Tempted by the Sinner

“Good, man,” I said, taking the drink. “Your mom good? Your sister still in school?”

“She graduated, man,” he said.

“Shit, how old are you now?”

“Sixteen.”

“Keep your fucking grades up so you don’t end up working in this shithole your whole life.”

Raul grinned. “Man, I don’t need grades to become a soldier, just like—”

I held up a hand and cleared my throat. He stopped himself and his smile faltered.

“Not in front of the lady,” I said.

“No, Raul, go ahead,” Mona said. “What exactly is Vincent here?”

“Go back inside, Raul,” I said, my tone gentle. “Thanks for the drink. Tell your mother I said hi and I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Raul nodded quickly then ducked back inside.

Mona gave me a look and tilted her head. “What was that?”

I shrugged and opened the Coke. I took a swig, offered her some, and she took it.

“His older brother worked for one of my businesses,” I said. “But he had an accident and is no longer with us. I take care of his family now.”

“I see,” she said, drank some soda, offered me the rest. I shook my head and she shrugged, capped it, and tucked it under her arm.

“It’s a dangerous line of work, sanitation,” I said.

She laughed. “Sure sounds dangerous,” she said. “How come you don’t want Raul to get involved?”

“He’s a smart kid,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “Kid could do some shit with himself. Go into med school, become a doctor. Maybe a surgeon. Kid can make a mean pizza dough, probably got good hands.”

She shook her head and gave me another strange smile.

“You’re an odd one,” she said.

“Quit looking at me like that,” I said. “Come on, let’s go.”

I headed down the sidewalk again and she hurried to catch up, the soda sloshing under her arm. I took it back from her, took another sip, and ditched it at the next trash can. I wasn’t much of a soda drinker, but I couldn’t turn the kid’s offering down. I nodded to a few more people, greeted several others, and answered more of Mona’s questions about the neighborhood.

Mostly though, she asked about me, about growing up. I told her as much as I could. I told her about moving up in the world as my father’s business gained more and more power, about feeling lonely and isolated, about being thrust into the heart of things before I was ready. I talked about learning fast, learning how to fight, how to defend myself, how to outthink my opponents when I couldn’t win with my fists.

I learned all that before I was fifteen years old.

I had to learn it. I was the son of Don Leone, and every other fucking kid in the city knew it. They all wanted a piece of me, wanted to prove that they were harder than the Don’s son, that they were better than me. And I had to step up to every challenge, fight every stupid bully that came my way. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost, but I always walked away giving as good as I got, or at least trying to.

I never stayed down, what’s what my father always taught me.

We paused outside a Mexican place I loved, real authentic Mexican food. I looked inside the window and spotted an empty table toward the back then looked at Mona.

“When I was twelve, I remember this kid,” I said as Mona stood close next to me, close enough that I could feel her arm brush against mine. “He was this big, fat motherfucker, hit puberty like a speeding train before anyone else. Facial hair, acne, like six feet tall, voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.”

“You’re exaggerating,” she said.

“Just a little. Anyway, I was at this sweet sixteen with my father for one of his, uh, employees’ kid. We were having a nice time, drinking soda, swimming in the pool, eating hot dogs, that sort of shit. Then when the kids broke out a soccer ball and started messing around, that monster came after me, hit me hard, threw me to the ground.”

“I bet that was rough,” she said.

I waved that off. “It was fine, but the hard part was my father came storming out onto the field. For a second, I thought he was going to yell at the kid, and I swear that pimpled freak turned pale as a ghost and nearly pissed himself. Instead of smacking the monster bastard upside the head, my father grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My ankle hurt like hell and was swelling up already, but my dad didn’t care. He got in my face, and can you guess what he said?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

“He said, ‘Son, if you don’t get back up after someone hits you, then you’re not worth a damn. That’s all there is, you hear me? Just keep getting back up.’ I never forgot that.”