Young Mick Sinatra

 

The Trans Am sped up, swerved to the curb in front of Leon’s poolhall, and came to a stop.  Young Mick Sinatra, in his do-rag, knee-high leather jacket, and knuckle gloves, stepped out of the sportscar like a man on a mission.  His lieutenant, a muscle-headed ex-con named Santo Vichy, stepped out, too, and got behind Mick.  Although nobody in that West Philadelphia neighborhood knew Santo that well, they all knew Mick the Tick very well and made a point of speaking to him even if through clenched teeth.  The men hanging around Leon’s did too.  Not because they liked him: they couldn’t stand his ass.  But they all knew, because most of the people who hung around Leon’s poolhall were thugs themselves, that Mick the Tick was one mean Italian you didn’t want to fuck with.

“What up?” The young dude who kept watch at the door didn’t like Mick either, but he had enough sense to keep it to himself.

Mick ignored him, which was fine by the young dude, and he and Santo made their way into the poolhall.  Most of the mob guys who came around Leon’s were good guys: friends even.  But not Mick.  While most who came around would smile and put on a friendly face, going along to get along, Mick didn’t give a shit.  He wasn’t there to make friends.  He was there to collect his money.

There was only one game going, near the center of the poolhall, and Mick and Santo made their way toward those guys.  They were the men in the know, unlike all of those hangers-on and flunkies that sat against the walls in dilapidated chairs sucking up every word the big men spewed.  But Mick needed the biggest man.

He walked up to the table just as a badass named Rooni aimed his cue stick and broke game.  The racked balls un-racked and went sailing across the table toward the various holes.  The only ball with a chance of falling in, the red one in the left corner pocket, was the ball Mick snatched up mid-roll and stopped in its track.

Rooni stood erect.  He was a big man himself, black as a shoe, with a lot of street cred too.  He wanted to slam that pool stick across Mick’s thick skull so badly he could taste it.  But he knew he couldn’t set that fucker straight, and live to tell about it.  “What you want?” he asked him.

“Jay here?” Mick asked.

Rooni frowned.  “What’s it to your ass?”

Mick didn’t respond.  He began tossing the ball in the air with one of his knuckle-gloved hands, and stared at Rooni as if he was diagnosing him; as if he was looking to see just what the cure for that ailment called Disrespect could be.  Even Mick’s sleepy eye, the one the women thought was so damn sexy, was wide open.  “Jay here?” he asked again.

When Rooni fixed his mouth to make another smart remark instead of answering the question, Mick’s anger flared from out of nowhere.  He threw that red pool ball at Rooni so violently that it split Rooni’s lip and knocked out his front teeth.  The men against the wall gasped with words like damn! and shit! and rose quickly, in a defensive, fight-or-flight stance.  They knew the only reason Rooni didn’t hit the floor was because he held onto the pool table.  They knew the only reason Rooni was still alive was because Mick the Tick wasn’t there for that.

But Mick was leaned over the table, ready to inflict more damage if he had to.  And he asked Rooni for the last time.  “Is Jacky here, you slumped-mouth motherfucker?!” he yelled.

Rooni was burning with rage.  He looked at Mick with the look of a man who would love to catch his ass in an alley alone.  The men were looking at Rooni, too, and were feeling the same way.  But they were hoping Roon wouldn’t go there.  They liked a fight as well as the next guy, but not with Mick the Tick and his all-out, crazy-ass self.

To their relief, Rooni came to his senses in time.  “Yeah,” was all he would say in answer to Mick’s question, but everybody knew it was enough to deescalate the crisis.  Even Santo, who liked a fight more than most, was relieved.  They were outnumbered and outgunned, although that never seemed to stop his boss.

Mick stood erect.  “Where?” he asked.

Rooni hated that he still had to deal with that fucker at all.  But he motioned, with his head, toward the back room.

Mick stared at Rooni a moment longer, to make sure he got the message, and then lumbered his way toward the backroom.  Santo stared at all of them, to make sure nobody was even thinking about making any false moves, and followed Mick.

When they left the main room, one of the men against the wall, a blood-lusting young blood, looked disappointingly at Rooni.  “You gonna let that Rocky-Balboa-mafucker get away with that, Roon?” he asked him.  “You gonna let him get away with that, though?”

