IS TONIGHT THE night I die?
Of course not! What a silly thing to ask! The more realistic question is; is tonight the night Dante Rossi sends three hitmen to kill me outside my own club? How about this one; is tonight the night I distrust Reina for good? Because if we show up to Club Asylum and nothing happens, my history with Reina won’t matter. I’ll have to get over any feelings I had when I was a kid and admit that things are different for us as adults. I’ll have to go against everything from my past—I’ll have to go against Reina.
The thought of it fills me with enough emotions to blur my vision, but I don’t have the luxury of just forgetting about all of it. Nix and I move around the loft like focused men on a mission. Together, we trek up the stairs to the second floor, past the red chairs at the top of the steps and the California King-sized bed. We turn into a space that used to be a guest room, but is now modified into a closet. All my clothes are hung up around the perimeter of the room, with ceiling-high vertical shelves stocked with shoes separating the clothing sections every six feet. In the center of the closet is a red island with a black marble counter top that has a multitude of drawers on all four sides. This is where I keep my accessories: belts, bracelets, rings, watches, cologne, etcetera. On the very bottom of the island, however, is a hidden drawer with no handles or knobs to open it. This drawer has to be opened with the push of a hidden button on the underside of the marble counter top, and I head straight for it.
I press the button and stand back as the island shifts with a light hissing sound, then lifts and separates from the base as all four sides of the island release and expose four large drawers stocked with guns, each in their own custom setting cut into black insulated foam. The narrow side Nix and I are on is full of handguns, including my favorite chrome nine millimeters, which I’ll immediately go for. The wider sides of the island are filled with rifles and knives, and the other narrow side opposite us has accessories of its own: silencers, scopes, laser sights, harnesses, extra clips and magazines, and even a hand grenade. It’s my own personal armory, and just looking at it puts a smile on my handsome face.
“Let’s load up,” I say to Nix, who’s standing behind me with an admiring smirk on his face.
Per usual, I grab the two chrome beauties, plus a small black thirty-eight special, and place them all on top of the marble counter as Nix reaches for two nine millimeters of his own and sets them down. I walk over to the far side of the island and pick up shoulder harnesses for the pistols we’ve chosen, and an ankle harness for the thirty-eight special, plus black silencers for each pistol. Like SWAT members, Nix and I equip ourselves with everything we need to go to war tonight before slipping on our jackets—gray for Nix, black for me—and head out the door. We climb into Nix’s black GMC Denali and set out for Club Asylum.
The ride over is quiet. Nix drives with his head down and eyes up as usual as the bright lights of Center City flash past us. He’s all focus and anger as the miles go by and we get closer to the club, and I keep my head turned towards the tinted window, looking out at the city I grew up in.
Memories of Reina play in my head like a violently romantic movie montage, and I can’t help but ask myself what I expect as we get closer to the club. Do I really expect Reina to be telling the truth? How ironic is it for Reina to show up here again after seven years, just in time to call me up and tell me my enemy is plotting to kill me? That’s just too perfect, isn’t it? I have so many questions that I don’t have answers to, and my mind is a ball of confusion and anger, because when I don’t know what the hell is going on, I get pissed off and things get damaged. Under normal circumstances, I’d torture somebody until I get the answers I want, but I can’t torture Reina. So what do I do?
In the midst of all this, there’s another question that weighs on me heavier than the rest; if it turns out that Reina is lying, do I kill her? If she’s really with Dante and this is all some elaborate ploy to set me up, do I kill her like I’d kill anybody else in this situation? Can I kill Reina?
As we approach the last stoplight before the club, I feel a sense of anxiety creep over me. It’s not out of fear of Reina being right, it’s fear of her being wrong. If we park this SUV, get out, and waltz into Club Asylum like we do all the time, with no issues whatsoever, what the hell am I supposed to do? What does it even mean? Why would she call me up and tell me something is about to go down for no reason at all? The only thing I can think of is that this would be some sort of distraction for something bigger. Nix and I show up here awaiting this expected hit, and while we’re here, something is happening elsewhere. But what would that be? Where would it be? My loft? Nix’s place? Nix’s restaurant? I can’t figure out why she’d do this if it wasn’t true. There’s so many questions, but the answers are coming, because the stoplight has turned green and we’re turning into the parking lot behind Club Asylum.
My nerves immediately stand up as we take our usual route and find our familiar parking space near the back entrance of my club. Nix parks the SUV, shuts off the ignition, and waits, looking out the window to his left while I survey the area to my right.
Nothing.
Both of us sit completely still and look for signs of absolutely anything to be out of place, but there’s nothing. No suspicious vehicles, no strange people lurking anywhere either of us can see. There’s nothing but the orange glow of the streetlights and the dark shadows they cast in the corners of the alley next to us.
“I’ve got nothing, Solomon,” Nix says, and I can hear the accusation in his voice. He and Reina were friends all those years ago, so I know he would be upset about Reina lying to us just like I would, but after over half a decade, he’s obviously lost trust in her. Right now, I can’t blame him.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” I reply through the growing frustration. Nearly in unison, Nix and I open our doors and step out into the night, the bass from the music in the club humming in our ears. Trying to listen intently through the music inside, I hear only our footsteps as we walk to the back of the SUV and meet there.
