Redemption (Sempre 2)

“And we’re going to make them go away.”

Carmine’s stomach dropped. Work. He hadn’t been on a job with Corrado before, and he wasn’t looking forward to going on one now. “I’m guessing they’re there now?”

“They’re playing the video poker machines,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. Corrado hated gambling, he had learned, even though a lot of his money came from underground sports betting.

They were silent the short drive to the store. Corrado pulled right up to the curb and got out without a word. Carmine followed him inside, immediately hearing the ruckus in the back. The men shouted and laughed, their thick Irish accents echoing through the shop as they banged against the machines.

Corrado walked straight to the back, taking a direct path to them. Carmine cut along the front, slipping down a side aisle out of view to sneak up behind them.

The men saw Corrado coming but barely had enough time to react before he grabbed the back of a guy’s head and slammed it into the machine. He cried out with the loud crunch, blood pouring from his face as his nose shattered. He grabbed it, staggering when Corrado let go of him.

Corrado stealthily reached for the man’s gun the same time the second Irish pulled out his own. They aimed at each other simultaneously as Carmine stepped out of the aisle behind the guy, flicking off the safety of his pistol.

Carmine pressed the muzzle against the back of his head. He tensed when he felt it, his hand shaking slightly. Corrado grabbed his own gun from his coat with his other hand and pointed it, too. The Irish man hesitated but slowly raised his hands in the air, taking his finger off the trigger. Carmine disarmed him and took a step back.

Corrado put the first guy’s gun in his pocket, keeping his own cocked as he stared him down. “If I ever hear of you coming back here, I’ll do more than break a nose. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Be sure to tell O’Bannon I said hello,” Corrado said, his cold tone causing goose bumps to spring up on Carmine’s skin. “Now go.”

They hesitated, looking dumbfounded as they stared at Corrado, and Carmine groaned. “You heard the fucking man. He said go, so go, motherfucker.”

They shot Carmine angry glares before scurrying for the exit. One of the men lingered at the door, though, turning to eye them with anger. “You want us to stay out of your territory, tell your boss to stay out of ours.”

“We don’t step foot in your territory,” Corrado said. “Ever.”

The man shook his head. “You sound like you actually believe your lies.”

They were lies. Carmine himself had raided Sycamore Circle, so he knew for a fact they had crossed the imaginary lines.

Corrado sighed when they finally left, sliding his eyes to Carmine. “You and that mouth. The elders believed we should be gentlemen in how we spoke and always presentable in how we dressed. How hard is it to put on a suit?”

Carmine glanced down at his clothes. He had on jeans and a black button-up shirt, nothing out of the ordinary. “Suits are for weddings and funerals.”

“So I suppose you’ll be wearing one on Sunday, then?”

Carmine tensed. “What’s Sunday?”

Corrado started to comment but his phone rung and stopped him. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

“Make him pay up,” Corrado said, motioning toward the man working the counter. “A couple thousand.”

Carmine nodded hesitantly as his uncle turned away, bringing his phone to his ear to answer it. “Hello? Is everything all right?”

He knew immediately from the casual greeting that it was a personal call. He watched with confusion as Corrado bolted out of the door—he wasn’t the kind of person to take a personal call while on business.

He shrugged it off, nothing about the day making much sense, and headed to the front. “You got money for me?”

“I have some,” the man said.

“How much is some?”

“Uh, about five hundred.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Carmine said, stepping behind the counter where the man stood. Carmine spotted a baseball bat hidden near the register for protection and grabbed it.

“Okay, maybe a thousand,” the man said quickly, backtracking. “Yeah, I have a thousand.”