Chapter 15
Evan
Since the dinner wasn't until the evening, and since I didn't want to drag Lora into what could turn into a heated argument about the bar between JB, my father, and myself, I had arranged for us the three of us to meet at the bar that morning instead. Then we could get this business out of the way, and hopefully enjoy a relatively calm family dinner back home in Dillon.
As I drove along the streets of Wytheville, I realized it had been quite a while since I had been here. Also, I was looking at the place through a different lens now that I knew it was Lora's hometown.
I couldn't help wondering about her ex, the guy she referred to as “Jackass.” Would I walk past him in the street, or stand behind him in a 7-11 checkout line without even knowing it was him? And which bar did he own? Would I step in and buy a drink and have a friendly chat with this guy, not even realizing that he was the one who had so viciously attacked my girlfriend?
All these thoughts made me paranoid, and I couldn’t help giving every young man I drove past a second glance. I wasn't scared of him—no, I was scared of what I would do if I positively identified him. The thought of him laying his greasy paws on Lora made me boil with rage, and I knew that if I found out who he was, it would take every ounce of self-control I possessed to prevent myself from smashing his face in.
“Just relax,” I said to myself as I drove. “Think about what Lora said. She doesn't want you getting involved, she wants you to forget that this guy ever existed. Yeah, he's pure scum and he did terrible things to her, and he deserves to be punished for that. But you promised her that you wouldn't do anything like that.”
I sighed and shook my head. I knew that seeking this guy out and exacting vengeance wasn't the right thing to do, even if he had it coming to him. I had to get him off my mind and focus on the most current issue—the bar.
As I turned the corner and got onto the street on which our bar was located, I caught sight of a black BMW with tinted windows parked outside. For some reason my sixth sense started tingling, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this car meant trouble.
I pulled over and parked my car fifty yards up the street from the bar. I would wait and see what was going on, as I was half an hour early for the meeting, anyway. After a few minutes, three swarthy guys, all dressed in black suits, came out of the bar, followed by JB. He didn't look up the street, and thus didn't recognize my car.
“What's this, JB?” I muttered as I watched the scene unfolding.
The guys in black looked burly and mean. It looked as if JB was trying to explain something to them, although I was too far away to make out the conversation.
Then one of them pulled out a gun and pressed it up into JB's belly. I sucked in a breath of surprise and my heart started pounding. I reached for my door handle, but I didn’t know what I was going to do. JB clasped his hands together and looked like he was pleading with them. He wasn't acting like his usual cocky, arrogant self.
As I opened my door, another guy grabbed JB by the collar and shoved him roughly to the ground. The other one then slipped his gun back inside his jacket, and all three of them got into the BMW and drove off.
JB got up from the ground, looking shaken. He dusted himself off, and then stormed back into the bar.
I closed my door again and sat in the car, wondering what I should do. Should I go up to JB now and tell him I'd seen everything, and demand an explanation? Or should I wait a while before going in, and pretend I hadn't seen anything, and see if he was honest enough to admit that he was in trouble?
I decided to go with the second approach—but if he wasn't willing to admit anything, then I would tell him the truth, that I had seen those mobsters roughing him up. I drove up to the bar and walked in. JB was slouched on one of the sofas, watching reruns on one of the bar TVs.
“Hey man,” he said flatly. “Welcome to your bar. It's been a while, huh?”
“Hey JB,” I said as I walked in. “Yeah, it has been a while.”
I decided to keep things positive for the moment, as I figured that he might be more willing to be open if it seemed that I was being helpful and supportive rather than critical.
“The place is looking good,” I remarked. “Nice and neat. And I like what you've done on that wall with those LP covers. Nice creative touch.”
He glanced at the wall, on which a number of classic LP covers had been artistically arranged. “Oh yeah, that. I got a box of old records at a second-hand store and figured that they would look good in here.”
“Yeah, they do. And Dad tells me that the karaoke thing is working out really well.”
“It is, yeah.”
It felt kind of like talking to a brick wall. He didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. And while he could be like that sometimes, I guessed that it may well be because of what had happened outside with the three mobsters. I wondered if he was planning to say anything to me about that.
“That's all you wanna say about it?” I asked. “Dad said you were really stoked. And he seems really happy about it, too.”
He shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly at the TV. “What else do you want me to say, Evan? It's going well. We're making good money. That's all there is to it.”
He was starting to annoy me now. I decided to simply come out with the truth.
“There's a lot more to it than you're willing to tell me, JB.”
He snorted condescendingly, as if he found this amusing. “Is that a fact?”
“You tell me. I mean, those three guys in black suits who were just here, who pulled a gun on you, I think they might have something to say about this whole karaoke thing.”
His face went pale, and the arrogant smirk he'd been wearing vanished in an instant. “You saw that?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I saw the whole thing. Now are you going to tell me just what the hell is going on?”
