Chapter Thirty-Seven

Landon

I glance at my watch and see that we're getting closer to showtime. I pace around the motel room while Frank and Jimmy the stone giant sit in chairs, watching me.

“Would you calm the fuck down, man?” Frank asks. “You're drivin' me crazy with all that pacing.”

I ignore him and go right on pacing. A few minutes later though, the door opens and Marco steps through. He might as well have the Godfather soundtrack playing whenever he enters a room. In a dark suit, dark trench coat, and a dark fedora, Marco is looking like he just came from central casting for a Mafia don.

He slams the door behind him and sits down on the chair next to the bed.

“What's with all the pacing?” Marco asks.

“That's what I asked him, boss,” Frank says. “But he's too good to talk to us.”

“This cockroach?” Marco asked. “You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.”

I turn and look at Marco. “So? Are we good to go?”

He scoffs. “Please,” he says. “Would I be here if we weren't?”

Marco sits up and pulls a small glass vial out of his pocket. He tosses it to me and I reach out to catch it. But it bounces off my fingertips and falls to the carpet. Frank erupts in laughter and claps his hands. Marco looks at me, shakes his head, and sighs.

“Nice catch, dumbass,” Frank says.

I squat down and pick up the vial, holding it up to the light and look at it.

“What is this?” I ask.

Marco shrugs. “Some shit that's gonna help us out,” he says. “You get a few drops of that in Rob's drink and it'll knock his ass out. Once he's out, we can get him to the warehouse where we're gonna do him.”

I nod and look at the vial again. Can it really be that easy? A few drops and Roberto Rossi will be no more? I smile wide and feel an energy building inside of me. But then a stray thought rattles through my mind and I look at Marco, a chill running along my spine.

“And you're gonna be there, right?” I ask. “You're not gonna fuck me over, right?”

A dark look crosses Marco's face and he looks at me with an expression of sharp anger.

“Hey, asshole,” he snaps. “When I say I'm gonna do somethin', I fuckin' do it. You need to calm your ass down and stop being so damn paranoid.”

I nod and pace the room again, a million thoughts firing through my brain. I check my watch and know I need to get out of here. Time's running short and I need to get to Mercy's and get this show on the road. But, I turn to Marco – I've got one more question.

“Can I do it?” I ask. “When the time comes to put Roberto down, can I be the one who puts a bullet in his head?”

Marco cocks his head, a look of utter distaste on his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I should be the one,” I say. “He's fucked me over, so I should be the one who gets to put him down.”

Marco leans forward and points one of his fat fingers at me. “Hey, he may be an asshole and I may hate his guts, but that kid is my family,” he says. “And you don't let a fuckin' cockroach do your family.”

I stare at him, feeling my temper rising. But I know I need to keep that in check. I need to stuff it down. The only thing that matters is that Rossi is going to be dead. It shouldn't matter who pulls the trigger.

But it does – to me, at least.

~ooo000ooo~

I'm sitting in a booth in the back of the bar. I'd picked Mercy's because they have a crowd that never sees or hears anything when the cops ask – and because there's a door that leads outside next to the booth I'm sitting in. Which should make it easy.

I glance at my watch and see that it's eleven on the dot. A moment later, Rossi walks through the door – minus his goons. He spots me and I see an annoyed look on his face as he walks over to me. Taking a moment to look at me, an expression of pure distaste on his face, Rossi finally sits down across from me.

“Thanks for meetin' me,” I say.

“This will be the last time this happens,” he says.

“And I'm glad you left your goons at home,” I say. “I don't want this to get all tense and shit. I just want the two of us to have a real conversation. Like men.”

I grab the bottle of tequila sitting on the table and pour two shots – I'd already put a couple of drops of the shit Marco gave me in the bottom of his shot glass. I push his glass over to him but he shakes his head, declining to drink.

“C'mon,” I say. “Have one drink with me and let's talk. Man to man.”

“I'm not in the mood for a drink,” he says.

“One drink,” I say. “Just one and I'll stop pestering you about it.”

Rossi rolls his eyes and he picks up his shotglass. I raise mine to him and open my mouth to speak. But he cuts me off by draining the entire shotglass and slamming it down on the table.

“There,” he says. “We shared a drink. Now, talk.”

I drain my glass and set it down on the table gently. I'm resisting the urge to laugh and to tell him what I'd done – and what he is in for. I can't afford to do it – just in case Marco did fuck me. Until I see Rossi here getting sloppy and on the verge of passing out, I'm going to hold on to that secret. Until then, I've got to play this out.

I clear my throat. “I want Harper back.”

“Not going to happen,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “How many different ways do I need to say that to you?”

“Apparently, a few more, because I want her back,” I repeat. “I've got your mon –”

“I don't want your money,” he says. “That deal is over... ”

His voice trails off and a look of confusion crosses his face. He shakes his head and seems like he's having trouble getting his eyes to focus.

It's working. I slip my phone out of my pocket and send the text message I'd had queued up.

A thrill of excitement shoots through me knowing I'm this close to seeing Roberto Rossi dead and getting Harper back.

Rossi looks at me, his face a mask of confusion and rage. “What have you done?” he asks.

“You're going to have to ask my new business partner,” I say and laugh. “I'm sure he'll be able to fill you in quite nicely.”

Rossi lunges for me but bounces off the table and lands on the floor. A few of the patrons look over but look away just as quickly – completely uninterested in what's going on. Rossi rolls onto his back looking up at me, his eyes wide and unfocused.

I lean over him and give him a predatory smile. “It's your day of reckoning, asshole,” I say. “This is the day the bill comes due for all the evil shit you've done.”

“W – what?” he shakes his head and I watch as his eyes grow even more unfocused.

It's not long before his head slumps back against the floor of the bar and his eyes close completely. I open the back door and let Jimmy the stone giant in – it's his job to get Rossi out and into the van that's waiting outside.

Jimmy picks up Rossi like he's picking up nothing heavier than a bag of paper and slings him over his massive shoulder. I follow him outside, practically dancing as I make my way to the van.

Roberto Rossi is a dead man.