Rooni angrily looked at the young man, as if he was the real source of his despair, and then picked up the now bloody red ball and threw it violently at the young man, missing his head by mere half-inch.  The young man, startled, looked at Rooni; and then looked with horror at the ball that could have taken him out.  The ball had been thrown so hard that it wedged into the paneled wall like grotesque artwork, and stuck.

 

As Mick and Santo made their way down the long back hall, Mick had no idea what had happened up front and how horrified the young man was feeling.  But he felt like the biggest asshole alive.  He hated what he allowed his crazy-ass temper to do to Rooni; he had no real gripe with the guy.  But he had a reputation to uphold, and Rooni should have known better.  He knew you didn’t backtalk Mick the Tick.  He knew you didn’t try to get smart-ass with a guy like him.  What the fuck was his problem?  But even the reality of their street rules didn’t make Mick feel any better.  He knew he didn’t have to go that hard.

But he never learned how to calibrate.  There was no middle ground for him.  He either went hard, or didn’t go at all.  All-out war, or no war.  Total peace, or no peace.  He stayed alive, he felt, because everybody understood that dangerous quirk about him.

The man he had come to see, Jacky Flam, was sitting in the office at the end of the hall.  He and his two goons were looking at some Michael Jordan highlight reel on the 12-inch TV that sat high atop a file cabinet, and they were ooh-ing and ah-ing and high-fiving at every move Jordan made.  They were unsuspecting fools.  The door was even open: that was how comfortable they were back there.  That was how sure Jacky Flam was that no motherfucker in that neighborhood had the balls to take him on.  His only problem: Mick wasn’t from that neighborhood.  Mick walked right on in.

Jacky was the first to see him, and immediately the look on his dark face changed.  “Mick the Ticking time bomb,” he said with his best fake smile, and his goons quickly stood up when they heard that name.  They knew about Mick’s rep, too, but they had reps of their own.  And a job to uphold.  Protecting Jacky was their job.

Protecting Mick was Santo’s job, although he felt as if they had just walked into an impossible situation.  But he stood by the door.  He had Mick’s back.

Jacky smiled at Mick.  “What brings your ass to the southside?” he asked him.  “Santo said you was out of town.”  He looked at Santo.  “Am I right?”  Then he looked at Mick.  “Santo said you had to take care of some business and was out of town.  He said you was out of town.”

“I’m back in town now,” Mick said.  “So what are you going on and on about that for?”

“I was just telling you what Santo said.”

“You told me. “

“I know I told you.  But I thought you were out of town, that’s the point.  Santo said you were out of town, and I took him at his word.”

Mick was tired of this shit.  He closed and then locked the door behind them.  When he turned back around, he saw where the goons had placed their hands in position to draw their weapons.  What they didn’t realize: Mick had already drawn his weapon when he turned to lock the door.  “Where’s my money?” he asked Jacky Flam.  “Fuck that shit about what Santo told you.  Where’s my fucking money?”

Jacky tried to smile it off.  “I was gonna have it right here for you today, Mick. I swear I was.  Ask anybody!  But I thought you were out of town still, and my people didn’t come through yet.”

Mick shook his head.  “Nope,” he said.

“Nope?  What does that mean?  Nope?”

“That’s not going to work, that’s what the fuck it means.  I want my money.  And I want it right now!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the goons had the nerve to ask.  “You heard, Boss.  You heard what the man said.  Read his lips: he ain’t got it.”  Mick could see both goons make moves for their weapons.  The goon on the right, in fact, was about to pull his piece out.  “What part of he don’t have it don’t you understand?”

The goon to his right pulled out his gun, taking Santo completely by surprise.  But Mick, suddenly revealing the J-frame pistol he had in the palm of his hand, shot the goon through the throat.  The goon to his left was quickly reaching for his weapon, as Santo was reaching for his weapon, too, but Mick was faster than both of them.  He shot the second goon between his eyes.  Santo finally pulled out his piece and shot him again, just for good measure, but he was getting pretty useless to Mick.

But Jacky, stunned that Mick had taken out both of his guys, rose to his feet in fear and shock.  “Now, Mick, wait a minute,” he said as he began backing back against the window.  “I didn’t tell them to pull guns.  You know me!  You know I wouldn’t do that to you.  I never told them to pull no fucking guns!”