He bit his lower lip and looked away, unable to meet my gaze. I knew that look well—whenever he had been caught doing something wrong as a kid, he had gotten this look on his face.
“Come on,” I said, “I know what I saw. Those guys loaned you the money to buy this karaoke setup, right?”
He didn't say anything. Instead, he simply nodded.
“Jesus JB,” I said, shaking my head. “You borrowed money from gangsters? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Well, nobody else would lend me the money I needed,” he muttered, still not looking at me. “And I had to do something to get this bar back on track. We were a couple dollars away from going totally bankrupt.”
My jaw dropped with shock. “Wait, what? This bar nearly went under, and you didn't say anything about it?”
I couldn't believe it. He had almost lost the business, and he hadn't told Dad or myself anything about it. And now, he was just sitting here in silence, sullenly staring at the wall.
“Why didn't you say anything to us JB?” I demanded. “This must have been a long time coming, so why didn't you say anything, dammit?”
He just shook his head and folded his arms across his chest defiantly. “You always thought you were better than me,” he hissed. “Always, ever since we were kids. And there's no way in hell I was going to let that bullshit become reality by failing here, by letting the bar go under. Yes, I'll admit it, I went off the rails and I paid too much attention to my booze and not enough attention to the bar, but that doesn't matter now. I fixed it, okay? I'm sober now. I'm in control, and this place is bringing in good money. We're in the clear, there's no danger of bankruptcy. So just freakin' get off my case, okay?”
I stared at him in silence for a few moments, my jaw clenched with anger, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides. “If you're all in the clear, JB,” I finally said, “then why did that goon shove a gun into your stomach?”
“I…they wanted…he…” muttered JB.
“Just tell me the truth,” I said, speaking in a calmer tone. “Spit it out.”
“Everything is fine,” he said, remaining defiant. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Everything is not fine. And maybe I don't have anything to worry about, but it sure as hell looks like you do. Those guys don't look like they're the most patient or understanding types, and if you want me and Dad to help you, then you need to come clean about just what it is that you've done.”
He sighed. “I need a beer.”
“No, you don't need a beer. You need to deal with this problem, and the way to do that is to tell me about it, not try to drink it away.”
He sighed and looked defeated. “Fine. Those guys are part of the Borlotti family. They uh, they run certain things in this county.”
I groaned. “Yeah, I know. I've seen the newspaper reports.”
The Borlotti family was a mob family involved in the usual illicit dealings in this part of California: drug pushing, prostitution, illegal gambling, protection rackets—and, of course, loan shark activities. And now JB had got himself—and, by proxy, myself and my father—involved in their shady world, too.
“I went to school with the youngest brother, Tony Borlotti,” said JB. “So I knew him from way back. I couldn't bring myself to ask you or Dad to help me. So one night I got this idea to get a karaoke league going at the bar. I don't know why, but I thought it would be a great idea, that it would bring a new crowd to the bar, inject new life into it. But I knew that if this was gonna work, I had to do it right. I really had to make things as professional as possible.”
“And so, you didn't want to go get any old cheap karaoke setup,” I said. “You had to get the best.”
“This was my only shot at saving the bar—and saving myself. I had to throw everything I could into it.”
“So, you went to the Borlotti family to borrow money.”
He nodded. He was still unable to meet my gaze. “Yeah. I called up Tony. I couldn’t ask you or Dad for help. I had to succeed on my own.”
I sighed. “I get that, but now you're in trouble. And me and Dad might be in trouble, too. Look, you have to be totally honest with me now, okay? That's the only way we're going to get through this, by being totally honest with each other. Now I know that you and I have had our differences in the past, and that we often don't exactly see eye-to-eye on certain things, but you're still my…my brother, and I want to help you.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding resigned. “I'll tell you everything. You're right, I am in big trouble with these guys.”
I groaned and shook my head. “Oh man, I wish you had just come to me and asked for the money instead.”
“Do you think I want to be in this mess? And if you're gonna give me that kind of attitude, then I don't even want to talk about it.”
I realized that I needed to be a little bit more compassionate if I wanted him to open up and give me all the details. “Okay, I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to sound judgmental. But from this point on, you have to be totally honest with me. No more secrets. I can't help you if I don't know all of the details.”
“All right,” he said. “But please, I gotta ask you one thing.”
“Sure, what?”
“Can you keep this between you and me? Please don't tell Dad, I'm begging you.”
I breathed in deeply and held the air in my lungs as I considered what he was asking. I really didn't like keeping secrets, especially not from someone as close to me as my father—but at the same time, I didn't want to put undue stress on my dad, which would surely be the case if he found out that JB was in trouble with gangsters.
I exhaled slowly. “Fine. I won't tell Dad.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Let's see how we can fix this and get you out of trouble. Now go on, tell me everything.”
He nodded, breathed in deeply, and then started to explain just what had happened, and what kind of trouble he was in.