Bitter Pledge (Falsone Crime Family)

Cap: You think Clem will be in one of those houses?

Mal: It’s possible. There are twelve addresses here and I can’t stake out all of them. Gonna have to get lucky.

Cap: Good thing we’ve got plenty of luck to spare.

Mal: I need to narrow this down. Meet me tonight. Let’s talk about it.

She didn’t respond right away. I frowned at the phone. Wanted her to text back. Felt a pang of nervousness race through my skin. Maybe I pushed too hard the other night. When I touched her, kissed her, got her off in the booth, maybe I’d gone too far too fast. I knew this was dangerous. Carmine’s memory still lingered, lighting each of us on fire, making everything we did so much more complicated and fraught.

I finally fucked up. Maybe it was for the best. Accept defeat and move on. I’d never have Cap. She was never meant for me. Didn’t matter how I felt or what I thought she felt.

None of that mattered when I was just some poor kid from a fucked-up family with no future and a death wish.

Cap: Can’t tonight. I’m sorry. Too dangerous.

I nodded to myself. Not surprised. But it hurt. Fucking hurt bad.

Mal: You’re right. I’ll figure it out on my own. Don’t worry.

I tossed the phone aside. She sent something else, but I didn’t look. Couldn’t stand to look.

I went too far and now it was done.

That was for the best. I could do my job with a clear conscience now. Revenge for Carmine was all that mattered.

But agony still jabbed itself down my spine like red-hot knives running along the edge of my bones. That picture, that kiss. Her wet pussy. The way her mouth fell open when I called her a filthy girl.

All gone. Never mattered anyway.

I put the Chevy into drive and went to check on the next place on the list.

* * *

I went from house to house. Never stayed long. Usually drifted past. I didn’t look at my phone. Couldn’t bring myself to check that text or to message Cap again. I had to push her into the back of my mind. Otherwise, I’d be too distracted.

I didn’t find Clem. I wasn’t that lucky. But around three in the afternoon outside of a taco place around the corner from one of the addresses, I found someone else. Maybe someone better.

I pulled the truck over and parked. He didn’t see me as I stepped out and headed toward him. Felipe Castellan walked with his head down and his hands loaded up with two takeout bags and a carrying tray of drinks. I guessed enough food for three, given the number of cups. He walked fast, striding along, head back the way I’d just come.

I gripped the baton and slipped it out of its sheath. He was a smaller guy, and I caught up fast.

“Hey, Felipe.”

He turned, startled. His eyes went wide. Yeah, he recognized me.

“Mal.” He stumbled backwards. Didn’t fall, but almost. His hands were full, and if he wanted to reach for a weapon, he’d have to drop the food first.

He didn’t drop it.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” I said, holding the baton. His eyes flicked down to it. I hadn’t extended it yet, but he knew what it meant. My baton, she was famous.

“I didn’t know you were out of jail, man.” He grinned. Sheepish and scared. He was lying. They all knew I was out of jail by now.

“I was hoping you could help me.” I stepped closer. Got into hitting range. He knew it and tried to make some room, but I stayed on him, and he didn’t want to stumble again. He stopped moving backwards and tried to puff out his chest. Didn’t work real good while holding bags of food.

“Not sure what I can do you for, man. You know Balestra’s in charge now, right? You check in with him? I bet he’s got some jobs for you, if you’re looking for work.”

I shook my head real slow. “Not what I want.”

“What’s up then, man? You still selling? I could use help.” He laughed. Real uncomfortable. Sweating now. Hottest hour of the day. “Got too much work as it is. After Balestra took over, too many guys split.”

“I’m more interested in the ones that stayed behind.” I put a bit of emphasis on that. He blanched. He’d stayed.

“Look, Mal, man, there are no hard feelings here, right? I’m just a grunt. I do what I’m told. Falsone was a good boss, but I’ve got to eat, right? Balestra pays, man.”

“I don’t care about fucking Balestra. I don’t care about getting paid, or about you. I’m looking for someone, and you’re going to tell me where he is.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Where’s Clem, Felipe? Where are they hiding him?”

Felipe stared. Sweating hard. He had a choice. Answer my question and risk Balestra finding out he was the one who sang. Refuse to answer and risk me crushing his head. He looked around. Glanced at the houses.