parents died when their car got hit by a semi, so Joey's the only family I've ever known.
I have a past. My past is a little darker than everybody else's, but we all gotta move on, right? See, I never knew when to stop. And my inability to see enough as being enough is what got me sharing a cell with a whacko.
More about that later.
When I was growing up, all I wanted to do was have a steady job during the day and a wife and family to go home to at night. In the suburbs. I wanted to be a regular Average Joe.
But the only Joe I knew wasn't average. Far from it.
So I had to join the 'family business'. I don't see how it was a family business; we had no family other than each other.
So I became his right-hand man. I became the guy that got all the day to day shit sorted. The kinda shit Joey didn't want to touch. The kinda shit that could get a man locked up for life, with no company other than a cellmate that wanted to fuck you. And I was good. I was the best.
Anything that was tricky "Pass it to Vinny, he'll sort it. He'll sort it so good you'll never know it even happened"
I looked up from the desk to see Joey with an envelope and a grin.
"Jackie Kasanawa just came through for us. It's done. You've just netted us five million dollars. You son of a bitch!" He laughed. "You know I hate those damn triads, they try to fuck you over at every opportunity, but fuck me, we did it!"
By 'we' he meant me. He's the front, the guy that sits behind the desk. I know that sounds weird, 'cause at the moment, I'm behind a desk. But I get my hands dirty, at every opportunity. I pride myself on being able to cope with the dirty details, and I do it perfectly.
And if you want to know what I did, I took care of a triad that thought he was untouchable. The hardest hit I've made in my life. But we're connected. There were no cops involved. Once Joey told them what was going down and how well they'd be rewarded, they stayed away. And that's what we do. To the cops' way of thinking, that just gets a drug dealing triad motherfucker off the streets. That's the same thinking as ours. Hell, we didn't need no Triads selling crack. I mean, I can't lecture anyone on lifestyle, but this Triad motherfucker was selling to kids. So I put him out of commission, permanently. It's no great loss.
---
The black Lexus was parked at the side of the street. It had been pegged the moment it stopped. We know that car. And in short, it meant we were fucked. That car belongs to Yoshimoto Kasanawa. You don't fuck with this guy. And I have. Several times, but this is the first time he's called at the bar after. I was shitting myself. And with good reason. He is the kinda guy that if you fuck with him, the lucky ones get shot in the head. The not so lucky ones turn up in a basement somewhere after being tortured, burned with shit. Fuck that. I didn't survive prison for this bullshit. So, as I sat observing the vehicle on the TV monitors, my mind was in a whirlwind. Eventually, I just decided to hit the nail on the head and I walked through the bar, and out the front door. As I was walking, Joey looked at me with alarm. I just shook my head and carried on. There was no point in dragging him into this.
I walked across the street and over to the car. Yoshimoto smiled at me through an open back window.
"Get in, my friend. Let's take a drive."
I could feel the cold metal of my Beretta 92A1 as it rubbed against the hot skin on my waist. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer the weight of the Beretta rather that any other makes. I can't explain it. I just like my gun.
So I sat in the back seat, next to the Triad. Now I'm here, I wasn't that scared any more. I'm good at my job, and Yoshimoto respects this. I hope.
"So, you killed one of my associates. Explain." He doesn't ask, he tells.
"He was selling crack to kids. I ain't into that. He's better off dead." I replied. Fuck Yoshimoto.
"Well..." He started, pulling out an envelope. "A bonus. He was a loose cannon. As a father myself, that is an inexcusable act. I respect you even more that I did already. You're a good man Vincent. Another time, another place, perhaps you could join me in business?" This time he was asking.
"Whilst your offer tempts me, Joey's family." I reply, playing it cagey. I wasn't scared, but I dislike the feel of a gun to your head.
"Blood's thicker than water Mr Carlotti? I see. I admire that in a man. Loyalty. It's something you don't come across much. Well, there will always be work for you with me Vinny. You don't mind me calling you that, I assume?" He gently reminded me who he was.
"Vinny's fine. I might just take you up on that offer at some point."
"Good. Thank you for eliminating that problem for us." He dismissed me.
I took the hint and left, entering the bar and fingering the envelope in my pocket.
"Joey. I need out for a while."
Joey looked up in alarm.
"What's wrong? What did that fucker say?"
"Nothing Joe, I just gotta take some time to... ah... get my priorities in order. It's only temporary."
Joe embraced me.
"You're a good kid, you know that? You take what you need. Door's always open to you."
Without another word, I got into my black BMW and hit the interstate.
---
I wasn't like most businessmen. I didn't flaunt my money. I didn't feel the need for material goods. But I allowed myself one creature comfort. Two if you count the car, which I didn't because it was for business as well.
But my second house. That was different. I needed a private place for myself. Joe didn't know where it was. No-one did. No-one to do with my life. This was my sanctuary. My retreat.
It was around 6AM when I pulled the car into my drive. I reverse parked it. Old habits die hard. I do that because, whilst it gives someone a better line of fire, it also makes for a much quicker getaway.
I collapsed into the king size bed in my room and slept until noon. I could never really sleep in, so it makes sense. A rumble from my stomach reminded me I was absolutely famished. I dressed in a red dress shirt and left it open collared, with Armani loafers and black Armani pants. Hey, I'm a businessman. I always dress to impress. I decided that I didn't want to bother with a jacket in the 80 degree heat, so I left it.
I strolled over to the BMW, breathing in the hot, humid air.
"So you're the guy that owns this place?" A voice called.
I looked around and saw an elderly woman leaning over her fence.
"Yeah." I said.
"So, why don't we see much of you? When the realtor said a handsome man, dressed in a sharp suit with a flashy car had bought the place, my daughter was dying to see you. But so far you've disappointed her." She proclaimed.
I laughed and walked over to the fence.
"Vincent Carlotti" I said, offering my hand.
"June Saunders" She replied, grasping the proffered hand in a surprisingly firm grip. "Eric! Come here honey!" She called towards the garage. The faint strains of a rock tune could be heard, but Eric didn't appear.
She just laughed and motioned me to head to the garage. "Just go say hi."
I walked into the garage, and what I saw took my breath away. In partial restoration was a 1969 Dodge Charger. Eric appeared from under the car and looked up at me.
"Hi, I'm Vinny. I bought the house next door a few years back?"
"Oh yes, of course!" He reached out and gripped my hand. "What do you think Vinny? I'm Eric by the way."
"She's a beautiful machine. I restored a 1970 Mustang when I was in college, but I haven't touched a classic since. It's a massive shame. And the car was destroyed in a fire."
This was all true, except I restored in whilst training with Joey, and the car was torched as a revenge attack by some pissed off hick.
"It's only the body shell that needs doing now. The motor's completely finished, I'm just about to fire it up." He announced. He reached across into the cab and turned the key. The starter motor sounded and the engine struggled to fire up.
It caught after three attempts and the engine roared to life. I smiled.
"Damn, I gotta go to the store, get some groceries."