But Jacky was an old hand with thugs like Mick.  He could tell by that look on Mick’s face that he wasn’t trying to hear any cry of innocence.  Jacky knew he couldn’t fight, not a fucker like Mick, and not with Santo right there, so he decided on flight.  He hurried to the window behind his desk and foolishly tried to lift it up.  But Mick jumped over the desk, hurried up to Jacky, and then slammed his head all the way through the glass of the window, shattering the glass and bloodying Jacky’s head.  He put his gun against Jacky’s face.  “Where’s my money?  You hear me?  Where’s my fucking money?  I’m not asking your ass again!”

Jacky’s entire voice sounded like a plea.  “I’ll get it,” he pleaded.  “I promise you, Mick.  I never stiffed you before.  All these years you been collecting from me and I never stiffed you once!  You never had to come down here to get your money from me.  I never stiffed you in all these years, Mick, not one time!  I’ll have it, I’ll have it tomorrow.  This time tomorrow.  I swear I will.  I’ll have every cent!”

Knocks were heard on the office door.  Then Rooni’s voice.  “You alright in there, Jack?  Jacky?”

Mick pointed the gun harder against Jacky’s face, and Santo stood at the door ready to open it and fire.

But Jacky got the message.  “I’m alright,” he yelled back at Rooni.

“What you doing in there though?” Rooni asked.

“What the fuck is it to you?  I’m handling my business.  Keep your ass out of it!”

It wasn’t as if Rooni and the others wanted to get in it, anyway.  They didn’t work for Jacky Flam.  They had their own hustles going.  They headed back up front where they belonged.

Mick stared at the man whose life was now in his hands.  He and Jacky had been doing business for a long time.  They were once teenagers slinging drugs on street corners together, that was how far back they went.  Now they were both in their twenties still trying to find a place for themselves in this harsh and cruel world.  And both were still young enough to distinguish business from rage.

Jacky, for Mick, was good business.  He removed his gun from Jacky’s face.  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Mick said.  “You fuck with me again,” he added, “you’ll be joining your goons.”

Relief washed over Jacky’s face.  “I’ll have it tomorrow,” he said.  “I keep my word.  You know I keep my word.”

Mick knew he was just blowing smoke.  Thugs like Jacky didn’t know the meaning of keeping your word.  But they’d done some big deals in the past.  It wasn’t his word, but that past history, that kept his ass alive.

Mick looked at the TV just as Jordan leaped from the foul line with a slam dunk that not only had Jordan’s tongue wagging out of his mouth, but had the commentators who were calling the play flapping their chops in adoration.  “Jordan slammed it home!  Jordan slammed it home!  Michael Jordan slammed it home again, folks!”

Mick wondered how the hell could anybody jump that high, and then he and Santo left the office.

But Jacky didn’t give a fuck what Michael Jordan slammed home.  He didn’t give a fuck how high he was jumping.  He angrily slammed his fist into a side wall.  He felt so humiliated, and was so enraged, that he could barely see straight.  He looked at his crew, two goons he thought could handle anybody, and fumed even more.  But he saw his way clear enough to pick up the phone, and give a shout-out to one of his associates.

“I want you to get a group together,” he ordered. “I have a job I need you to handle.  And you’d better handle it right!”

 

****

 

Bella Caine sat in her Audi in the driveway of the bungalow-styled home on the outskirts of town.  She was a beautiful African-American model in high demand; a woman who could have her pick of the litter, and ended up picking Mick.  She gave him back, when she realized he was a man who couldn’t be depended on.  But the lasting marks of that relationship were real, in the form of her own broken heart and their beautiful little girl Gloria, who sat on the passenger seat beside Bella.  And even with a child this wonderful, she thought, Mick still couldn’t be depended on!

She looked at Gloria.  They’d already been waiting for well over an hour, and it was getting dark.  “Think we should go, sweetie?” she asked her little girl.

Gloria looked her big eyes up at her beautiful mother.  Even she, despite her young age, had enough sense to know that this wasn’t normal; that little girls shouldn’t have to track down their own fathers.  “If we leave,” Gloria said, “I won’t get to see him for another long time.”

It broke Bella’s heart that her precious baby had to go through this.  She could just kill Mick!

“Why doesn’t he come around more, Mommy?” Gloria asked.  “Why doesn’t he like us?”