Neither of us says anything. We just look at each other, silently acknowledging that we only have about fifty feet between us and the private entrance of the club. There’s no need to say anything now. Whatever happens next will speak volumes.
We start walking, making sure to step with each other like a military parade. Nix looks to the right, I look to the left. My side is darker than his, but the streetlights are doing a great job of casting shadows, turning sections of the alley pitch black We don’t slow down or speed up, we just walk as if everything is totally normal, even though I’m growing more and more concerned for Reina with each passing step.
Halfway to the entrance, I hear something. The sounds closest to me are our own footsteps, still in sync, but there are more footsteps coming from my left that aren’t matching ours, which is exactly why we walked in step to begin with. Someone’s not stepping when we step, their foot isn’t landing when ours do. They’re marching to their own drum, and it’s a dead giveaway. Whoever it is, they’re trying to be quiet, but Nix and I had them outsmarted before the game ever began simply by walking in sync with each other.
I keep my head straight as we step, but I shift my eyes over and see a dark silhouette coming towards us on my side of the alley. It’s a man for sure, maybe six-feet tall, wearing tight-fitting dark clothing. I can’t see a weapon, but he’s there, and he’s heading straight for Nix and me.
My nerves come to life as I slowly reach into my jacket and pull one chrome nine millimeter from its home in my shoulder harness. Just as I remove it and have it exposed, I see Nix reaching inside his jacket to pull his, but he seems to be in much more of a rush than I am.
The next thing I know, Nix has his gun out and is aiming to his right. Next to him is another man wearing a full black sweat-suit, and he already has his gun drawn. I didn’t even see him coming from Nix’s side of the alley, but I see him now, and he’s covered from head to toe, including a black mask over his face. The masked man points his gun at the side of Nix’s head, but Nix ducks under it and punches the guy in the gut, lifting him up off his feet. The hitman is rocked by the punch and unintentionally fires off a round into the concrete. The weapon lets off a soft, muffled pop, and it’s then that I know Reina was right about them coming with silencers.
Reina was right! She helped us!
Like a movie playing out in front of me, I watch as Nix kicks the hitman in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. The next sound I hear is four high-pitched, soft pops from Nix’s gun. The hitman’s body jerks up and down as Nix’s bullets pierce his body, bounce off the concrete beneath him, and reenter him through his back. He’s dead within seconds of the shots.
“Shit!” a man with a heavy accent bellows from behind me, and I whirl around while simultaneously aiming my chrome nine in the direction of the voice. I squeeze the trigger two times and see the shadowy silhouette from before making jerky, sporadic movements to try to dodge the bullets coming for him. I can’t tell if I hit him or just got close, but I’m suddenly shocked at the sight of the silhouette spinning around and breaking into a sprint in the other direction. As he runs and his footsteps get further and quieter, I aim my weapon and fire three more rounds. The silhouette stumbles, but manages to dip around the corner, out of sight.
That’s when I hear another muffled pop.
A piece of brick right in front of me breaks into tiny pieces, and I realize someone is shooting at me. I spin around to see Nix trying to dance away as quiet shots ring out and zip past us. Nix jumps and lands behind a dumpster with a thud.
“Solomon, get down!” he shouts from his position in the alley, and I hear another shot whiz past me. There’s another shot, and then the sudden sensation of fire kissing my shoulder.
I’m hit.
My body jerks from the bullet entering my left shoulder and I feel like my mind immediately goes into shock. I feel the blood running down my arm, soaking my black jacket as it sticks to my skin at the wrist, but I don’t move. I don’t run away, even as another shot pops and a round buzzes by my ear like an annoying insect.
“Solomon!” I hear Nix shout, but it doesn’t register.
They say before you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. I don’t know what those people who say that may have seen, and I imagine whatever they saw is probably a lot better than anything that’d flash before me. Regular people probably see a nice, tidy little childhood with both of their parents. There’s probably an image of a joyful Christmas morning, opening up presents, drinking milk and eggnog together. Sitting around the fireplace and singing songs while little puppies bark and run around in the background. I bet this moment for normal people is peaceful, like being welcomed home after being away for a lifetime.
My moment is nothing like that. As I stand in the middle of the alley listening to Nix’s muffled voice and quiet gunshots, I see a nearly empty house. I see a living room covered with syringes and little bags of yellow crap. I see my junkie mother sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, her body blocking the refrigerator, but it doesn’t matter because the fridge is empty anyway. I see myself in the back of an old El Camino as it drives away from my house after my mother has sold me to one of her dealers so she could get a score of her medicine, followed by the sight of Whitney lying on her back in the middle of a warehouse as that same dealer is “paid” for my safe return home. I see Whitney lying dead on her bed with white foam spilling from the side of her mouth. I see myself, lying on my bed in the basement, staring up at the ceiling, dreaming of becoming a king. I see my first robbery. I see my first thousand dollars stuffed inside of a black duffel bag. I see Nix.
I see Reina.
