Mobster's Girl (15 page)

Luckily, Alessandra answers the door when I
knock. I’m breathing heavy from running. She has a very concerned
look on her face.

“Megan? Are you okay?”

Grasping the doorframe, I say, “Yeah, yeah.
Just out of breath.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to find Antonio.”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “No,
seriously, I need to find him. I need to talk to him.”

Alessandra takes my hand and tugs me through
her house to her bedroom. I take being dragged through her house as
a sign we’re going to talk but what I find in her bedroom
astonishes me.

Sitting on the floor against the wall, jean
clad, knees bent; head in his hands is Antonio. His whole demeanor
is of someone in despair and lost.

Finally, he glances up. His face registers
different emotions; elation, happiness then wariness. He jumps to
his feet still as shocked as I am. He is just as gorgeous as
always. Intensity stares at me through his eyes. Alessandra is
still holding my hand. She lets go and walks out of the room
shutting the door behind her.

Antonio steps towards me reaches out and
crushes me to him in one fluid motion, “Megan…” He says into my
hair, “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.” My arms wrap around his toned
waist. He is the most delicious guy I have ever known. His words
sound like they have been on the tip of his tongue for a while but
have never had a chance to spill out-until now. “Tell me you still
want me.” This is so unlike Antonio. His words sound insecure and
unsure.

I hold him tighter and say into his chest, “I
never stopped wanting you.” We hold each other squeezing and my
chest compresses. He loosens his hold. We stand a long time not
saying anything, just clinging to each other. Gently he stroked my
hair as he held me. Deep down we both knew no matter what we belong
together.

Desperation and loneliness consumed me all
week. Grasping the betrayal of my family and the images of Antonio
thrashing that man haunted me day and night. Standing in his arms
right now is amazing and I’m not sure how I have survived so many
years without it.

“I’m sorry.” He says again. “I should have
told you.”

“It’s okay.” I tell him, and I mean it.

I leave Alessandra’s feeling liberated.
Antonio and I are going to see each other tomorrow night. We’re
going to talk. Figure things out. Alessandra held me tight when she
said good-bye.

Cazzo (kaatso): Balls!

My lips are still tingling from Antonio’s
rough kisses. I catch myself smiling all the way home. Antonio
offered to drive me. He had his father’s car. He said he hasn’t
been driving his much because it reminds him too much of taking me
back and forth to school. I still didn’t want to risk my parents
catching us together. We are going to have to sneak around and lie
if we are going to keep seeing each other. Just knowing that I am
going to see him is enough to sustain me.

The way my mother’s been treating me-I could
care less. She looked triumphant and smug the day Dad took me to
see Antonio. I won’t let someone like that ruin my happiness even
if it is my mother.

The darkness of evening snuck up on me. The
days are getting shorter as Autumn wanes. By the time I climbed the
stairs to go into the house, it was totally dark out. The house
seemed exceptionally quiet. Well, it’s been real quiet since last
week.

Feeling better than I have in the past week
and the lump in my throat finally gone, I head straight to the
kitchen. I reach for the light switch and a hand grabs my wrist and
painfully forces my arm behind my back. My eyes adjust to the
shadowy room. I see my mom and Erin bound against our kitchen
chairs. Panic surges through me.

My assailant shoves me into a chair and
presses on my shoulder to hold me down. I struggle and clutch at
them but they’re too strong. I hear a ripping sound from behind me.
Quickly, they bind my hands in what feels like duct tape. Harshly,
my hair is tugged so that my face it thrust up and my attacker
says,

“Don’t fuckin’ move.”

I definitely don’t know this person. I can
see better now. He is tall with blue eyes. His face is scruffy like
he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I glance at my mother and sister.
Tears are streaming down my sister’s face with no sobbing cries. My
mother is staring straight at me like I have all the answers in the
world for what’s going on. But I don’t.

“We’re just gonna sit here and wait for the
cleaner.” He says sitting down in the fourth chair. He crosses his
arms and legs in a gesture that says he’s got all the time in the
world. He is holding a pistol in his right hand up against his
chest. It has a long cylinder-like piece on the end. From watching
way too many cop shows, I’m guessing it’s a silencer.