Bella looked at her little biracial child who had her father’s eyes.  “This isn’t about how he feels about you,” she said.  “Your father loves you, baby.  He loves you very much.”

Gloria looked as if her hope had been confirmed.  “He does?” she asked.

Bella nodded.  “Yes!  Of course, he does!  Don’t let anybody ever tell you otherwise.  He loves you.  Don’t you ever forget that.”

Gloria, who was barely old enough to formulate compound sentences, let alone deep thought, thought about what her mother had just said.  It still didn’t seem as cut and dry to her as her mother was making it out to be.  Then she looked at her mother again.  “Does he love you, too?” she asked.

Bella hated to draw her daughter into her and Mick’s nightmare.  “We aren’t together anymore,” she said as if that said it all.  But when Gloria continued to stare at her, as if that didn’t say a thing, Bella exhaled.  “I don’t know,” she said honestly.  “Sometimes he does.  Sometimes he doesn’t.”

But Gloria would not relent.  “Do you love him?” she asked.

Bella hesitated.  She really didn’t want to have this conversation with her child.  But she wasn’t going to lie to her, either.  “Yes,” she admitted.  “Am I disappointed in him, which I think is what you’re really asking?  The answer to that question is also yes.”  Then she tried to explain it clearer.  “Sometimes people you love don’t live up to the person you know they can be.  Sometimes they let you down.”

“Like Daddy?”

Bella nodded painfully.  “Yes.  Like Daddy.”

Gloria thought about it some more.  Bella loved that she was a thoughtful child, but her constant questions as a result of those thoughts were a little infuriating too.  “I think he loves me,” Gloria concluded.

Bella smiled.  Maybe this would end the questions?  “Yes, he does,” she said.

“I just wish he would love me more,” Gloria said, and Bella’s heart dropped again.  She grabbed her daughter’s tiny hand and squeezed it.  She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and they waited.

 

It was nightfall and forty minutes later by the time Mick drove up the long, narrow driveway that led to his bungalow-styled home.  When he saw the Audi parked at the top of the driveway, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel.  “Shit!” he said out loud.  He’d forgotten again.

Bella and Gloria stepped out of the Audi as soon as the Trans Am came to a halt.  Little Gloria wanted to run up and hug her Dad so badly that she could hardly contain herself.  But he wasn’t that kind of Dad, and even at her very young age she knew it.  He was nothing like her playmates’ fathers.  You couldn’t just run up to him the way she could run up to her mother, say, or her grandparents.  Besides, she was upset with him just like her mother was upset.  He had stood her up again.

Mick removed the gun on his person and slipped it beneath his front seat.  Then he got out of his sportscar and made his way toward his ex-girlfriend and their little daughter.  He hadn’t seen the little girl in months, and still managed to forget that he promised to go see her today.  His life was fucked up.  He was fucked up.  Why in hell did he bring children in his fucked-up world?

And Bella, looking hot as fire in every way, just stood there like she was ready to go off on him if he even thought about saying the wrong thing.  She moved Gloria in front of her, as if to make sure their daughter was exhibit A on what a lousy man and father he really was.  But he already knew that shit himself.  He looked away from Bella, and at his little girl.

He knelt down to her.  “Hey,” he said to Gloria with a smile that didn’t come natural for him.  “How are you?”

Gloria ran her hand along the lapel of his leather coat.  She didn’t say anything.  She might cry if she did.

Mick could see the emotions all over her pretty brown face.  And it made him feel even worse than he already did.  He knew he was the reason for her pain.  He lifted her up into his arms, and held her for a long time, and then stood to his feet.  Gloria laid her head on his shoulder and fought back tears.  She wrapped her small arms around his neck.  He looked at Bella, who was still fuming he could tell, and then carried Gloria toward his front door.  Bella followed them.

Once inside the well-appointed home, Mick sat his daughter back on her feet.  Then he knelt down to her level.  “I’ve got something for you,” he said.  “Would you like to see what?”

This cheered Gloria right up.  She loved her father’s gifts!  “Yes, please,” she said excitedly.

“Follow me,” Mick said, as he locked his front door and then made his way down the narrow hall that led to a room in the back of the home.  Gloria and Bella followed him.

Inside the room was a plethora of toys, including a riding horse toy and several Barbie dolls.  Gloria’s eyes stretched as if it was Christmas, and she immediately ran and got on the horse.

