Prologue
This isn’t a bad turnout. More people than I thought.
The sun beats down on us, high overhead. The suit I’m wearing is hot, itchy. But it’s necessary. Got to keep up appearances.
The crowd is probably fifty people strong. I figured there’d be a couple dozen, maybe thirty who would show up. But with such a small town I guess news spreads fast. And we’ve been here six months already. All that damned paperwork. But now it’s finally happening.
Edward stands on the raised platform along with two of his lawyers. I’m waiting off to the side, on the ground. Edward figured it’d be a better spectacle if I were to walk up the stairs when he introduces me. I can hear some people in the crowd complaining, but nobody leaves. Not much else to do around here.
Finally Edward lifts the megaphone to his mouth. Immediately the crowd hushes down.
“Ladies and-” He stops, his voice sounding muffled against the plastic thing. He looks at it, flicks a switch. Ambient air is instantly amplified, and he tries again. “Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice comes through sounding electronic, like he’s a character in that Nintendo thing that came out last year. “Thank you all for coming to the ground breaking of Santa Espera’s newest business, PharmaChem!”
I look behind the platform at the construction workers, all standing with arms crossed, looking impatient. They came here to work, not to wait for us to finish our little display. I try giving the foreman a smile but I’m only met with a glare.
“Santa Espera has had its share of hard years. I know that, and you know that. A town settled unfortunately on infertile ground, it was all but given up for good, nearly turned into a ghost town. But a few of you stayed. Kept it alive. Kept its heart beating. And now I’m here to present the man who’s going to pump new life back into that heart. Please welcome the founder of PharmaChem, Will Silver!”
Spattered applause as I climb the stairs. It mostly finishes by the time I reach the platform. By the time I take the megaphone from Edward there’s silence among the crowd.
“Good morning!” I say. My voice sounds huge, fake. I adjust the distance of the megaphone from my mouth. “As Edward has said, thank you all for coming out. It was when I was looking for a town in which to start up PharmaChem that I first found out about Santa Espera. I chose it for its tenacity. The willingness of you, its residents, to cling onto hope, onto life. That’s what I like. I consider myself a savvy man when it comes to business investing. I strike while the iron’s hot. It’s been through this attitude that, in my twenty years on this planet, I’ve been able to build up enough capital to start up this venture. It’s nearly bankrupt me doing it, but I have faith in this city. And I have faith in you to help me make Santa Espera the thriving, prosperous town it deserves to be.”
I pause for effect, and a few people applaud. Looking down at the crowd all I see are tired people, dirty people, squinting up at me. I can see the only news reporter holding his camera in front of him. The applause fades and I lift the megaphone to my mouth again.
“With that, I’d like to take the honor of being the first to break ground on PharmaChem, soon to be the biggest pharmaceutical manufacturer on the western seaboard!”
I lower the megaphone as Edward walks to the side of the platform where a polished new spade stands. He picks it up and hands it to me, taking the megaphone from my hands.
I pose, holding the spade in both hands, smiling down at the news reporter. The man snaps to life and starts taking pictures, more than are needed. A few more people applaud. As I step down off the platform Edward uses the megaphone to direct people around to the side where they can get a better view of the ground being broken. I reach dirt and walk past the construction workers, to the cordoned-off area marking the footprint of my biggest venture to date. The fences line almost half a mile in each direction. We’re on the edge of town, and beyond the far fences lies failed farmland and, beyond that, desert. Opportunity.
I go about fifteen feet past the fence line and stop.
“Here good?” I ask the reporter. He nods, getting down on one knee. Putting the head of the spade at the ground, I push it down with my food into the barren, rocky dirt, bringing up a shovelful, hearing the incessant click click click of the reporter’s camera as dry sand cascades off the shovel back down to its home.
When enough pictures have been taken I drop the dirt back down in a billowing cloud of dust and Edward lifts the megaphone to his lips again.
