Simone
“Is he hurt? Is he hurt?” Cecilia cries. She’s asked the question about one hundred times, but that doesn’t stop her.
All I can do is hold her in the front of the car as Shotgun bleeds in the back, the man called Beast driving as Rocco holds onto Shotgun, pressing down on the wound. “Hurry the fuck up!” Rocco roars.
Beast shouldn’t be driving. He’s just as drunk as Cecilia. But somehow he manages to focus enough not to kill us. He swerves between traffic, heading for the nearest hospital, the GPS on his phone sounding alien and out of place amidst Cecilia’s crying. We almost crash right into a traffic light on a bend, but otherwise we whizz through the city unscathed.
“We can’t all go in,” Rocco says. “I will, and nobody else. They’ll ask questions.”
“I’m not leaving him!” Cecilia protests, sobbing into my neck so that her words are slurred.
“Simone!” Rocco growls. “This is the way to keep him alive. Don’t you fuckin’ die on me, boss. Goddamn it!”
Beast pulls up outside the hospital.
“Wait for me down the street!” Rocco snaps, kicking the car door open and lifting Shotgun out of it. He hefts him over his shoulder and carries him into the hospital, disappearing into the bright white lights.
Cecilia tries to follow them, but I hold onto her tightly as Beast drives us to the end of the street and parks in an alleyway. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead,” Cecilia moans. “He’s dead and you won’t let me be with him! What’s wrong with you? I always hated you. Ever since we were little girls I hated you, Mona. I never wanted to be your sister. When people said we were sisters I laughed in their faces because I knew it was a stinking lie and it could never be true. It could never be true!”
“Hush.” I wrap my arms around her, bringing her close to my chest, pulling hard when she tries to resist. She sobs violently, soaking my dress with tears.
I’m still in a state of shock. I’m still at the bar, trying to get Cecilia to leave. Nobody’s been stabbed. Nobody’s been shot. It can’t be real. Violence can’t happen like that, so quickly. In the movies there’s always a buildup, dramatic camera angles. There are reaction shots and the viewer, most of the time, knows it’s coming. It wasn’t like that at all. One second I was scared, but not terrified. The next, blood was everywhere and I was dragging Cecilia from the bar, digging my fingernails into her wrists too hard by accident, making her bleed. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?
I’m sober now. At least I think I’m sober now. But maybe I’m still a little drunk because I can’t shake the idea that sleeping with Rocco and Cecilia’s tears are connected in some terrible way. If I hadn’t slept with Rocco, then he would’ve been in the main bar area, and if he’d been in the main bar area, he could’ve intervened before everyone got too drunk. He could’ve stopped it, and then Cecilia’s world wouldn’t be breaking apart. Part of me knows that this is unfair to myself, but a larger part keeps thinking, sleeping with Rocco was a mistake. What the hell is wrong with you? And that’s the part that’s winning. When Cecilia cries, it’s like I can feel her pain in my chest, a heavy weight. I just want her to stop.
“I remember when I met him at a club and he came over and he smiled and he said I was pretty. And I smiled back and then we kissed and I know Mom and Dad will come around eventually. I know they will because Sam is a good man—we can call him Sam when we comes to dinner, so Mom and Dad will like him. I know they’ll like him, won’t they? Tell me, Simone!”
I stroke her hair. “They’ll like him,” I say, my belly acidic with alcohol and guilt.
“I know they will.”
She quiets down until Rocco returns. Then she pushes away from me. “Where is he? Is he alive? What’s happening? Tell me! He’s your boss and I’m his woman so you have to tell me!”
Rocco stands at the driver’s door, talking with Beast, ignoring Cecilia for the time being. “Give me the car,” he says. “I’ll take the women home and then ditch it.”
“Boss.”
Beast steps from the car.
Rocco climbs in and starts the engine.
“Tell me!” Cecilia demands.