“Be careful, Glo,” Bella warned their daughter, but even she knew she was wasting her breath.  Gloria was in Santa Claus zone.  All she could see was all the fun and games.

Bella looked at Mick amazed.  “When in the world did you get all of this?” she asked.

“When I told you I was going to come and get her.  I had every intention of doing it, Belle, whether you believe me or not.  I just . . . forgot.”

“You forgot your own daughter,” Bella said in an accusatory tone.  “What else is new?”

“Fuck you,” Mick said angrily, but then rolled his eyes when he realized their child could hear his foul mouth.  He therefore moved away from Bella, and focused on his little girl.

For several minutes Mick stood there with delight as he watched Gloria play.  Bella stood around, too.  Mick knew why she stayed and didn’t just leave.  She’d never admit it, but he knew what she wanted.  But they both stood there, and enjoyed their daughter’s joy.

Then Bella looked at Mick.  She wished he wasn’t so damn sexy!  “Where were you?” she asked. “Sleeping around with some skank?”

Mick ignored her.

“Where were you, player?” Bella asked him again.  “Who could possibly be more important than your own child?”

Mick gave her a look that was meant to convey how sick and tired he was of her bullshit, but then he saw her body.  She wasn’t a well sought-after model for no reason.  He became horny as hell.

As Gloria ran from toy to toy and then back to the previous toys she had been playing with, Mick touched Bella’s elbow.  “Come here,” he said, and headed out of the room.

Bella knew what come here meant.  There wasn’t a time that he didn’t come to see their daughter, or she didn’t take their daughter to see him, when she didn’t foolishly let him fuck her.  If his stuff wasn’t so damn good she wouldn’t allow it even once after their breakup.  But his stuff was just that good.  She ordered Gloria to stay in the room while she and daddy went and talked, closed the door behind her, and followed Mick to the bedroom just off of the living room.

As soon as Bella walked in, Mick slammed the door shut, threw her against the door, and began kissing her.  Bella kissed him with an equally passionate kiss, as he began unbuttoning her blouse, but then she realized the craziness of what they were doing and she pushed him away from her.  “Sleepy-eye motherfucker!” she said angrily to him.

But then he removed his jacket, his shirt and shoes, and unzipped and stepped out of his trousers and briefs.  He was naked before her, and was now jerking on a penis that made her entire body feel the heat.  His fine ass was naked before her!  And like every other time in their entire relationship, she caved.  She pulled him back to her, and kissed him just as vigorously.

Mick ripped the seat of the panties beneath her dress, and began to finger her as he kissed her.  She wrapped her legs around him as he moved slightly over to the dresser beside the door, opened a drawer and pulled out one of the stockpile of condoms he kept in every corner of his home.  He put it on.  Then he rammed his dick inside of her and fucked her hard.  He wasn’t trying to be gentle or kind or even loving.  He wouldn’t know how to be any of those things if he tried.  He just wanted to get off.

And he did.  Bella was just getting into it.  She was just feeling the sensations of his strokes when he allowed himself to cum.  That was what she hated about Mick!  She wasn’t his queen.  He never treated her as if she was above any of those other hoes he fucked.  He was treating her like she was some damn quickie and it irked her.  She knew Mick had total control over his body when it came to orgasms.  He could make his shit last for a couple minutes, or damn-near a couple hours.  But he was cumming already.

She should have pulled him out of her in the midst of his cum.  That would teach his ass not to treat her like one of his tricks.  But he was still stroking her, and his strokes felt too good.  She closed her eyes and experienced those strokes, forgetting the disrespectful way Mick was known to treat all of his women, and she found herself cumming, too.

When the thrills began to ebb for both of them, and Mick couldn’t stroke anymore, he leaned against her exhausted.  He looked at Bella.  He’d always love her, and he knew it.  But being with her, as he knew she still wanted despite her anger, was out of the question.  Her crazy-ass temper and his crazy-ass temper would be like fire on gasoline.  He wasn’t ever going to strike that match.  Besides, the woman he married, if he ever went down that road, had to be something super-special.  Bella was nowhere near that girl.  There was probably no girl alive, Mick also knew, who was.

Bella knew it, too, as she stared at him.  They could never get along for one hour, let along for a lifetime.  But damn if he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d ever been with.  And the way he fucked!  Even quickies.  To her everlasting shame, she wanted him inside of her again.  She wanted that sleepy-eyed, slick-ass motherfucker again!  She pushed him away from her angrily, because she wanted him.

