Page 88 of Damaged Beast
Too many memories. Most of them shit, but some aren’t bad. I touch the gun in my lap, thinking whether I’ll use it tonight, or maybe I won’t have to. There’s so much riding on what I’ll do now and my wife’s face is mixed up with the bad thoughts, theold images fading, replaced by a sense of optimism. Or at least by a need to see her again in the morning.
Hell, I’m getting fucking dramatic.
I push open the door and step out. The evening’s crisp as I cross to a stoop with a freshly painted black door. No bars on the windows means whoever lives here is confident nobody would dare fuck with him. There’s a nice old Mercedes parked out front with a traffic cone at the bumper. I knock and wait.
No answer for a minute. I knock again, and again, until the door unbolts. “Who the fuck is?—“
“Hey Alfonso. Been a long time.”
The man staring at me can’t be the same one from my memory. This one’s old, eyes lined, forehead wrinkled, hair graying and receding. The Alfonso in my head is early thirties, big and strong, hairy and loud and quick to laugh. I looked up to him like he was a god and wanted to be just like him.
The door opens a fraction. “Prime? Is that you?”
“Didn’t think you’d recognize me.”
“My god, I almost didn’t.” He leans against the frame. He’s in a pair of dark sweats and a long gray shirt. “I was headed to bed. Why are you on my stoop?”
“Wanted to talk. Been a while. Thought we might catch up.”
Alfonso looks over my shoulder and down the street. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Come on, old man. Let’s have a chat.”
“My wife’s in bed.”
“We don’t need to wake her.” I lean closer and lower my voice. “Come on, Alfonso. You think three hundred dollars was enough? Let’s talk.”
He must hear the rage I’ve kept buried for all these years. His shoulders stiffen and there’s still a glimmer of action in him like he’s ready to draw a gun on me and defend himself. But the moment passes and he sighs, stepping aside, mumbling something about having a drink in the kitchen and keeping quiet.
The place isn’t bad. Pictures hang on the walls. Family shit, vacations, images of Alfonso and a pretty skinny lady and two dark-haired boys down the beach. A whole life I never knew about. I wonder what Shawn would say if he saw this now. Alfonso takes me to the kitchen and sits me at a table before pouring two glasses of cheap wine. He slides one over and sits across with a heavy sigh.
“Been a long time,” he says, stretching one leg and rubbing the knee. Some old injury bugging him, maybe. Exacerbated by stress.
Is this what’s waiting for me too? An old man in a shitty house? Everyone wears out eventually, I know it, but Alfonso used to burn so bright.
He’s faded now. Softer in the middle. That old muscle gone to fat. I wonder when the last time he stalked around the streets was. Probably been decades.
“You look old.”
He snorts and smiles. “You do too. I’ve heard rumors about you over the years. Prime Spadaro, big shit in the Corsetti Famiglia. You did okay for yourself in the end.”
“Wasn’t easy.”
“Nah, I didn’t think it would be.” He takes a long drink, hand shaking. “I saw it back then, you know. The potential, what you might be if someone managed to straighten you out.”
“I remember. You gave me a chance.”
“Shame, what happened.”
“You mean it’s a shame they tried to kill me and got my friend instead?”
His expression glazes over as his shoulders hunch forward. “That’s the life. You don’t hold old grudges, do you?”
“All I am these days is grudges.” I turn the glass slowly. Thinking how hurting this old man wouldn’t fix a damn thing. “You’re still with him, I guess.”
“Couldn’t get out of it. You know how that goes. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.” His smile is tentative. “Not much for it these days though.” His eyes stray to the kitchen. It’s small, the wallpaper peeling, not exactly dirty and falling apart but not updated in a while.
“I’ve been asking around recently. Hasn’t been easy, finding people willing to talk, but when they do it’s always the same. When gambling got legalized, the last bit of profitable business for your outfit stopped earning. Is that the right story?”