“He’s breathing,” Rocco says, carefully backing out of the driveway. “I bribed the doctor so there ain’t any trouble about insurance or shit like that. But that bullet has done some serious work on him. They don’t know if he’ll make it.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” Cecilia howls, sounding like a grieving wolf. “How is this . . . How is this . . . I don’t understand! This can’t be happening. Where is Shotgun? Bring me Shotgun!”
“What’s your address?” Rocco asks me.
He looks sick in the face, all the color drained out of his cheeks. His voice has a faraway quality, as if he’s not really here. I tell him my address, and we drive to my apartment building.
“I’m taking you upstairs now,” I say to Cecilia.
“Why are you talking to me like I’m a little baby? I’m the older one, Mona. Don’t forget that.”
“Okay, okay. But we need to go upstairs.”
“Fine!” she snaps. “Do you know I never loved you, ever, not once? On our birthday I’d blow out my candles wishing we weren’t sisters anymore.”
Her words shouldn’t hurt me, not under the circumstances. I know she’s just lashing out. And yet as I help her into my building and into the elevator, Rocco standing beside us, I feel out-of-place pain. I force it down. This isn’t the time or place to get offended at anything she’s saying.
I give Rocco the keys to my apartment and he opens the door. Together, we carry Cecilia to the couch. She can hardly walk now. It’s like her distress is a bullet in her belly as painful as Shotgun’s. She clutches onto it, moaning wordlessly, head hanging as if she can’t support it herself. Rocco and I lay her down on the couch, on her side just in case she’s sick, and then I kneel down next to her.
“Everything’s going fuzzy,” Cecilia whispers. “I don’t think I want to be an Ericson anymore. Do you remember when Miss Hayworth snapped at me and told me I was just a spoiled rich girl and Mom heard about it and came to school and embarrassed us? I think Miss Hayworth was right. I wish I was born poor like Shotgun was.”
“The police will get the man who shot him,” I say, hoping to give her some hope.
“Not the police,” Cecilia says. She looks over my shoulder, at Rocco. “You have to get revenge on those monsters. Shotgun talks about you all the time. He tells stories about when you first joined and how happy he was and—You have to get revenge on these monsters, these animals. Who busts into a party like that? Promise me.”
“The police will—”
Rocco interrupts me. “I’ll get revenge on those bastards,” he says. “If it kills me, I will.”
I stroke Cecilia’s hair until she falls asleep and then pull a blanket over her. She sleeps fitfully, making scared groaning noises and kicking her legs as though running.
“What was that about?” I ask, joining Rocco in the kitchen, which is open plan so I can still watch Cecilia over the room divider. “Won’t the police . . .”
“The police won’t get involved in club shit. They never do. We pay them not to. And anyway, what’re they going to investigate? An abandoned club with blood on the floor? They won’t take the time for that. No, it has to be me.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Rocco’s face has that colorless look again. He swallows, and then shakes his head. Speaking quietly, he says, “No. I don’t think he is. I’ve seen wounds like that before.”
“Don’t you want to be with him?” I whisper.
“He made me promise to stay with the two of you tonight. He was talking, mumbling as I dragged him in there. He made me promise, Simone. I don’t know what to do.”
I touch his face, stroking his chin. “Go to him. He didn’t know what he was saying. Go now, before it’s too late.”
Rocco stares at me for a moment, and then nods shortly. “Simone,” he says, before leaving. “Tell me tonight still meant something. I don’t wanna sound like a goddamn woman, but tonight’s gotta mean something.”
“I—” But I can’t say it. I can’t give him what he wants. “Go to your friend,” I tell him. “We’ll talk later.”
He opens the door, looks at me one last time, and then leaves.
I go into the kitchen and pour a glass of water. I down it, and then pour another. I down that one, too. Four pints of water later, belly bloated, I sit down on the armchair and watch Simone, waiting to properly sober up. Tonight has been one wild ride, I reflect.
I wonder if it will all seem real in the morning.