Page 90 of Mafia Star

Simms snaps at the attacker who nailed Steve’s temple. Guess he’s not getting left behind. I didn’t think they would since he could identify most of them. But I can still be a perpetual optimist, can’t I? The glass isn’t fucking half full or half empty. It’s just fucking half.

We’re all hauled into the back of a delivery truck. It has no logo or writing on it, but I memorize the license plate. Delaware. Interesting. I wonder what vehicle they stole it off. As we enter, I stand near it as I offer to help Beth into the back. Carmine and I get Steve in too. Pauly and Carmine sense I’m up to something, so they crowd my back. I noticed the registration year sticker is peeling, so I tug it off just before I pull myself onto the truck. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky, and they’ll get pulled over for expired tags. Right now, I’ll accept dealing with cops for the sake of getting Beth to safety.

None of them frisked us, assuming our lost guns were our only weapons. Simms is getting lazy. Carmine, Pauly, and I all have our knives. I wish Beth still had her purse. I gave her pepper spray before we left for work this morning. They also didn’t restrain us. With our hands and feet free, we stand a fighting chance— pun not intended.

I’m stripping off my belt just like Pauly and Carmine. It’s my cousin who speaks without looking at me.

“Did Liz activate your tracker?”

“Yeah. Did you two hit yours?”

“Yeah.”

Both men answer, so there are three alerts going to my family. That’ll get their attention. Any tracker going off gets their attention, but there’s no way it was an accident that all of them are sending out texts while traveling together. The three of us wind our belts a couple times around our hand, buckle out. We can swing it like a miniature mace, or we can wrap it around someone’s neck. I have my knife in the other before I slide down to sit next to Beth as the truck moves. As much as I wanted to hold her, I had to take the time to prepare what few weapons I have.

“Are you hurt, piccolina?’

She’s stopped coughing, but her eyes are still watering just like mine. She shakes her head as she huddles against her drawn in legs. She rests her cheek on her knees as she watches me. We’ve positioned her, so she’s in the corner. Steve’s next to her, but she’s the most protected. I’m to her left, so I’m less likely to hit her if I swing the belt with my left hand. Pauly and Carmine are giving us a modicum of privacy by sitting a few feet away from us on either side. I place my open switchblade on the floor beside my leg as I open my arms to her. She falls into them. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head.

She whispers to me as she tilts her head to look up at me.

“This is different from last time. Are you mad I shot them?”

“Little one, I’m so fucking proud of you I could burst. I hate that you’re sucked into this. I hate anyone came near you. I hate anyone threatened you. But goddamn, I’m impressed by you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Those four words are the sweetest I’ll ever hear until she says I do.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

She asked what we’re all wondering.

“I don’t. Simms has always flown under the radar. He’s never been easy to track down in person. He could be reached by burner or through his network, but until a year or so ago, we never saw him in person. I don’t know where his lair is.”

It could be anywhere in the tri-state area. It could be anywhere in the five boroughs. As we sit together, I try to picture where we might be. I can estimate we’re going about fifteen miles an hour but with lots of stops and starts. We haven’t left Manhattan yet. We pulled straight out of the alley and made a left. I lost track a little while talking to Beth, but I’m trying to remember what I might have subconsciously picked up. I look over at Carmine while we’re stopped for a moment. He shrugs. He doesn’t know where we are either.

We’re riding in silence for thirty minutes— I still have my watch —before the sound of the road changes beneath us. We’re going over a bridge, but none of them are that long in New York, so that doesn’t tell me which one. Some have tolls, but there aren’t booths anymore, so we don’t slow down.

Beth leans against me with her eyes closed just like the rest of us. The tear gas still stings and will for a little longer since we had no way to decontaminate ourselves. As long as we all keep our clothes away from our face now, it should get better. I stroke her shoulder as I let my sense of sound and sensation try to give me a mental map.

It’s not that long before it feels like we’re passing over another bridge. I can’t be sure that we passed over one let alone two, but I think so. I open my eyes and look at my cousin.

“Triboro?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Randall Island up to the Bronx.”

What the fuck is in the Bronx that he wants to take us to? Is it one of his safe houses? Does he plan to toss us in the East River? We’re back to riding in silence as traffic picks up. You can be stuck in a traffic jam at any time of day. Don’t people have fucking jobs? Why are they all on the road? Why can’t they be civilized New Yorkers and take the subway? Granted, I drive myself or use a driver most days. The subway smells funny.

Smells funny.

“Car, City Island. That smell that’s drifting in. Remember when our dads used to bring us out here?”

There’s a tiny nautical museum on the island that my dad and uncle used to take us to when we were really little. Carmine and I both loved boats and still enjoy sailing. The museum isn’t that big, so it was perfect for two little boys. Just enough to keep our attention, and just big enough to make us tired. We’d stop at one of the local fish places for lunch. I must have been about nine, and Carmine was seven the last time we came. But we used to do it at least one Saturday a month. Papa and Uncle Cesare would take us after a soccer match or baseball game while the others went to Donatelli’s.

Steve came round just as we crossed the second part of the Triboro Bridge. He’s using his pocket square to staunch the blood from where the gun’s muzzle cut his face. He looks between Carmine and me.

“What’s on City Island?”

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