21
Damon
‘Bang bang! She shot me down. Bang bang! I hit the ground.’
So the lyrics of the song go.
I couldn’t remember who the artist was. It had been covered by numerous different groups and singers and of course it was noticeable on the soundtrack to the Tarantino movie Kill Bill, but having it in my head didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t shoot or kill anything.
Dying to fill my hours with something, just to distract my wits from the trauma of Bea hating me the way she did now, a visit to the shooting range had been my only choice. My usual getaway was the lake, of course, but that was now compromised by the ghost of a love I’d lost, and I didn’t think I would quite look at the surface of the water and the night sky in the same way again.
That wasn’t to say that donning ear protectors and firing away at a featureless shape I usually pictured as my father was proving anything of an escape either. A quality of aim was not something I’d ever had to worry about before, but like my good judgement, this ability had seemed to abandon me as well. There was no focus whatsoever, visual or mental and, for the first time, the spirit of my father survived the encounter, flying free to work more mischief.
I just couldn’t do anything properly now that Bea was out of my life.
If only I’d just fucking well told her the truth like I meant to. When the moment had come on our weekend away, I didn’t know how to do so and had failed to take my own advice. Now retrospect had proven it to be sound as surely the consequences wouldn’t have fallen as severely as they had by Bea figuring it out for herself. Better to be an apologetic criminal than a lowlife, but that was exactly what I was to her now.
I felt like it too.
The shooting practice had done little to blast the woes from my brain, and as I had resisted the non-metaphorical response to this issue, there were certain chores remaining that I had to complete even though I currently felt inadequate to deal with anything. Might as well get it out of the way, though, so once I was back in my car, I picked up my cell phone and called Maurizio.
“Hey, Damon. What’ve you got for me?”
“Bad news,” I replied. “Don’t worry, though, the boss’ project isn’t jeopardized, but I’ve fucked up my own role big time. No other way of putting it, man.”
“How the hell did you manage that?”
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the load of bullshit that was about to come out of my mouth. “By following my cock,” I said. “I got close with the daughter; thought it was a good way of getting close to the family but, erm…well, never underestimate a pretty face, I guess. She was a bit more perceptive than I gave her credit for, and she guessed I was something bogus.”
“But she knows nothing of us, right?”
“Nothing at all,” I lied. “But obviously I can’t carry on working there.”
“Yeah,” Maurizio replied, drawling his speech a little as was the usual way when someone had to break bad news to the boss. “I gotta tell you, I don’t think Geronimo will be too pleased with this news.”
“Tell me about it,” I replied. “You want me to call him?”
“No. I’ll call him, you just hold tight there.”
“All right. Thanks.”
I hung up, then felt absolutely no compulsion to go anywhere whatsoever. I had a little inkling that this thing was big enough for them to be getting back to me pretty soon, and I would probably have been more disturbed if they hadn’t. This was the first time I’d ever had to call in with a favor, and I knew that somewhere, probably back at the restaurant, there were a bunch of mafia heads currently debating my soon-to-be death. If asked to take a gamble, I would’ve guessed that my usual success rate would stand me in good stead, but there was never any knowing for certain with the mob.
For all I knew, I was about to get my fucking brains blown out any minute now.
For half an hour, I sat and waited. Then came the predictable buzzing from my passenger seat, and I answered to none other than Geronimo Caruso himself.
“Mr. Caruso, thanks for calling,” I said.
“Hello, Damon. Sorry to hear about the little misfortune.”
“No one’s fault but mine, it was a bad call to make and I apologize.”
“I appreciate your honesty. I have to say that there are some dissenting voices within the family who will need further convincing that our cover hasn’t been completely blown by this.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Caruso, the family’s name is on no one’s lips.”
“That’s all very well for me and Maurizio, because we know you,” Caruso responded. “But you gotta understand that unless time can prove this to be true, then some of the folk who don’t know you so well will continue to question it.”
“Do they want to meet me face to face?” I asked, dreading the answer but knowing that my integrity was everything.