Suddenly, as another bullet comes within inches of my face and the world’s worst hitman steps out from the black shadow and aims his weapon again, I see Reina and me lying on my bed, rubbing each other’s skin. I see Reina standing outside of a castle wearing a red dress at her prom. I see her smiling at me as I look down on her, both of us naked in her parent’s house. I remember being in her bed, then moving to her parent’s bed, then to the floor in the hall. I remember seeing her walk out of La Famiglia Ristorante and I remember how my heart felt in that moment when she blew me that kiss as Nix and I drove away. I remember Reina—the only positive my fucked up life has ever had, and I’m suddenly filled with a determination stronger than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire, pathetic life. Reina was there when I was going through my horrible childhood, and she’s back now. There’s no way I’m dying when I know she’s back. No. Way.
“Solomon!” Nix shouts again, but this time his voice is crystal clear as I snap back to reality.
I see the hitman, wearing all-black with a balaclava over his face, and without any regard to anything else, I run towards him.
“Solomon, no!” I hear Nix shout, but it’s too late.
The hitman sets his feet, squares his shoulders, and fires another round that grazes my right shoulder. I’m closing in on him fast, and I let out a maniacal scream as I run full speed at the hitman. He’s uneasy now, and let’s another round fly from his black nine millimeter, but his nerves are shot and the bullet sails wide, not even close to me. As his panic takes over, the hitman turns to his right and tries to take off running, just like his friend. Cowards! I let him take a few hurried steps before I raise my gun—while still running—and fire three consecutive rounds.
Pop, pop, pop.
The hitman lets out a painful scream as blood splatters out of the back of both of his legs and flies into the night air in a red mist. Once I see his body crumble onto the dark pavement, I stop running.
“No!” the man screams as I walk up to him, breathing heavily from my little track meet. “Damn it! No!”
As I step up to him, Nix runs over and takes his place next to me, his gun still drawn.
“Solomon, you’re hit,” he says when he sees the blood running down my sleeve, but I don’t acknowledge him. Instead, I kick the hitman’s gun away from him, and turn him over onto his back.
“Hi there!” I chirp with a smile. It’s my game, and this guy has no idea how badly he has messed up. He really should’ve had some target practice before coming here tonight.
“Please don’t,” the man says from behind his black mask before I reach down and snatch it off his face. He’s a young kid, barely in his twenties. More than likely, he’s an associate for the mob who wants to become somebody in the Scarfo family, so they sent him here to prove himself by killing me. The disrespect! They sent a child to kill me. Me!
I take a deep breath and squat down next to the kid, who now has fear smeared across his face.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him as I shove my gun into the holster inside my jacket.
The kid is trembling, but he doesn’t respond. Too scared, or trying to remain loyal? If he talks to me, his family will kill him. I let out a loud chuckle that startles the kid, but it’s hilarious to think that he’s concerned with what’ll happen to him after he leaves this alley. He doesn’t realize he’s not leaving this alley because he’s dead already.
“Let’s try a better question,” I say after I laugh. “Who sent you here, kid?”
Again, he doesn’t answer. So, I reach into my left pocket and remove an old friend that I’ve carried with me since I was a kid myself. I slide the sharp point of the razor up on the box cutter and put it on the kid’s cheek. He looks like he might want to speak up now, but I don’t hesitate. I slice the kid’s cheek from the bottom of his left eye socket down to the curve between his lips. He lets out a terrific scream before I clamp my hand over his mouth.
“Sshhh,” I whisper. “How about this question then. Did Dante Rossi send you to kill me?”
The kid trembles with fear as I squeeze his mouth with my hand, but through the pain, he nods his head up and down. He’s too young to be good at being a gangster. Dante messed up sending him here, especially since Nix killed a guy and the other one ran off. Dante was cheap and must’ve put an open contract on my head, because he certainly didn’t pay professionals to do this the way he should’ve. He’ll regret it, but only for a little while, because he’ll be dead soon too—as soon as I use Reina against him the way he used Tim against me.
“Dante,” I say as I look up to Nix. We both silently agree on the matter we were concerned about the whole night. Reina told the truth, and is obviously trying to help us from the inside. “Thank you for your honesty, kid. Now that we have that all straightened out, I need you to send Dante a message.”
I remove my hand from the kid’s mouth, and he immediately starts begging and pleading.
“Yes! Okay, I’ll tell him whatever you want. Just tell me what it is,” he says, just as I stand up, and Nix grabs him by his shirt. Nix drags the young hitman back into the dark recess of the alley from which he came, and slams him up against the brick wall so that he’s propped up against it.
“Alright, alright,” the kid says, raising his hand. “Just tell me what you want me to say. I swear I’ll tell him. I swear.”
As Nix walks away, I squat again in front of the kid and smile.
“I said I needed you to send Dante a message,” I explain. “I never said I needed you to say anything.”
Just as confusion climbs into the boy’s expression, I lift my box cutter and run the razor’s edge across his throat. Panic takes over his face as blood oozes from the wound and he uselessly tries to stop the bleeding with his hands. As blood slips between his fingers and he starts to make gurgling sounds and falls over, I turn my back on him and walk away, leaving him to die alone and in the dark.