But junkies will do whatever it takes to get their next hit. The poor bastard knew it was coming, too.
I found the fucker shooting up outside of a strip joint. He was in the back alley. Couldn’t even wait till he got home, I guess. It doesn’t bother me much now, but back then it took a toll on me. I hadn’t toughened up yet. I broke his arm first. I learned that from my pop. Grab, twist, and crack. That way it’s more difficult for them to fight back. He didn’t even see me coming until his arm was busted and hanging limp at his side. I had to rough him up a bit. It was one of my first errands, and I knew the familia would go checking up behind me to see what kind of a job I'd done.
We agreed on new terms to the deal while he sat huddled in his own piss in that dark, filth-covered alley. And by that I mean he agreed to pay it all back with hefty interest by the next day. I have no clue if he ever paid up. I can’t imagine if and how he did, but then again, that’s not my job. And I don’t ask questions.
Unfortunately, a little old lady saw us and decided to do the right thing. She stood at the entrance to the alley. I remember how her silhouette blocked the golden glow illuminating us from the street light. She was a small, frail woman in a cardigan, and had a plastic bag from the drugstore next door hanging from her wrist. When I looked her in the eyes, daring her to reach for her phone, she looked back with no fear at all. Feisty old woman.
I didn’t bother dealing with her the way we normally handle witnesses. I figured the punk would live, but his ass wasn’t going to press charges. That, and I’d only killed once before. That fucker had it coming to him, but this woman didn’t. I wasn’t getting her blood on my hands.
The prick ran out of the alley ahead of me and knocked her to the ground as she dialed the police. Having done my part, I took off and prayed she wouldn’t be able to identify me. After all, it was dark, I was clad in all black, and I never got close enough to her so she could really see me. Or so I thought.
Old bat did see me though, and the cops knew exactly who she was describing. They know we’re the mob, so they’re always waiting for a chance to pin something on us. And I gave it to them, like a dumbfuck. Uncle Dante reamed me out pretty good. He was the Don back then, before his son Vince took over.
Luckily, nothing ever came of it. A night in the slammer, and I was a free man. That was the first time. Since then I’ve been careful, but occasionally we get pulled in for questioning. It’s rare to spend a night in jail, though. Not when we have the best lawyer money can buy, and more than enough cops and judges on our payroll to make up our own court system. We always know when we’ll be detained ahead of time, so we’re always prepared.
But this time, fuck--this time it could be the real thing for me. The uncertainty surrounding this arrest is different from all the other times, and I don’t like it.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Anthony says, taking a seat on my sofa. He drapes his arms across the back of the grey leather couch, and I wish I were as relaxed as him. I've never been envious of Anthony. He's a few inches shorter than me, and between the two of us, I'm the bigger pussy magnet. But right now I wish I'd been smart like him and and taken a job that didn't have me risking my neck like this.
“He said there’s a good bit of evidence,” I point out. Those are the words I keep hearing. Good bit of evidence.
“What are they gonna charge you with, huh?” He takes a swallow of his whiskey and leans forward, setting his drink down on the glassy surface of the coffee table before answering his own question. “Doing their job for ‘em?” He says it sarcastically with a raised brow.
We got into a tight spot with some business partners, Abram Petrov and his crew. He was a big fucking deal,