“Thank you everyone for coming! Please help yourself to refreshments from the table on the side! There’s coffee for the adults and lemonade for any children …”
The crowd slowly disperses, people talking to one another. Nobody is smiling that I can see. The construction workers finally relax their arms and walk past the fence line so they can get started. One of them passes near me and I stick the shovel out to him.
“Here,” I say. He looks at me, takes the shovel, keeps walking without a word.
As I make my way back I see there are three men from the crowd who haven’t made to leave yet. Antonio Santora. And two of his goons, it seems. I feel extra hot as I approach him. He sticks out a delicate hand adorned with brass rings.
“Mr. Silver,” he says, shaking my hand. “Congratulations on everything moving forward as planned.”
“Thank you, Antonio. And, uh, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” I look at the two men with him, both taller, standing on either side of him.
“These are my associates,” Antonio says. “I trust you and I are still in agreement?”
“Ah, yes,” I say. “I can come by tonight to sign the papers.”
“Good, good,” he says. He squints as he looks out at the cordoned-off area, the construction workers gathered in a group listening to the foreman give instructions. “It would be a shame, of course, for this little venture of yours to have to stop before it can even start. Boys.”
Antonio turns, without saying goodbye, and walks away, flanked by his two men. I watch him go. This suit is killing me. I walk over to Edward, who’s talking to his lawyers.
“Edward,” I say, interrupting their conversation. Edward turns and sees me.
“Will,” he says, shaking my hand. “Congratulations. This is a big step in the history of Santa Espera. And for such a young man, too.” He shakes his head in awe.
“Thanks. Are we all good here?”
“Yes yes, you go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow, Edward.”
He turns back to his lawyers as I leave, walking my way back to the apartment. There’s no public transit in Santa Espera — something I’ll have to fix when the time comes. I take off my suit jacket and loosen my tie on the walk back. Even so, I’m sweating through my shirt by the time I arrive home.
The front door opens onto the kitchen, where Patricia is sitting at the table trying to feed strained carrots to Craig. The splatters of red and orange staining the table and floor, however, show how well a 9-month old likes his vegetables.
“Hi sweety,” Patricia says with a smile. She puts down the small jar of baby food and stands up, giving me a hug and kiss. “How did the presentation go?”
“Well,” I answer, plopping myself down at the table, tossing my suit jacket onto the vacant chair beside me. Craig gives a happy little goo and I ruffle the light brown hair on his head, making him giggle. Patricia sits down too. “More people showed up than I anticipated. And the reporter was there, so we can expect pictures in the newspaper tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” she says with a wan smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. My stomach.”
“It’s okay, I figured you didn’t want to stand in the hot sun,” I tell her. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Good.” I take in a deep breath and let it out. “That Antonio guy was there. He talked to me after the presentation. Asked about that deal …”
Patricia gives me a sharp look.
“And what did you tell him?”
I shrug, avoiding her gaze.
“I mean … you know, it sounds like a bad deal, but there are ways I could turn it to my advantage. You know? Get a foot in the door …”
“William Percival Silver, I do not want you fraternizing with those men, do you hear me? They’re nothing but bad news. We have our family to think of. Do you know …” She lowers her voice, “Do you know, I was talking to Wendy the other day and the topic of this Santora gentleman came up … she told me he’s with the mafia!” She says the last word like it’s a forbidden curse, even going so far as to glance over her shoulders. “They kill people, Will! You don’t want to get caught up in something like that.”
“But if I were able to talk to them,” I try. “Maybe I could influence them, you know? Get them to see things from the perspective of a new business owner. I mean, the amount they’re charging businesses … it’s too much, they have to know that.”
“If you talk to them, you’re just going to be putting yourself in danger,” she tells me, successfully getting a spoonful of carrots into Craig’s mouth. “This has been too big a plan for you. No, it’s too risky. I forbid it.”
I open my mouth, about to say something, but then I decide against it.
“All right, sweety. You’re right. I’m going to take a shower.”
