Enforcer: A Prequel Novella to the New Mafia Trilogy
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Authors: E. J. Fechenda
ENFORCER
A
PREQUEL NOVELLA TO THE NEW MAFIA TRILOGY
E.J.
FECHENDA
Copyright © 2015 E.J.
Fechenda
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of
the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
Cover image by:
Jessica Ouellette
For all big brothers
who look out for their little sisters.
Table of Contents
2007
It was one of those fucking awful July days where the air
was so thick it felt as though I was breathing underwater. By noon my shirt was
soaked with sweat and clung to my body like a second skin so I stripped it off
after my lunch break. Construction was hard and today it was just me and one
other guy working at the job site since only clean-up was left to do. Rico
Grabano, the owner of the construction company, Grabano & Sons, was also on
site, but he was in the job trailer doing whatever it was he did. Maybe he was
just sitting in there enjoying the air conditioning – the lucky bastard. One
day I knew that would be me, but right then I was stuck with grunt work.
Since it was a Friday, Larry, who was getting paid a lot
more per hour than I was and was flirting with overtime, left early, leaving me
to finish cleaning up debris: bits and pieces of rebar, broken sheets of
drywall, splintered two by fours and various other crap. I tossed these into a
dumpster except for the rebar which went into a bucket for scrap metal. The
skin on my back and shoulders was feeling tight from sunburn, but I ignored the
discomfort and kept working. I was one of the youngest on Grabano’s payroll and
one of the least experienced. Most day laborers knew more about this business
than I did, but I was clean cut, energetic and in shape. These qualities must
have appealed to Rico when he hired me or he smelled how desperately I needed
the work. So here I was trying to maintain my enthusiasm as the heat and
humidity drained everything else out of me.
The crunch of tires on gravel made me look towards the
entrance of the job site. A tinted out black Mercedes rolled in and stopped
near the trailer. I was bent over picking up a piece of drywall and watched as
two men emerged from the vehicle. I hadn’t seen them before and they weren’t
dressed for construction; wearing dress pants, freshly shined loafers and crisp
polo shirts. Both men had sunglasses on and when the one who stepped out from
the passenger side turned to head towards the trailer, I noticed he had another
accessory: a gun handle peeked out from the waistband of his pants.
I straightened up at the sight of the weapon and started
walking towards the two men. As they approached the trailer, the door swung
open hard, slamming against aluminum siding with a clang. Rico filled the
doorway. Judging by the scowl on his reddening face, I gathered that these guys
were not welcome visitors.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Rico yelled.
“We’re here to send a message,” the man said and
pulled the gun from its holster, pointing it at Rico. I didn’t hesitate and ran
forward; shoving the unarmed man to the side and, coming up from behind, I
slipped back to my high school football days by tackling the man with the
weapon. He grunted from the impact and the gun went skittering across the dirt,
out of reach. A few quick punches rendered the guy unconscious, but I didn’t
account for the other man and he jumped on my back, wrestling me to the ground.
We struggled and he got in a few good hits to my face. Blood leaked into my eye
from a cut on my eyebrow, but I ignored it and finally tossed the guy off of
me. We both stood and faced each other, but in those few seconds while I was
getting up he had armed himself with a section of rebar.
Just like during a game, everything slowed down and I
focused on the immediate threat in front of me, but also cast a net of
awareness out to variables that could impact my outcome. Rico had disappeared
inside the trailer, the door swinging lazily in the light breeze. The man I had
knocked unconscious was coming to; eliciting a low moan as he moved his head
back and forth. I heard the rebar cutting through thick air as it swung towards
me and I stepped away, narrowly avoiding being struck in the face.
The guy took another swing. This one I anticipated and
grabbed the other end, yanking him towards me. Before he could react, he was
right in front of me and I wrenched the rebar out of his hand, tossing it to
the side then latched onto the front of his shirt. He landed a few punches,
hitting my stomach and ribs, but it was a dirty hit to my throat that caused me
to release him.
I had been in a few fights growing up, usually on the
football field or in the locker room when testosterone was amped, but this
fight was different. Now that the man’s sunglasses had been knocked loose, I
could see the deadly intent in his eyes. I had no doubt this man had killed
before and wasn’t against doing it again. Realizing the stakes had been raised
I sucked in some deep breaths and went into defense mode. We circled each
other, drawing closer with each step until I could smell his cigarette laced
breath. I delivered a punch, connecting with his jaw. His head snapped back and
with a yell full of angry pain, he retaliated by headbutting me, missing my
nose by less than an inch, but the impact of forehead against forehead hurt
like a motherfucker and spots danced in front of my eyes. Shaking it off, I hit
the man again; this time blood spilled when his lip split wide open and I even
felt his teeth shift underneath my knuckles.
Lowering my center of gravity, I crouched down then
launched, wrapping my arms around the man in a classic tackle move, bringing
him back down to the ground. We rolled around, each of us fighting for the
upper hand. The man was tiring; his movements growing more sluggish and his
white polo was now brown and torn in several places. Sensing his fatigue, I
pinned him, pressing my forearm against his windpipe. His face was turning red
and he clawed at my arm, but I was in the zone and refused to let up until the
sound of a gun being fired got my attention.
I jerked at the loud crack and looked in the direction of
where it came from. The other man who I had knocked unconscious lay face down
in the dirt facing me and a pool of blood oozed out from beneath his head. Rico
stood in the doorway of the trailer, lowering his gun. This distraction cost me
my edge and the man succeeded in bucking me off. He leapt to his feet then snatched
up the rebar and charged at me. Rico watched from the short distance as if
waiting to see how I’d react.