Wait! What?... Cleaner? Is he expecting
Merry Maids to show up?

I look over at my mom again. Questions are
filling my brain but no panic. But my mother is not the haughty
person she was a minute ago, her eyes are like saucers. She appears
panicked now. But I’m not.
Why?
I shuffle my hands around
slightly behind the back of the chair. The tape is loose.

Our attacker speaks again in his unruffled
demeanor. “The cleaner is gonna get what’s comin’ to him. He killed
my family, I kill his.” He chuckles, “an eye for an eye.”

My heart is pumping wildly. It’s not fear
though, its vehemence and confusion.
Who is this person?

“When Patrick gets here, you’re going to wish
you never stepped foot in this house,” my mother says.

“He ain’t gonna get by Butch, lady.” He says
with complete surety.

What?!... Dad’s at work. Who the hell is
Butch?

A loud thump comes from outside on the back
steps. The guy jumps up and grabs Erin by the back of the neck.

“Don’t fuckin’ open your mouths.” He holds
the silencer up to his lips like it’s his finger, shushing us.

With one of his hands buried in Erin’s hair,
he points the gun at her temple. I scream and it startles him. I
force my hands apart ripping the loose tape and spring. I ram the
guy in his stomach with my shoulder. The shock of my actions takes
him off guard but not enough to knock him down. We scuffle a bit,
but he gets me.

His arm is suffocating me where he’s trapped
me against him. He points the gun at my temple now. My breathing is
shallow. It hurts. I reach down into myself for courage.
This
son of a bitch is trying to take away all that I’ve gained and
struggled for! Not happening!

Erin screeches and I ram the back of my fist
into his groin. He lets out an oaf and steps back from me.
Involuntarily, he doubles over and his hands immediately go to his
crotch.

I take a chance and grab for the gun. With
all my might, I twist it out of his hand. He reaches for me but I
scrabble back. The cold metal in my hand. The back door flies open
and my father rushes into the room. Dad tackles the guy still
reeling from my hit. Dad subdues him in seconds, crushing the
intruder’s face into the tile floor.

My father yells at me, “Get something to tie
him!”

I reach for the roll of duct tape that was
conveniently left by the stupid ass that broke into our house. I
pass it to him with my free hand.

With swift agile movements, he confines our
attacker in silver duct tape like a mummy. My father, never leaving
the guy, grabs the gun from me and smashes the guy on the head with
it, knocking him out. Dad stands.

Erin’s shrieks and cries break through the
scene; I rush to her and get the tape off. I look up at my mother
who has said nothing but has eyes that are puffy and red. I notice
my shoulder hurts. I absently rub it and my hand involuntarily
clutches my necklace. Then I walk over and free my mother. Erin is
in Dad’s arms whimpering uncontrollably. Remarkably, I don’t feel
much of anything.

Erin is still clutching Dad when he hands me
the gun. I take it. He sits Erin back down in the chair. Dad picks
up the man like a sack of potatoes. “Follow me,” he says in his
typical monotone voice. So I do.

The man is limp in his arms as we walk out
the back. The spotlight on our house illuminates another man who is
lying on the steps. He looks odd. His body is twisted awkwardly. I
step closer, his eyes are open. This man is not just unconscious,
he is dead.

Dad’s arm is bleeding. There is a gash about
5 inches long down his forearm. Blood is trailing behind him as he
slumps the intruder in the back of our van. I gingerly skirt around
the dead man on our steps. I stand next to my Dad at the back of
the van. The scene before me is surreal in a horrifically ordinary
way.

“I need you to wash down the kitchen and back
steps with vinegar and water. Wash everything. Call the O’Connell’s
and have them come pick you up. Stay with them until I come to get
you. Pack a bag because you may be staying the night.” He rattles
off instructions stoically. He takes the other man from the steps
and puts him in the back of the van too, then shuts it.

He looks directly at me for the first time.
“Take care of your mother and sister. Make sure you all stay at the
O’Connell’s. Go.”

Mannegia (mah-neg-ah): Damn it!