“No, don’t worry about that. We’ve kept them cool so long as you’re able to stay on the case. I know you can’t be undercover at the house anymore, but we can keep you as an office agent for the Secret Service. That way you’ll be keeping a low profile from the Bentleys, but you’ll still be useful to us sooner or later. Maurizio’s sorting a desk for you now. He’ll fill you in.”
“Got it,” I replied, not liking the idea but knowing I had no choice.
“I guess this kind of investigation wasn’t your thing after all,” Caruso went on. “Don’t worry, at least we know moving forward. You’ve got a great record as a soldier for us, so we’ll get you back into more suitable work as soon as this Presidential campaign is history.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and, you do realize this means that little request of yours is no longer viable.”
“I understand that, Mr. Caruso,” I replied, gritting my teeth.
Of course Caruso wasn’t going to kill me, I realized. The man was too busy weighing up the pros and cons and had assessed that, although this mission had hit the wall, he would get his best hitman back as a result. That very fact had probably saved my life, otherwise what pressure was being put on Caruso from other members of the family, who didn’t like even the slightest hint that their cover might be blown, would’ve likely been the end of me.
I might not have been able to shoot for the life of me this morning, but my trigger finger had somehow succeeded in saving my life nevertheless.
That aside, being kept on the Secret Service in an office role was a real downer, even when I didn’t think my mood could sink any lower. Rather than divorce myself from the whole issue of the Bentley family and pursue the early stages of a healing process—I had never felt such regret over a woman so didn’t know how long that would take—instead I was forced to hang around and watch. Either the mafia would dismantle the family’s public persona bit by bit, or else the Bentleys would endure, and my own failure would likely be resurrected for more scrutiny. There was a rock and a hard place ahead, and I didn’t want to have to get to either of them.
Needing to hear a friendly voice, I called Felicia after I’d returned to my apartment to tell her what had happened. My sister had the knack of getting the truth from me anyway, so I might as well get it over with sooner rather than later.
I got right to the point. “Things have really fallen apart, Fee.”
“The Bea thing?” she replied. “Or your new job?”
The way she spat out the word job made me wonder what was up with her, but I simply frowned and continued. “Well, both things, actually. I didn’t tell you this, but they were sort of connected. I was actually working at the Bentley’s place, as one of the Secret Service agents. We’ve got a connected guy in the Service who helped get me in.”
“I already figured that out, Damon. And the truth is, I just couldn’t lie to her when she came and asked.”
A chill crept down my spine. “What?”
“I’m the one who told her, Damon. Much as I love you, I just can’t sit back and watch you drag down a good person like that. It’s one thing to know that my own brother’s life has been ruined by those bastards, another to stand aside and let them infect everyone else’s.”
I’d wondered how Bea had found out—I’d assumed she’d simply overheard one of my calls or something—but shit…I hadn’t thought it was my own sister.
“Felicia, are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, astounded. “You told her?”
“Not exactly. She had a hunch and came to ask me. I couldn’t lie for you anymore—or more accurately, I couldn’t lie for the fucking mafia.”
“I can’t believe you did—”
“You’ve always known what I think about the whole mess. As awfully hard as it’s been on me, I’ve kept it from everyone all these years, for your sake, but I never agreed to be a confidant.”
“But couldn’t you have just given me a heads up so I could break it to her myself? I was going to anyway. And that way…”
“What? That way it would sound better? You were spying on her fucking family while stringing her along and pretending you were something you aren’t. I know you were gutted when she called it off, but that was a bad call.”
I’d never wanted to shout at my sister so much, but I also knew that she was in the right as usual. I should’ve either told Bea the truth from the very beginning, or stayed the fuck out of her life.
I cut the call with Felicia short rather than saying anything I might regret later; there had been too much regret about the last few weeks already. I had to take a step back and let the world settle down, while resisting trying to be clever in calling the shots again. That seemed like a sound judgment; if only there was a way of getting Bea out of my head, but I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.
Shit….this girl was going to be the end of me.