But the sound of a kick was suddenly heard.  It was the sound of a shoe kicking against his front door.

Mick quickly ran to his nightstand and pulled out two of his numerous loaded guns he kept there.  He opened the bedroom door, and handed Bella one of those guns.  “Go to Gloria,” he ordered her. “Lock the door and keep your ass inside of that room!  Shoot anybody who comes in there, unless it’s me.”

He didn’t have to tell Bella twice.  She knew the illegal trade he conducted on a daily basis.  She knew he used to keep her well-endowed with Gucci and every brand name known to man, and that Audi she drove, because of that illegal trade.  She ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the room with Gloria.

Just as she locked the door, Mick’s front door was kicked in and a group of men Mick had never seen before, came rushing in.

Mick was able to take out the first two men with his first two shots, and there was some satisfaction in that victory.  But the additional firepower quickly overwhelmed him.  He dived behind the sofa and began shooting from that defensive, and weakened position.  But his ass had no choice.  It was kill or be killed in that very moment, and he wasn’t about to be the one on the bad end of that night.  Not with his daughter in that house too.  He fought valiantly.  But he was woefully outgunned.

Mick took out two more men before the other four were quickly advancing on him.  One of the four even headed for the backside of the sofa, to ambush Mick.  Mick was too busy defending the front, and was about to turn around to check behind him, but the man was already there.  And had pointed his gun ready to fire.  But the men in front of Mick was about to fire, too, and Mick knew he couldn’t take them all.  It was mathematically impossible!  So he took out the two of the men in front of him, and tried to roll away from what he knew was certain to be gunfire from behind him, get on his back, and fire again.

But gunfire could suddenly be heard from the front entrance.  The man advancing from the backside as Mick defended the front side was shot and killed by the sudden appearance of a gunman at Mick’s front door.  Mick was able to then take out the last of the men advancing on him from the front.  He took out the last shooter.

When Mick lifted his head up with his weapon ready to fire, the gunman at the door lifted his arms in the air with his smoking gun lifted high as well.  “Don’t shoot,” he said.  “I come in peace.”

When Mick realized the man on the other end of the gun was Santo Vichy, relief rushed over him and he slumped against the sofa.  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked as he stood to his feet.

“One of our guys got word that Jacky had planned a retaliatory strike on you tonight.  I came over to warn you.  I called your cell phone,” he added as he looked down at Mick’s naked body and saw his still wet penis, “but apparently you were preoccupied.”

Mick would have smiled.  Santo had jokes like that.  But knew he needed to reassure Bella and Glo.  “Call for a cleanup crew,” he ordered Santo as he hurried into the bedroom, put on his pants, and then made his way to the room in the back of his house.

When he got into the room and unlocked the door, Bella had Gloria huddled in the closet.

“Everything’s alright, Belle,” he said.  “You can come out now.”

Bella, relieved, got herself and their daughter out of the closet.

Gloria tore away from her mother and went and hugged her father.  “Daddy!” she cried, as if she was as relieved to see him again as he was to see her.  She’d heard all of that gunfire.

But Bella wasn’t nearly as forgiving.  She was disgusted.  “Mick, honestly!  You allow this shit to come around our daughter?”

When Mick didn’t respond with equal venom, she became enraged.  “What do you have to say now?” she asked.  “Do you have anything to say about what just happened here?”

“I’ve got plenty to say,” Mick responded.

“You apologize to our daughter,” Bella ordered.  “That’s what you need to say!”

But Mick’s anger flared at Bella.  “You don’t tell me what I need to say, bitch!”

“Just say what you need to say, Mick.  Damn!”

“Never let a fucker live,” Mick said.  “That’s what I need to say.  I should have killed Jacky’s ass while I could.”

Bella couldn’t believe it.  That was the lesson he learned?  That was what he took from having his little girl in a house under siege?  She pulled Gloria away from Mick, lifted her into her arms, and hurried her away from him.

“Go out the backdoor,” he ordered Bella.  “Don’t let her see that shit up front.”

As Bella hurried toward the backdoor, mainly because she didn’t want to see the carnage either, Gloria looked back, scared and confused, at her neglectful, absent, but still, to her eyes, heroic father.