In the kitchen, I find Erin and Mom. Erin is
sitting in Mom’s lap. The heavy object in my hand registers and I
notice I am still carrying the gun. I put it on the counter and
take a bucket out from under the sink. I run hot water into it. The
cabinet with the vinegar is right there too. I pour the white
vinegar and mix it with the scalding water. The steam and vinegar
burn my eyes.

I take a dishtowel and wipe down the gun.
Then I wrap it up and place it in the center of the kitchen table.
The bucket sloshes as I move it from the sink to the floor. I wash
the counter, table and the chairs, the refrigerator, even the light
switch. I take more dish rags and start cleaning the floor on my
hands and knees. Soon the kitchen smells like an Italian
sandwich-tangy and sour.

I don’t look at Mom and Erin. I just do the
job my Dad asked me to. I don’t think about why, or how at this
moment I could have been dead or cleaning up my sister’s blood
right now-
I don’t think, I just do.

My mother and Erin get up. “Pack a bag,” I
say, still washing. “Then call the O’Connell’s to come get us.” My
voice carries a familiar tone-low and resigned.

Antonio:

I am so fucking relieved. I didn’t lose her.
She came to find me; my beautiful Megan came to find
me
. I
can hardly believe it. I could have held her all day. I knew she
was strong.

I was walking home from school in the sixth
grade. I was alone which didn’t happen very often. Even in
elementary school people gravitated towards me.

I heard a girl yelling. It wasn’t a crying or
sobbing yelling. It was an angry yelling. The high pitched shouting
was filled with vehemence. I turned the corner to find Megan backed
up against a wall with two kids from our class advancing on her.
They were two assholes that moved out of town years ago. They were
closing in on her. To this day, I don’t know what was going on, if
they were teasing her or just being the asses they always were but
Megan wasn’t taking it. She was giving it right back. She swatted
her backpack at them and told them to go to hell. Her fiery red
hair was blowing loosely around her sweet but fuming face.

In an instant, the shouting and yelling
stopped. Megan’s eyes locked with mine. The two chooches turned to
see what had caught her attention. One look-one look was all it
took. They ran like the devil was chasing them. I moved towards
Megan slowly. She looked scared. I only wanted to see if she was
all right. I thought maybe I could even walk her home. But she
mouthed the word “thanks” and sprinted away from me.

Down at the docks, Vito and Louie are
drinking some beers. Ronnie isn’t there. His shoulder is really
bad. He has to keep it immobile. The doctor’s afraid that the wound
will heal wrong because of all the tissue the bullet shredded.

“Hey, Tonio!” Vito says handing me a beer.
“When is the next hit? I am pumped to rip the shit out of
Sommersville again.”

“We’ll see.” I didn’t want to tell anyone
that Pop has a meeting with the boss of Sommersville. The two
bosses are going to try to call a truce even though Sommersville
fucking started it.

“How’s things with Red?” He asks
non-chalantly. I didn’t want to talk about her either. I don’t want
to screw things up. These guys could slip to someone that we’re
planning to sneak around. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I want
her with me always. I have to know she’s mine. Megan calms and
soothes me. I have a sense of completeness when she is around. I
want all of her.

“I gotta take a piss. Be right back.” I use
nature to get away and avoid these questions.

I slip between some crates and large green
recycle bins. I lower my zipper. A thwack and a heavy shuffle noise
come from the other side of the building towards the water. I zip
back up without pissing. I crouch. Sommersville comes to
mind-
are they really going try again?

A couple of slashing sounds resonate. I move
forward. The light is weak so it is hard to see. A dark liquid is
running across the boards of the dock and into the water-thick like
blood. My gaze shifts to the cause.

Spread out on a plastic sheet is a body. It’s
missing an arm; definitely a man. My vision scans the gory scene in
front of me. The other arm of the body is being sawed off. And the
person that is doing the sawing is Megan’s father, Patrick O’Neill.
Holy Shit! The fuckin’ cleaner!

He moves in quick jabs with efficiency. His
face is impassive. The way he is gutting this guy proves his
experience and strength. The performance is actually masterful. I
watch both sickened and in awe as he reaches for a bottle. A
sizzling sound trickles from the extricated arm’s fingers. He’s
burning off finger prints. Mr. O’Neill continues to dismember the
body methodically. Then he walks the pieces wrapped in plastic down
to the river out of my line of sight.