The rest of my day is filled with paperwork, filing, triple-checking figures to make sure the finances line up. Edward calls me a couple of times in the afternoon, as I knew he would. For dinner Patricia makes spaghetti with tomato sauce, making me think of Italians. After she’s cleaned up we sit down to watch some television, Craig bouncing on Patricia’s lap. But the clock is ticking and I can’t concentrate.
At nine o’clock I get up, going into the second bedroom that functions as my office. Moving quietly, I pick up the phone and dial a number, speaking softly into the receiver. The conversation doesn’t take long. When I put the phone back in its cradle I take out my keys and unlock the top dresser drawer, retrieving a small object hidden at the back and putting it in my breast pocket. Then I close and lock the drawer again. I walk back out to the family room.
“I’m going to go get a beer with the guys,” I say, pulling on my coat.
“Now?” Patricia asks, looking at the clock. “But it’s so late.”
“I know, but I was working, I couldn’t before. And they’re only in town for a few days. I won’t be gone long.”
I lean down and give her a kiss, ruffling Craig’s hair again, making him giggle.
“Just be careful out there,” she tells me. “You know. Mobsters.”
I smile and make a gun out of my thumb and forefinger, pretending to shoot at her. She puts a hand to her chest, makes a choking noise, and dramatically dies. I laugh and so does she, sitting back up.
“I love you, sweety.”
“I love you too,” I tell her, and then I open the door and leave.
The night is warm as I make my way through the streets. It’s dark out. Most of the streetlamps have burned out and the bulbs haven’t been replaced. Some of the windows in apartments are illuminated — about one in every five. Finally I reach a dilapidated dry cleaners. There are two men standing outside, different from the ones I saw this afternoon.
“Evening,” I nod to them. “Antonio’s expecting me. I’m Will Silver.”
They look at each other, no words, and then one of them lifts a hammy fist and bangs on the door three times. A moment later a latch inside is heard sliding back and it opens a crack, a man’s eye and the barrel of his gun greeting me. When he sees who I am the door opens the rest of the way, his gun holstered.
I walk inside to a cozy space. The man who answered the door motions for me to raise my arms and I do. He pats me down, checking my sides, my legs, my inseam. When he sees I’m not carrying a gun he allows me in past the threshold.
You would never know this was a dry cleaners before. Antonio is sitting at a table drinking a whiskey on the rocks. There’s more muscle in here — about half a dozen guys.
“Will!” Antonio says, putting his drink down and standing up. On the table I see the contract, but I give Antonio a smile as he hugs me. “Good, good, I was worried you might have changed your mind. Like the others before you whose businesses mysteriously failed. Please, take a seat.”
We both sit down, me in the chair opposite him. Antonio puts a hand on the contract, spins it so it faces me, and pushes it forward.
“You want to read it over?” he asks.
I give him a smile. “I didn’t get this far in business signing contracts I haven’t read,” I tell him.
Picking it up I skim over the words, turning the pages as I go.
“Jesus,” I can’t help myself when I read it. “Wow, seventy percent? That’s, ah … that’s a little steep, isn’t it, Antonio?”
“Only for the first five years,” he assures me. “Once I know you’re nice and settled in, then I’ll lower my take down to an even sixty.”
He chuckles to himself as he takes another sip of whiskey. I skim through the rest. When I get to the end there’s a line with an X beside it. I hear a click and look up to see Antonio offering me a pen. I don’t take it right away and his relaxed smile begins to melt.
“If you don’t sign this,” he says, “that is, of course, your decision. But if you don’t, then do not be surprised when your construction comes to a sudden and irreparable standstill, Mr. Silver.”
I swallow through my dry throat, reach out for the pen.
“Well, I guess if that’s the only way I can go ahead …”
I lower the pen to the paper and scrawl my signature on the line. Antonio’s smile stains the top of my head, and when I look up I feel it, grimy on my skin.