Spying the other man’s discarded gun a few feet away, I
rolled in a semi somersault and grabbed it just as the man was about ready to
run me through with the rebar like it was a sword. Gripping the gun with both
hands to keep it steady, I fired and managed hit the man in his chest, dead
center. He stumbled a few steps, as if he was tripping over his feet and I
reflexively shot him again. The rebar dropped onto the dirt with a thud,
stirring up a small cloud of dust. Blood leaked out around two bullet holes,
staining his shirt at an alarming rate. The man moved his mouth, but only a
strangled groan came out before he collapsed by my feet. I was frozen and transfixed
on the gruesome scene before me.
I had just killed a man and while I felt bad about it, I’m glad
I was the one still standing. They weren’t here to play nice and it could have
been me on the ground. Rico walked over, nudging each man with his shoe,
confirming they were dead. My stomach rolled at this callous action and I
swallowed hard, finally finding the ability to look away.
“Good job, Grant,” Rico said and clapped me on the
back. “Now we gotta clean up. Let me show you the advantages of owning a
construction company.” He pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and
made a call. He went back into the trailer and came out with a roll of plastic
sheeting. Maybe it was shock or I needed someone to tell me what to do, but I
followed Rico’s lead.
“Who are these guys and what did they want?” I
asked as we started to wrap the bodies up.
He paused and looked over at me. Sweat dripped down his
face. His salt and pepper hair was drenched and stuck to his head. “Business
associates. A deal went south and apparently they didn’t take it too good.”
I had no idea the construction business could be so dangerous,
but I accepted his explanation and went back to wrapping up the bodies. I had
to pause and turn away when Rico rolled the man with the hole in his head onto
the plastic. His forehead had been blown out, leaving a flap of bloody skin
encrusted with dirt.
“You did good today, Grant, and,” he gestured to
the bundle of plastic, smeared red on the inside from all of the blood, lying
in front of where I was kneeling. “You don’t seem fazed by all of this.”
I wanted to freak the fuck out, but I didn’t, partly because
I was in shock, but mainly because Rico was so calm. I had killed a man too.
This was as much my mess as his. “It’s no big deal,” I said with a shrug. That
slight movement made me aware of the scratches and bruises my body had
sustained. My back felt like it had been put through a paper shredder and I
imagined at least a pound of dirt was ground into my skin.
“Well, I’m impressed. Most people would be puking
their guts out or somethin’.”
We finished rolling up the second body and less than thirty
minutes after Rico had made his call, a dump truck pulled in, parking behind
the Mercedes. The truck was a deep blue with Grabano & Sons written on the
doors in green and gold lettering.
Two guys got out and started walking towards us. Back in high
school I was a lineman on the football team and thought I was big, but these
guys were huge. Their t-shirts that were darkened with sweat stains, revealed
biceps as big around as tree trucks. They each scooped up a dead guy
effortlessly as if they were picking up a bag of marshmallows and tossed them
into the bed of the truck. The bigger of the two men, an Andre the Giant sized
motherfucker, climbed in and started the engine, while the other guy started up
the Mercedes. Moments later they were gone.
Rico asked me to follow him inside the job trailer. Once
inside I closed my eyes and savored the air conditioning. Rico grabbed a beer
out of a refrigerator, the same size as the one I had in the dorm my freshman
year, and handed me the cold bottle.
“I’m only nineteen, sir.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. You just killed a
man – you earned yourself a drink.” He took a seat behind a gray metal desk and
unlocked one of the drawers. “You earned yourself more than a beer,” he said
and set a stack of money on top.
“I don’t understand.” I rubbed the back of my neck
and resisted the urge to pace.
“Grant, I know you need the money. I remember
during your interview when you said you needed to earn enough to help support
your mom and sister.” I nodded and took a big gulp of beer, watching Rico and
the stack of money. “There’s more where this came from,” he added.
“What do I have to do?”
“Come see me tonight at Crimson. I want to
introduce you to some people.” Crimson was a new nightclub that had been open
less than six months, but had quickly become one of the top clubs in
Philadelphia.
“Okay.”
‘Great, I’ll see you at eleven. Just tell the guy
at the door you’re there to see me.”
I started to leave, but Rico called me back. “Grant, this is
yours,” he said, handing me the stack of bills. “Don’t go telling people what
happened today. You’re not so innocent either.”
The underlying threat in his words made me swallow hard. “You
have my word,” I replied. What other choice did I have?
“Excellent, now go clean yourself up. You look
like shit.” Rico smiled at me and it was genuine, causing the laugh lines to
fan out around his green eyes.
I slid in behind the wheel of my rusted out Honda. The
driver’s seat was ripped and an exposed spring dug into my ass through my
jeans. Even though the windows had been rolled down all day, the inside of my
car was as hot as a kiln and I didn’t have the relief of air conditioning to
look forward to because my air conditioner had been busted for close to three
years, since my junior year of high school.
It was when I turned the key in the ignition that I noticed
the blood all over my hands. The coppery smell still clung to my nose. Shock really
caught up with me then and I opened the door just in time. Leaning half out the
car, I puked in a violent surge. I stayed there, my head hanging down as saliva
dripped from my bottom lip. A few minutes passed and, convinced there wasn’t
anything left to puke up, I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm. Climbing
back out of the car I walked on unsteady legs to the trailer that hauled a tank
of non-potable water. Turning on the hose, I ripped off my shirt and ran it
under the water, which was hot from sitting in direct sun all day. I wiped my
face and hands clean, removing as much of the blood as possible. Walking back
to my car, I tossed the wet shirt into the trunk.
Before driving off, I pulled out the wad of cash Rico gave
me and started counting. I was holding $750 in my shaking hands; more than I
earned in one week. I knew then that my late night meeting was going to be
anything but ordinary.