“Congratulations, Mr. Silver,” he says, reaching forward to shake my hand again. “You made a smart move.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “So this deal, it starts … when I get the business up and running?”
“Right away,” Antonio corrects me, and I make a show of looking surprised.
“Wow, right away. You really do like things to move fast, Antonio. You know, I actually like that about the way you work.” I get up from the table, taking a few steps as I talk. “You’re fast. Efficient. You do what you want to do and aren’t afraid to forge new roads when they’re needed.”
He’s smiling lazily up at me. “That is the way I like to work, Mr. Silver.”
“But you know,” I go on, “if there’s one thing I would critique about your particular methods, it’s that you’re not very careful.”
Confusion flickers on his features. “What do you mean?” The muscles in the room are all listening, all make fists, give me warning looks. But I continue speaking as calmly as ever.
“I mean, like, me for instance. I moved here six months ago. You heard I wanted to start up PharmaChem, and what? You didn’t ask any questions? You didn’t ask how me, a guy so young, could get the capital to do something like that?”
He gives me a level look. “It’s not my business to worry about my clients’ pasts, Mr. Silver. Just their futures.”
“Ah, see, that’s where you and I differ. Because I like to make sure of the past, present, and future. For instance, in the past, you had two of your men outside guarding the door. But now, in the present, I’m willing to bet that there’s none.”
A wave of uncertainty ripples through the room. Now Antonio looks confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Go ahead and check, if you don’t believe me.”
Looks pass between the men, and one of them goes to the door, slides back the latch, opens it up. Sure enough, the two men who were there before aren’t.
“Vinnie?” calls the man out into the dark. “Frank?”
A shot fires. The back of the man’s head explodes and he drops down to the floor, dead. I throw myself towards a corner of the room as, a second later, the air fills with the sound of gunshots, machine gun fire, and the screams of dying men.
No one in the room can get their guns out fast enough. Windows shatter, bullets whizzing in through the air, making the plaster explode out in plumes of dust, raining debris down on my head. When no one is standing any longer I start shouting.
“Okay! Okay! It’s done! Stop! Okay!”
Eventually the gunfire slows to a stop. The room is hazy with dust and smoke. Ringing silence has replaced the sounds of bullets and death. Some footsteps, crunching glass, and my men walk into the place as I lift myself back up to standing.
“Christ,” says Alfie, looking around. “This is their hideout? Talk about lack of imagination.”
He’s holding a machine gun. Douglas and Walt each have handguns, but I know they’re packing more. Just then there’s a low cough, and all three of my men swing their guns around to the source of the sound. But I raise a hand, seeing where they’re pointing.
“Hold it,” I say. I walk over, my feet crunching, until I reach Antonio. He’s bloody, his suit jacket torn up and full of holes. But he’s still alive. He looks up at me, his face marred with white powder, his teeth stained with blood.
“You,” he coughs some more, “you piece of shit.”
“Ah, Antonio,” I say, shaking my head. “You should have done your research first.”
I reach an open hand to Douglas who hands me something heavy and metal. A revolver. Reaching into my breast pocket I pull out a silver bullet.
“If you had,” I flick open the chamber, “you would have learned about my friends here.” The bullet goes in, I spin the chamber to the right spot, close it. “A little group I formed when I was fifteen. A gang, I guess you’d call us. Is that what you’d call us, Walt?”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” he agrees. His eyes are on Antonio too. We’re all looking down at him. Antonio stares up at as, his expression a mix of anger and fear.
“The Bullets, we call ourselves. You see, that’s how I made all that capital I was talking about. And I’m going to make a lot more, here in Santa Espera. This town has potential. It can grow. It can become something great.” I aim the gun down at Antonio’s face. He doesn’t flinch. He keeps struggling for breath, but he doesn’t flinch. “But not with shit stains like you, robbing everybody before they have a chance to actually make something of themselves.” My thumb cocks back the hammer. “Things are going to be different around here. When you get to hell, tell them the Silver Bullet sent you.”
BANG!